HOT AND BOTHERED

by Jo Leigh

  The roar from their table caused a minor ruckus, but Lee didn't care one bit. This was the happiest news in the world. No child could be luckier. No parents would be better. The tears Lee had so carefully patted dry came back with a vengeance. She jumped to her feet, and scrambled to hug her friends, bumping into Trevor and Susan and Peter. They were all laughing and crying, hugging and squeezing. Then she found herself in Trevor's arms. Her gaze met his, and the room around her faded to a blur. There was only Trevor. And a future so clear she could almost touch it. A future she could never have.

  He bent to kiss her, but she moved, breaking out of his embrace. "Excuse me," she mumbled.

  She heard him call after her as she hurried to the rest room. The band played Gershwin. "Someone to Watch Over Me." Couples danced, cheek to cheek. The waiters filed in, carrying big silver trays.

  Lee made it through the door, but stopped short as she saw the bride standing just outside the ballroom, preparing to toss her bouquet. A dozen single women shuffled and joked and tried to hide the fact that they were all willing her to throw it to them. Lee couldn't watch. She walked faster, trying to pass the women without calling attention to herself

  The bouquet hit her on the back of the head.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  Trevor kissed Katy, hugging her tight. He felt really happy for her, and for Ben. It felt odd, though. A kid. It would change things, and not only for the parents. Their little gang wouldn't be the same, not ever again. For that, he felt sad. But nothing stays the same forever. People grow up. Or at least grow older.

  "Where did Lee go?"

  He shook his head. "I think to the bathroom."

  Katy's brows came down in concern. "Is she okay?"

  "As far as I know."

  She took his hands from around her waist. "Go after her, okay?"

  He smiled. "You're gonna be the best damn mother in the history of motherhood."

  "I don't know about that, but the baby will never lack for love and attention. Isn't that right, Uncle Trevor?"

  "Damn straight."

  "Now, go find her."

  He pushed his chair in, listening to Peter's excitement as he talked about having "their" baby. The guy was practically bouncing off the walls.

  Ben looked like the cat who ate the canary. Smug didn't do him justice. He'd finally hit that home run.

  The only one who wasn't flying high as a kite was Susan. She stood a little behind Peter, her hands gripping her wineglass, looking as cool and beautiful as a princess. She smiled, but it wasn't real. There was too much sadness in her eyes to make it work. Poor kid. She was probably thinking about the kids she could have had if Larry hadn't been the schmuck of the century.

  Trevor went over to her and kissed her just below her right ear. She jumped, but then she laughed, and it was good to hear that. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

  "Of course. I'm thrilled for them. What could be better?"

  He nodded, then kissed her on the cheek. "Your time will come," he whispered. "The man who catches you will be the luckiest son of a bitch in New York."

  "Thanks," she said. Then she went for her purse and started looking through it as if she'd lost something important. He left, not wanting to embarrass her by seeing her cry.

  He made his way past linen-covered tables, tuxedoed waiters, and a gaggle of giggling women. Outside the ballroom door, he found the bride and groom kissing at the bottom of the staircase. It wasn't the same kind of kiss as the one under the canopy. This one was more about the honeymoon than the wedding.

  As Trevor headed toward the rest room, it occurred to him that he'd go back to the bed-and-breakfast for his honeymoon. He stopped dead. His honeymoon? What, was he crazy? Was it something in the water?

  "What's wrong?" Lee stood in front of the ladies' room door. She looked at him funny, as if she'd known what he was thinking, and found it as weird as he did.

  "I'm fine. What about you?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Good," he said, wondering if the uneasiness in his chest was caused by his foolish thoughts, or if something was really bothering Lee. He tried hard to be perceptive and to read between the lines, but he never got it right. Not with women, at least.

  "So, we'd better get back," Lee said, sounding just as uncomfortable as he felt. "Unless you have to…" She glanced at the men's room door.

  "No, no. We can go."

  "Okay."

  Neither of them moved. Or blinked. They just stood staring at each other with unasked questions floating between them. Trevor couldn't stand it. He shifted his gaze first. "That's great about Katy, huh?"

  "Yeah, it is," Lee said, and if he wasn't mistaken, there was relief in her reply. "They're going to be great parents."

  "I'll say."

  Lee started walking back to the ballroom, and he moved in beside her. Knowing he was taking a risk, he squared his shoulders and decided to jump. "Are you sad because you want kids?"

  She stopped so fast he had to turn around and backtrack. He couldn't tell if the shocked expression on her face was because his speculation was so outrageous it defied logic, or if he'd hit the nail on the head.

  "Sad?" she said, but more to herself than him.

  He nodded. "I guess a woman your age has that old biological clock ticking away."

  The left corner of her mouth quirked up in a cockeyed grin. "Women my age, huh?"

  His stomach sank. He'd been way off base. "I didn't mean—"

  She waved her hand dismissively. "It's okay. You're not in trouble."

  "Thank God for small favors," he said, vowing to keep his big, fat mouth shut from now on.

  She ignored his smart-ass comment. "I think you're right. I think I am a little sad."

  "Well, sure." His chest swelled as he congratulated himself on being right, for once. "It's only natural. I mean, you're almost thirty, with no prospect of a husband in sight—"

  "Quit while you're ahead, Trevor."

  "Oh."

  She shook her head at him, then grabbed his hand and led him back toward the ballroom.

  "Lee?"

  She put her finger up to her lips and said, "Shh."

  He thought about it, and decided she was right. Discretion being the better part of valor, and all that. Besides, he had no business trying to guess what Lee was thinking. She confused him now more than ever. She made him think crazy thoughts, and feel things he had no business feeling.

  The only thing he was completely certain about was that he wanted her. Once they were in bed, all the confusion disappeared like magic.

  She opened the door to the banquet room, and he heard the band play "Makin' Whoopee."

  "Amen to that," he whispered. Whoopee was fun. Whoopee, he could handle. It was making love that turned him into an utter fool.

  * * *

  She shouldn't have asked him back to her apartment. But then maybe she was a born masochist, taking some sick pleasure in torturing herself. It was as if she were dying of thirst and a big, frosty glass of water was just out of reach. She could have Trevor, but she couldn't have Trevor.

  One thing was certain. She had to get over this romantic fantasy of the two of them walking hand in hand into the sunset, or she had to stop sleeping with him. That first option didn't look so good. For whatever reason, her twisted little brain had gone into hyperdrive starting that first night, and it refused to let the notion alone. Despite her best intentions, she couldn't shake the idea of marriage. Just last week she'd found herself doodling on a scratch pad: Mrs. Trevor Templeton. Mrs. Lee Templeton. Lee Templeton. Lee Phillips-Templeton.

  It was insane.

  She understood that biology played a part in her craziness. Women need to pair-bond as an instinctive survival tool for their future children. She knew that making love, for a woman, was more emotional than physical. That her feelings for Trevor reflected some deep primal response that had more to do with procreation then recreation. But knowing all that didn't me
an squat. Logic had nothing to do with it. She needed him on a cellular level, a need that overpowered any cognitive functions.

  He just thought she was a fun romp in the hay.

  She wanted a happily-ever-after that she could never have.

  And yet, here she was, in her bathroom, toothbrush in hand, minutes away from climbing into bed with him, her body already priming itself with tightened nipples, dilated pupils and an ache that wouldn't ease.

  What she should do was put down the toothbrush, march to the bedroom, and tell him, point-blank, that it wasn't working. That he was wonderful, it had nothing to do with him, it was all her, but that they couldn't do it again. Not even once.

  He'd be baffled, and he'd be upset; at least, she assumed he would be. He might even be hurt. But in the long run, it was the wisest course of action. In a few weeks, maybe a month or two, she'd tell him why. Once she was over him, it wouldn't be too embarrassing to explain that she'd gone a little nuts. He'd understand. He would.

  She put her toothbrush down, then picked it up again. No reason to have bad breath when she delivered the bad news, right? As she scrubbed her molars, she rehearsed her speech. Trevor, she'd begin. This has been the most wonderful week of my life, and I owe it all to you. But I don't think it would be a good idea to continue. It's not you. It's me.

  Good. Short. To the point. No emotional outpouring and no tears.

  She rinsed, got the Scope and gargled, then ran a quick brush through her hair. It was time. She was strong. Flinging open the door, she walked out, shoulders back, head held high, determination filling her with courage.

  He was already under the covers. Naked. His perfect chest bared to the waist. He threw back the covers for her to join him, as he gave her a slow, sensuous smile.

  She could do this.

  He patted the bed, and she sat down, turning so she'd face him. She opened her mouth, and promptly forgot her speech. She didn't panic, though. She could wing it. "Trevor," she said, searching frantically for the next word.

  He sat up, scooted down until he was right next to her. Then he kissed her. Right below her ear, in that secret little hollow spot. Goose bumps sprang up all over her body, and when he nibbled her earlobe, she moaned helplessly.

  "What is it?" he whispered, then he went back to teasing her with his teeth.

  "Trevor," she said again, only this time it came out all breathy, like Marilyn Monroe on Prozac.

  "Yes?" he said, forming the word while his lips rested on her neck so she felt the vibration and the heat from his mouth.

  "Nothing," she said, then she turned, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him so hard they both fell backward.

  He lifted her nightshirt, and ran his hand up her thigh. All coherence ended the second he hit pay dirt. Distantly, as if from another room, or another planet, she remembered that she was supposed to tell him something. But that could wait. Especially when his fingers moved inside her.

  She moaned as he thrust his two fingers deep, then withdrew, only to thrust again, harder this time. Deeper.

  He didn't release her from his kiss. He kept increasing the pressure, in and out, harder and deeper, until she had to throw her leg over his hip so he could bring her to the brink.

  Just as she started up the steep hill toward climax, he stopped. He got to his knees and scooped her up, lifting her completely off the bed. He kissed her once more, then smiled a very wicked smile.

  The next thing she knew, she was on the bed again, only this time, she lay on her stomach. Trevor swung his leg over her thighs, and lifted her from the waist until she was on her knees.

  He moved his body over hers, running his hands over her breasts and her stomach, then back to her breasts, taking special care with her nipples, squeezing softly, flicking the tips with his thumbs.

  She buried her head in the pillow, and then he moved again. She felt those wicked thumbs at her nether lips, opening her to his gaze. His moan wafted over the bed as he thrust himself inside her, making her forget about fingers and teasing. Making her forget everything. He went in fast and hard, all the way to the hilt, his body slapping against hers.

  She gasped as he withdrew almost all the way, hesitated one agonizing second, then plunged in again.

  Over and over, he entered her. Just when she thought it couldn't get any better, he leaned down and, while his left hand held her steady, his right hand slipped down past her stomach, tugged gently on her pubic hair, then found her swollen bud. Like a magician, he rubbed her flesh until her whole body tensed, seconds away from the edge of madness.

  Then he thrust once more, crying out as he came, making her come on the same wave. Time stopped as she shuddered to her climax, as they climaxed together.

  Much later, Trevor fell asleep with his head on her pillow. She lay awake for a long time, watching him. She didn't even realize she was weeping until she felt the moisture on the pillow.

  * * *

  Trevor contemplated his menu, which was ridiculous because he'd been to the Broadway Diner so often he knew it by heart. But today he couldn't decide. The others had ordered already, and the waitress tapped her pencil impatiently on her thumbnail. "Scrambled eggs, bacon, English muffin," he said, closing the menu just seconds before the waitress whipped it away.

  "So, you guys meet here every week?"

  It was Andy, Peter's friend from the wedding. In the three weeks since they'd gotten reacquainted, they'd certainly seemed to click, which Trevor thought was interesting. Andy wasn't Peter's usual type. Mostly, Peter chose actors or models with chiseled features and limited vocabularies. The affairs ran their course in a matter of weeks, with Peter always swearing it was the last time.

  Andy wasn't an actor or a model. He was a computer programmer, of all things. Trevor didn't think Peter even had a computer. Andy wasn't chiseled, either. He was tall and lanky, with longish hair, and his nose was on the big side. But he seemed nice, and Peter looked smitten.

  "Every Sunday," Katy answered. "For years, now."

  "That's great," Andy said. "It keeps the friendships tight."

  "That it does," Susan said, signaling the waitress for fresh coffee. "Anyone have any aspirin? Or morphine?"

  Trevor shook his head. Poor Susan. She'd been drinking again. Since she'd heard the news about Katy's kid, she'd gotten smashed a lot. Four times that he knew of, in the past few weeks. She didn't look her usual cool self. Her eyes were puffy and her normally perfect hair was shoved under a baseball cap that said, Bad Hair Day.

  But maybe it wasn't the aftereffects of alcohol that had Susan looking like death warmed over. Maybe Susan had the same bug Lee had picked up. She'd skipped their morning run, claiming an upset stomach. He looked at her, sitting next to him, at the moment deep in conversation with Katy. The topic was the baby, of course.

  Lee didn't look her usual self, either. Her skin seemed pale, and her hands a bit shaky. They'd planned a trip to the flea market this afternoon, but he doubted they'd make it. After breakfast, he would put her back in bed. Only this time, he wouldn't join her. Which was the truest act of friendship he could think of.

  He wanted her all the time. In restaurants, in book stores. Talking on the phone. Even while he wrote. She was like his own low-grade fever. He went on about his business, but the thought of her was always there. The feel of her skin always remembered.

  He reached under the table, and found her hand. It was better when he touched her. She squeezed his hand, and he felt his shoulders relax.

  Leaning over, close enough to smell the hint of vanilla behind her ear, he whispered, "You okay?"

  She nodded. "Right as rain."

  "Still, I think we ought to skip the flea market."

  "Let's wait and see how we feel after breakfast."

  As if Lee's words had conjured her, the waitress chose that moment to come to the table with her heavy tray. Breakfast was served, and coffee freshened. The conversation was easy, with Andy fitting right in. Only Susan was quieter than normal, but
even she perked up after she'd eaten a bit.

  But Lee didn't eat even half her eggs and toast. No flea market for them. All he wanted to do was get her back home and in bed. To bring her juice, and to put his hand on her forehead to gauge her temperature. With an odd anticipation, he finished his meal, feeling foolish for looking forward to playing nursemaid.

  * * *

  "Trevor, go home." Lee made sure she sounded firm, insistent. That no part of her worry showed. He'd been mothering her for three hours now, putting her to bed, bringing her juice, and all the best parts of the Sunday paper, even though she'd told him she felt fine, that she had no temperature. He hadn't believed her, first feeling her forehead, then using a thermometer. But even he couldn't deny the 98.6 when he saw it.

  "I don't know," he said. "Your color still isn't right."

  "That's because I'm not wearing any makeup. If I put some on, will you leave?"

  He smiled. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were trying to get rid of me."

  "I am! Go home! Scoot." She gave him a gentle nudge with her foot, pushing at his leg. He didn't move from his position at the side of her bed. He just kept looking at her as if he had a special secret.

  "I'm wounded to the core," he said, exaggerating a hurt tone.

  "You are not. What you are is late with a deadline. I won't be held responsible when your editor gives you hell."

  "I can work here."

  "No, you can't. Besides, I have things to do."

  "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

  "Like get ready for the week. Like iron. Cook my chicken breasts and broccoli."

  "I could do that," he said, albeit a little tentatively.

  She laughed. "Yeah, right. When's the last time you ironed, big boy?"

  "I beg your pardon," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've ironed plenty."

  "Really?"

  He dropped his arms. "No. I've never ironed. I don't even own an iron."

  "So, go the hell home. You've taken care of me brilliantly, but whatever I had this morning is completely gone. Now, all you're doing is bothering me."