Lost on the Road to Love

by Kay Harris

“I have a theory about that,” he said, leaning against his arm, his face right beside mine.

  “Yeah? Let’s hear it.”

  “Well, you and I are close, emotionally and physically. We don’t have an ordinary friendship, Chels. I feel as close to you as I do to members of my family. Except you aren’t family, so I can still think of you in a sexual way. And we are physically close, you and I.” As if to emphasize this he intertwined our fingers. “We work in close proximity, we share a physical presence. And that much closeness…” He shrugged. “It results in…this.”

  “Hmmm.” I was unsure of exactly what to say. It made sense, and it was wholly unromantic. But I it was a sensible explanation.

  Henry shifted on the couch and pulled me with him so we ended up cuddled up on one end. Then he grabbed the television remote control off the coffee table and flicked the set on. “What should we watch, Chels?”

  And just like that, everything went back to normal.

  Chapter 12

  One month, two weeks ago—Indianapolis, Indiana

  “All right,” I said, pulling away from Henry’s kiss and standing in front of him. “You need to explain this.”

  Henry leaned back on the small couch in my hotel suite, placing his hands behind his head. His long, jeans-clad legs were spread out in front of him. “Explain what?” he asked, all innocent, like he hadn’t just started kissing me while we were watching the latest cut of the show on my laptop.

  “Why do you have so much trouble keeping your hands off me when we’re alone?” I asked him.

  Since the night in Kalamazoo, we hadn’t had a moment alone. We were constantly surrounded by the show’s crew, or if we weren’t, we were with Tom. And here we were alone again, for the first time in days, and we’d instantly started making out again.

  “Why is it so hard to comprehend?”

  “Because I am not hot!” I blurted out. Every time Henry looked at me, I felt like he was looking at an insanely gorgeous showgirl, not a geeky stick figure with four eyes. And the constant speculation as to why was starting to stress me out.

  “I vehemently disagree,” he said, looking me up and down.

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  I rested my hand on my hip. “Are you saying you find me irresistibly attractive?”

  “Yes.” He gave a firm nod. There was no mirth in his eyes or in the set of his mouth.

  I narrowed my gaze and scrutinized him. “I thought it was because we’re so close, remember.”

  “Yes. And you’re insanely hot.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are too!”

  I shook my head.

  “Wanna make a bet on it?” he challenged.

  “What?”

  “You get naked for me. And if I am disappointed, you win the bet. If you’re as hot as I think you are under those clothes, I win. In fact, I already know what I want if I win. I want to see one of the films you’ve made.”

  I stared at him, my mouth agape.

  “What do you want if you win, Chels? Not that it matters. Because you won’t win.”

  I finally found my voice. Because I couldn’t turn down this opportunity. “If I win, you sing for me.”

  “Done.” He settled farther into the couch. “I’m ready when you are.”

  “Wait. How do I know you really like what you see? You could easily lie to win the bet.”

  Without taking his eyes off me, Henry unzipped his fly, exposing the V of his underwear and the outline of the ample, but soft, organ beneath it. “You can see for yourself.”

  I suddenly realized Henry actually expected me to strip in front of him. And by taking the bet, I’d agreed.

  Crap.

  “You can start whenever you’d like,” Henry said.

  “I’m not doing a strip tease,” I said roughly.

  “Don’t have to. I’m pretty sure you could just throw them off, and it will be hot as hell.”

  I glanced at the top of his jeans again, then back up at Henry. He watched me, grinning like a fool.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said, hedging.

  “You’re not going to back out are you, Chels? I know you well, and I know you don’t back away from a challenge, and you’re not easily embarrassed. So…”

  He was right about both of those things, of course. But they didn’t take into account that I stood in front of the one person who I thought was the be-all-end-all of a physical specimen.

  I wasn’t ashamed of my body. I really did believe in the love-yourself philosophy Candace and I preached to one another on a regular basis. In the past, I’d happily shown my naked form to my sexual partners. And I’d never shied away from this kind of play before.

  But stripping in front a man who’d made my blood warm since puberty, a man who was probably used to seeing busty groupies with perfect round asses strut around, a man who was, himself, a gift from the freaking gods…that was a whole different thing.

  Nevertheless, I really didn’t have a choice that would allow me to save face at this point. “Fine,” I said stiffly. I took off my glasses and placed them on the side table. Then I threw off my T-shirt and tossed it on the floor. Without looking at Henry, I pulled off my jeans, taking my socks and panties right along with them. Last, I quickly unclipped my bra and threw it on top of the pile.

  Once I was standing there, naked as the day I was born, I looked up at Henry. I started with his face. His eyes were wandering up and down my body, again and again. His lips were parted, and his cheeks were flushed. His body lay in the same relaxed position on the couch, but at the V in his jeans…things had changed, dramatically.

  Henry didn’t say anything, and I stood there in silence for a couple minutes. Finally, I shifted on my feet and said, “Well. Do I win the bet?”

  “Like hell…come here,” he said, his voice low and sexy.

  I hesitated.

  “Please,” he begged.

  I took the few steps toward him and sat down on his lap, straddling his hips. He pulled my face to his and started kissing me, hard, fast, and desperate. “My God, Chels,” he whispered into my mouth.

  I pulled my head back a sliver. “Did I lose?”

  “You crashed and burned, baby,” he said, attacking my neck.

  Lost in the sensations Henry was creating, I barely noticed how he shifted our positions until I lay on my back, my naked body pressed against the sofa cushions. Henry kneeled beside the couch, his torso angled so his mouth could make a lovely path over my breasts, down my ribs, across my stomach, his tongue dipping into my bellybutton. And then he kept right on going until my thighs were pressed against his cheeks and I was making sounds I didn’t know I was capable of.

  I was starting to think Henry must have earned an advanced degree in pleasing women. Unlike every other man who’d been in my bed, Henry could make me come so easily, as if it was second nature to him. And that night, he didn’t stop until he’d done it three times.

  I could barely move when Henry finally got up from his spot between my legs. He propped my feet up on the arm of the couch and scooted on his knees across the carpet to the other side, where my head propped against the other arm.

  “You’re trying to kill me,” I groaned.

  Henry chuckled and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Yes, but it will be a glorious death.”

  He stood. I got a look at his excitement before he zipped his jeans back up. “I’m gonna go take a shower now, sweetheart. See you in the morning.” I watched him walk toward the door. Then he turned and looked back at me again. “Oh, and pick out the best of your films to show me, Chels.” After he said this, his gaze lingered on me, lying there, fully satiated and completely naked. “God, you’re beautiful.” Then, he turned and left.

  ****

  One month, one week, two days ago—Minneapolis, Minnesota

  I’d spent the next two days after the incident in Indianapolis feeling guilty. On the orgasm scoreboard, Henry was getting completely ripped o
ff. I realized part of the problem was I had been letting Henry take the lead in all of our encounters. Which was not like me, not at all. In fact, I tended to be the aggressor in my sexual relationships.

  When I really analyzed the situation, I decided it was because I’d never been in any kind of sexual situation where I was so unevenly matched with my partner. I’d dated men who were great people, often great in bed, but not the finest physical specimens. Henry’s sheer hotness intimidated me. And his desire for me baffled me.

  Regardless of why Henry was attracted to me, he was. And, God, I felt like one lucky woman. So, when on our first day of shooting in Minneapolis Henry pulled me into a janitor’s closet while everyone else went for lunch, I took over.

  I pushed him up against the only wall in the cramped room not covered in shelving and kissed him hard. His hands went to my ass, and he let out a little moan as I straddled one thigh.

  “God, Chels. You are freaking amazing,” he breathed as I moved my mouth to his neck.

  I quickly unbuttoned his jeans and stuck my hand inside. I’d seen the hard length of him beneath a pair of cotton underwear, but actually getting my hands on it made the sheer size so much more real. My mouth spoke before my brain could get control over of it. “Jesus, Henry.”

  He moaned again and pulled my mouth back to his with one hand behind my head. I pulled his jeans down his thighs, followed by his tight boxer briefs. Henry was huge and hard and downright delicious. Once I had him in my hands, I wanted more. So I dropped to my knees.

  “Chels, wait,” Henry breathed, placing one hand on my cheek and gently pushing me away from him. “You don’t have to do that. I just want to give you a quick orgasm.”

  “No, Henry. This time, I’m going to give you an orgasm.” I pushed his hand aside and plunged him into my mouth all at once.

  “Holy shit!” he cried. “Chels…oh God!”

  Henry kept up a litany of moans, groans, and expletives while I played with him. I had no doubt anyone out in the hallway would know exactly what was happening in this closet. When he came, he screamed out my name. I felt like the queen of the freaking world.

  ****

  One month and one week ago—Minneapolis, Minnesota

  We were wrapping up the editing on the Midwest episode. Henry, Tom, and I were scrunched around a set of monitors that had been set up on a table in a small conference room at the hotel for us. Steve had been in briefly, told us what he wanted, then left us to do the work.

  We collaborated, ignoring Steve’s instructions and putting together an incredible show we all felt good about. But throughout the process, as the three of us shared about six square feet of space. Henry and I were constantly coming into physical contact with the brush of a hand, knees rubbing together, forearms sliding past one another. It was a million little touches, and each one made my stomach tighten and my body warm.

  By the time we were finally done, I felt like I was on fire. Despite the late hour, Tom suggested we have a celebratory drink. But I couldn’t fathom spending any more time in Henry’s presence having to behave myself. So I begged off, saying we’d get that drink after we showed the episode to Steve. Tom and Henry agreed, and we all retired separately to our rooms.

  I’d only been in my room for about twenty minutes when there was a knock on my door. I’d been about to get in the bath, so I slipped on the fluffy white robe provided by the hotel and went to the door.

  I paused for a brief moment, my hand on the doorknob. It was very likely Henry on the other side of the door. I wore only a robe. I was still completely turned on from earlier. It would be wise to tell him to go away or maybe even not open the door at all.

  But I opened it, swinging it wide. Henry walked in, shut the door behind him, and pulled me into his arms. I kissed him hard, fast, and deep. Everything I wanted had walked right into my arms.

  “Oh my God, you’re naked,” Henry breathed as he untied the robe and slipped it off me.

  I was vaguely aware of a strange rustling noise that couldn’t have come from my robe. But it was hard to concentrate as Henry ran his magical hands up and down my body and slid his lips along my neck.

  “I was just about to take a bath,” I told him breathlessly.

  “Hmmm” was his only response.

  I heard the rustling again and felt something brush my side. My gaze swept down. A plastic bag swung from Henry’s right elbow. The bag was shaped as if it held one relatively small object sitting in the bottom of the bag.

  I pulled back so I could concentrate long enough to ask Henry a question. “What’s in the bag?”

  Henry looked into my eyes as if he were examining me, watching for my reaction as he said, “A box of condoms.”

  “Thank God,” I said, moving back to take his mouth with mine.

  Chapter 13

  I woke up tangled in Henry’s arms. I lay there for a while, listening to his breath, feeling the warmth of his chest against my back.

  We’d crossed a line that night, a big fat one. We’d acknowledged it after we’d made love. But we didn’t really discuss it. Then we’d stayed in bed watching television for a while before having sex all over again. Henry had spent the night, and I hadn’t complained.

  But as we’d lain there, both slowly drifting off to sleep, I’d realized everything was at stake. Things were far more tenuous than Henry realized. It wasn’t just that our friendship, which was essential to us both, was at risk because of what we’d done. Significantly worse was that I had fallen in love in Henry Rushton.

  The panic had bubbled up in me for a moment before I gave in to my exhaustion and the utter relaxation that came from hot sex and comfy cuddling and fell into a deep sleep. Once I woke up, though, I was back to full-blown panic mode.

  I had never in my life fallen in love with someone. I’d had a couple of men claim to love me. But I didn’t feel the same way, and I’d ended things with them. Those were the men I’d never seen again.

  I was absolutely certain I was wholly alone in these feelings. And I had to tread lightly here. I couldn’t lose my friendship with Henry over my own inappropriate feelings. I couldn’t do that. It would break my heart.

  “Hey,” he said groggily, placing a kiss on my cheek.

  “Hey. I’m starving.” I extracted myself from his arms and moved to the side of the bed. “You need to take me to breakfast,” I told him as I looked around for my clothes.

  “You were just wearing the robe when I came in,” Henry said, guessing what I was after.

  I spotted the robe on the floor over by the door. “Oh yeah. Well, I’m going to shower,” I said casually. “Be back here in twenty minutes to take me to breakfast.”

  Without looking at him, I walked into the bathroom and leaned over, my hands planted on the sink. I gazed into the mirror. I looked like I’d just had sex with my best friend, twice. My hair was crazy mussed up, the curls flying everywhere. My eyes were bright, and my lips looked a little swollen.

  “What the hell did you do?” I asked myself.

  I could hear Henry moving around in the next room, so I turned the water on in the shower. Like all the others, this was a pretty nice hotel and rather than a tub/shower combo, this bathroom had both a Jacuzzi tub and a stand-up shower. I glanced briefly at the still full bathtub I’d abandoned last night before pulling the tub’s drain and walking into the shower. I shut the opaque glass door behind me just as the bathroom door opened. My skin jumped.

  “Henry?” I called.

  He didn’t answer, instead he opened the shower door and walked right in.

  “What are you doing?” I asked while simultaneously looking him up and down. I couldn’t help it. Naked Henry was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  “Taking a shower so I can take you to breakfast,” he said, fully stealing my water.

  He stood under the showerhead. The water cascaded down his long hair and over his strong shoulders. Streams of clear liquid poured over the muscles of his chest and lower, t
o his six-pack, and lower still. My gaze followed its flow.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  My head snapped up. He was watching me, his brow scrunched up.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re shivering, Chels.” He took me by the shoulders and turned us so I was under the hot water and he stood where I’d just been. “Skinny girls,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Whatever. We can’t all be covered in muscle.”

  He snorted and grabbed the shampoo. He poured an ample amount into his palm then stuck the bottle on the shelf behind him.

  “Hey, maybe I need some,” I complained.

  “This is for you. Turn around.”

  Like all women, I’d dreamed of the day I would meet a man who voluntarily washed my hair without being asked. It was right up there with a man who liked to give oral sex. Apparently, in Henry, I’d found both.

  With a deeply satisfied sigh, I turned my back to him. I heard him lather the shampoo in his hands, then he started to work it into my hair. And it really was everything I wanted it to be.

  I let out a little moan, which prompted Henry to pull me to his chest. “Jesus, Chels. I love your sounds.” His soapy hands moved out of my hair and down over my breasts.

  “We really have to talk, Henry,” I said slowly, still languishing in the sensations he was causing.

  “We will, Chels, over breakfast,” he whispered in my ear. “But first…” He turned me around so I faced him, and he started to kiss me.

  I knew I should have resisted. We needed to talk, badly. And continuing down this path without so much as a decent conversation about it was not going to help. But I couldn’t seem to muster the will. So when Henry pushed me up against the wall and cupped my ass, I wrapped my legs around his waist.

  Henry whispered in my ear. “Don’t move. We have to make it the bedroom where the condoms are.”

  I stayed wrapped around him like a spider monkey as he shoved the faucet knob down before securing me in his arms and walking us both into the other room. Still dripping wet, we collapsed on the bed, our mouths fused together in a searing kiss.

  Henry pulled away from me long enough to search for a condom on the bedside table. I used the opportunity to kiss his neck, still slick with warm water. Once he had the thing out of its package, he rolled over so I was on top of him.