by Fox, Sylvie
“I’m sorry,” she said because she couldn’t say what she thought he wanted to hear.
He pushed her sunglasses up and leaned forward, kissing her with tenderness, warmth, and love.
“Don’t be sorry. I didn’t tell you how I felt because I had any particular expectations. I just needed you to know how I feel about you. All I want is that we can keep seeing each other. I don’t want to spend my nights without you.”
Women got it all wrong. Lust was a lot easier than love. It was a pure, clean feeling with no expectations. He might think he was in love, but she was definitely in lust. She grabbed his face and kissed him hard, as she wanted to be kissed, a frenzied mating of lips and tongues. She snaked her hands under his maroon knit polo, loving the smooth warm skin pulled tight over the corded muscles of his back and the smooth plane of his chest, but she couldn’t get enough. She put her hands into the oversized pockets of his cargo shorts, caressing his erection through the cloth.
He pulled his mouth from hers, his breathing labored. “We need to finish this inside.”
By the time they’d completed the short walk from the back yard to her bedroom, neither had a stitch of clothing left.
She wanted to give him pleasure. Blindly, she sank to her knees, lightly scraping her fingers down his chest as she went. She wrapped her hand around him, and sucked his cock into her mouth, loving the taste, the texture, the feel of this man. She pulled at him with her lips and swirled against the head with her tongue, feeling his hips jerk involuntarily with almost every movement. She moved her other hand up his thigh enjoying the friction of the light dusting of blond hairs, and fondled his balls as gently as she could. He almost came apart at that moment.
He pulled her up. “Sunflower, I’m going to come too fast if you keep it up. Let me…” He paused, stroking her hair from her face. “Let me make love to you.”
Just when she thought she’d put the past behind her, her nervousness and fear returned fourfold. She’d have been all right if he just wanted to fuck her. Make love seemed more intimate somehow.
His hands sliding down her chest and probing her center brought her attention squarely back to the moment. He pushed first one finger into her, finding her slickness. Another followed. When he kneeled before her, she felt suddenly boneless, and fell forward using his wide shoulders to brace herself.
She was glad for the support when he pressed his face against her trimmed curls, and blew a breath against her sex. He hadn’t even touched the center of her and she felt like her heart was going to stop. Sex couldn’t kill a person, right? He pushed his head deeper between her thighs, using his tongue to lap against the sensitive skin of her nether lips. His fingers made love to her, pressing against the nerve bundle on her inner wall. Then he sucked the swollen bud of her clitoris between his lips, flickering his tongue back and forth across the sensitive nub.
Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave. She gasped his name over and over as a flood of pleasure rolled over her. He retreated slowly, pulling her down to the floor for a deep kiss. Her smell and taste surrounded them, enveloping them in the heady musk of great sex.
She pushed him onto the solid oak planks, and pulled a condom from the bedside table, sheathing him first in latex, then with her sex as she took him in one deep plunge. He grabbed her hips and they found a rhythm that was hard and fast and suited them both.
Ryan pulsed inside her as he shouted upon his release, and Sophie was surprised to feel a smaller second orgasm hit her at that same moment. She fell forward onto his chest, their hearts beating in unison. After a few long minutes, he started caressing her back lazily.
“You’re an amazing woman,” he said, the timbre of his deep voice vibrating against her chest. His hand stopped the lazy circles he had been drawing on her back and came to rest against her hip, embracing her. He might as well have said those three little words again, the tone of his voice was such that she heard them anyway in everything he said.
She eased herself from him and started to stand. He caught her hand and looked at her, his eyes serious. “I love you,” he said again with finality. The look in his eyes made her look away.
“Let me get this pink stuff out of my hair. Maybe we can do something fun with what’s left of the weekend,” she said flippantly over her shoulder. She closed the bathroom door and sank down on the closed toilet seat. What in the hell had she gotten herself into? She turned the shower on full blast. Steamy air fogged the mirrors. Happy she couldn’t see her own expression, she stepped into the scalding shower.
Ryan had just finished cleaning up in the guest bathroom and was zipping his cargo shorts when Sasha barked. The doorbell pealed a second time before the sound registered. He looked back toward the bedroom and listened—the shower was still going. Well, he’d just have to answer it.
He opened the door to reveal a striking blonde, impeccably dressed. Without a shirt, he suddenly felt very exposed.
She gasped, but quickly regained her composure. Her hand shot out to shake his.
“I’m Sophie’s sister, Selena. And you are…” she trailed off expectantly.
“Ryan Becker.” Remembering his manners, he shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. Why don’t you come in and let me go put a shirt on,” he said, spying his red knit polo dangling from the edge of the coffee table like a matador’s cape. Suddenly, he saw what she would see first and scooped up their various clothes scattered around the room haphazardly and sprinted to the bedroom. “Sophie’s in the shower. She’ll…I’ll, um, let her know you’re here,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Selie smirked. “I’ll just make myself right at home.”
Sophie was toweling her hair dry when Ryan slammed the door and unceremoniously dropped their clothes on the unused bed. “Your sister is here,” he announced.
Sophie closed her eyes for a long moment. She slowly lifted her lashes, looking at him, resigned. “I gather you’ve already met her,” she said, looking down at his bare chest. He nodded, rubbing a hand across his pecs self-consciously. “Great. Okay. Well.” She exhaled a long breath. “Let’s just get this over with.” She pointed her small index finger at him. “You, put on a shirt and charm her. I’ll get dressed.” She shook her head. “It’s just one big family reunion today, isn’t it?”
Ryan emerged, fully dressed, every hair in place, this time the confident attorney. Selie had poured herself a glass of ice water with a slice of lemon. She was sitting at the dining room table flipping through a fashion magazine. She must have brought it with her. He’d never seen a magazine in Sophie’s house. “Sorry about that earlier. It’s nice to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand yet again and settling in a chair across from her. “Sophie’s told me a lot about you.”
Selie looked up from her reading and glanced at him pointedly, her blue eyes cool. “I’m sorry, I can’t say the same.”
Spying the dog, Ryan scooped her up. “Have you met Sasha?” Selie gave the dog a couple of quick cursory pats. Clearly, she wasn’t the dog lover in their family. “We found her on the one-oh-one—that’s how Sophie and I met.” He put the dog back on the floor and Sasha went back to her survey of the floor looking for whatever it was dogs looked for.
Selie’s eyes sparkled with interest. “So…you’re the suit. Then I can say, Sophie’s told me a little about you too. Tell me you’re not a lawyer.”
What was it about the Reids and “suits”? He had an honest job like so many other people. They acted like he ate kittens for lunch. Ryan glanced over to the bedroom, hoping Sophie was coming out soon to save him from this odd conversation.
“I am. I’m in the corporate department at Equia.” Turned out Selena knew several of his attorney colleagues and they talked a little shop, Ryan feeling far more comfortable on this topic.
Sophie finally emerged from the bedroom, hair gelled severely, in full gothic makeup, dark eyes and lips, and with a ring in every body piercing. She had become so natural with him that he’d forgotten about this particular
armor she wore.
She hugged her sister around the neck quickly. Ryan could see the resemblance between the women. He would agree that Selena was more of a classic beauty, but he found Sophie’s clear gray eyes and red-gold hair far more alluring. “What in the heck brings you by?” Sophie asked before settling across the dining room table, arms wrapped around her knees, bare feet propped on the chair cushions.
Selie smirked knowingly. She quirked an eyebrow the same way Sophie did. “You weren’t answering your phone all weekend.”
“We were in Big Bear, hiking and stuff. I just turned it off.” She looked around the very quiet house. “Where’s Madeline?”
“She’s at home with Rob. She needs all the daddy daughter time she can get.”
“Mmmm hmm.” Sophie nodded. They looked at each other communicating without words from years of practice. “No, I’m not doing it.”
“C’mon. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll just put both our names on the invitations and all you have to do is show up a little early. I thought we decided it was time.”
The silence stretched between them again. Ryan looked back and forth between the sisters, their faces both stubbornly set.
“I hate to butt in, but what are you guys talking about?”
Selena patiently explained their father’s lifetime achievement award from the bar association and the party their mother wanted them to host.
“I think you should do it,” Ryan said unequivocally.
Selie smiled. “I agree with your boyfriend here. He’s a smart one, a definite keeper.”
“He’s not…we’re not…” Sophie protested.
Ryan tried not to visibly react to her words, though they stung. He thought they were something to each other after this weekend. But if she didn’t think so, that was another conversation for another time. Definitely not something they should talk about in front of her sister.
Selie appeared to be looking meaningfully at something, and Ryan and Sophie both looked in the direction in which she was staring. Ryan had left Sophie’s underwear hanging from the tall stool abutting the kitchen during his speedy clean up. He stood and grabbed for the white cotton briefs before stuffing them in his pocket.
“I must have misunderstood. I just assumed…” Selie trailed off.
Sophie wished fervently that she was in a cartoon and could use a pencil to draw a trap door that would open in the floor and swallow her whole. “If you can promise me it won’t be an entire evening of them talking about what I should really be doing with my life, I’ll do it. Get Mom to promise me that, and that she’ll run interference with Dad and I’m on board.” She banged her hand on the table with finality. “Those are my conditions. Plus they will not say anything about how I’m dressed.”
“Deal.” Selie stuck out her hand across the table and Sophie shook it. “I’ll make sure Mom agrees. I’ll e-mail you the details. It’ll either be at the club or their house, we haven’t decided, but it’ll be formal.”
“Of course. They wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her family acted like they were from prim and proper Boston, not laid back California. But she’d learned a long time ago it was best to go along.
Selie looked at her slim diamond and platinum watch. “Hey, I’ve gotta go before Maddy convinces her father to buy her a pony. Walk me to my car, sis.”
It was so obvious her sister wanted to quiz her on the semi-dressed man who had appeared in the living room. Selie leaned against her Mercedes E-Class sedan, the car so clean that she was not worried about getting a speck of dirt on her white polo dress. Sliding her fashionably oversized glasses down her nose, she pierced Sophie with her blue eyes.
“A little stove-top stuffing?”
“You are not funny.”
“So?”
“It’s just a little fling.”
“With a suit? This is so out of character for you, I don’t know whether to applaud or have you committed.”
“A girl’s got needs, and can’t always be picky.”
“You should bring him. Mom and Dad would love him.”
Sophie gagged. “I’ll be there alone. No need to subject him to their scrutiny. It’s not like we’re serious or anything.”
“He looked serious.”
“He looked half-naked.”
“Mmmm.” Her sister nodded non-committally. “I’ll e-mail you. You should come by and see Maddy one of these days. She loves you, you know.”
“Yeah, quirky aunt and all that. I’ll definitely stop by if I’m off this week. I know I don’t always show it, but I love being her aunt. I miss her too.”
She hugged her sister, more heartfelt this time. Selie pulled away and Ryan came down the walkway with the phone pressed to his ear.
“I have to go,” he mouthed, while yessing the person on the other end of the phone.
Suddenly cold, despite the warm weather, Sophie hugged herself. Ryan gave her a brief, distracted kiss, and slid into his car. He waved, preoccupied, then pulled away from the curb.
Walking toward the house, Sophie rubbed at the goose bumps along her arms. The sex was great. Really, really great when she relaxed. So why did no-strings sex leave her feeling so bereft?
Chapter Eleven
Strike. One word dominated print and television news. The Sunday night TV anchors spun hair-raising tales of the effects a strike by the I.A.T.S.E. could have on the industry and local economy. If productions shut down, they warned, thousands of local residents could lose their jobs and the metropolitan economy billions of dollars.
Sophie was deeply ashamed of herself for neglecting the business side of her job. Caught up in the whirlwind of sex and screaming orgasms with Ryan, she hadn’t been keeping on top of what was going on right in her own backyard. Okay, she’d definitely been on top of Ryan after an episode in the backyard. But she hadn’t been keeping an eye on industry gossip or the trades. Despite the dire predictions from the press, she wasn’t too worried about an imminent strike.
Every union in Hollywood renegotiated their contracts every three or four years—the writers, the directors, the actors, even the Teamsters. Strikes rarely happened. When contracts were set to expire, the local news stations rehashed the same old sensationalist stories on what a strike could mean to the local economy. At the last minute both sides met at the bargaining table, hashed out, and signed a new contract very much like the old one. Almost always.
Her phone rang, shaking her from her reverie. Maybe she needed a new ringtone. This damned Snoop Dogg was going to give her a heart attack.
“Hey, Sam,” she said, eyeing the caller ID. She tried not to sound let down.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you since Friday. You haven’t been answering.”
Sophie had turned off her phone in order to focus completely on Ryan and his promise to make it a weekend she would remember. Too bad he hadn’t blocked out the outside world. They could be together right now, making up for a lifetime of missed orgasms.
“You’re still not answering now,” Sam said, jarring her into the present.
“Sorry. What’s going on?”
“Umm. The strike, Sophie. Have you watched the news, looked at the papers? I know we were sort of joking about it a few weeks ago, but it looks like it’s really going to happen this time. Our contract expires at midnight—tonight. I’m hearing that we won’t have to show up for calls on Monday. I’ve talked to a bunch of people and they’re really worried about putting food on the table or making it through the holiday season without a paycheck.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions until we get the skinny. Has local 706 called a meeting?” she asked, attempting to soothe Sam’s fears. The last thing she wanted was a bunch of frenzied co-workers on her hands—when they had no individual decision making power. “Even though the union has strike authorization, the leadership promised they’d come back to us to get our input on whether to strike.”
“I understand all that. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a lot wo
rried,” Sam was working himself up, on the edge of hysteria. It was a sad day when she was the coolest head in a group of artists.
“Look, let me see what I can find out. Can you wait until tomorrow morning?”
“I don’t think I can sleep. Can you call me back as soon as you find out anything, no matter what the time?”
Sophie agreed, ending the call.
Months ago, she’d taken on the task of strike captain, should negotiations falter. She scrounged through the pile of call sheets, make up, and art supply catalogues on her desk, until she found the phone tree for Local 706 and made a few calls. The good news was that she wasn’t too late. Union reps had been calling everyone but hadn’t gotten to the R's yet. A strike vote meeting started in a couple of hours.
The auditorium was buzzing with frenetic activity when Sophie eased her way down a crowded row to the one available seat she could find. The meeting started out with a slick, music enhanced PowerPoint presentation of all the demands the union was making: pay keeping pace with inflation, limiting the number of hours a studio could demand from them, and requiring larger contributions to cover ever escalating healthcare costs. From the murmurs of assent, it was clear that everyone agreed with the union’s agenda.
Disagreements started when it was time to decide how to reach those goals. About half the members were ready to put down their brushes, pick up their placards, and strike. They vowed to push the producers and studios to the wall, holding out for the best possible deal, no matter how long they had to strike or what they had to sacrifice to get it. The other half were ready to compromise or do whatever it took to stay on the job and keep the paychecks coming in.