Something flashed in her eyes. “Yup. Going great. How about you?”
His masculine pride wished he could say, Yeah, women are lined up ten deep outside my apartment, but he wasn’t about to lie to her. Still, now that he had time, that situation was about to change. Especially with his trip to Europe. He was a mere plane ride away from gorgeous women lounging on exotic beaches. Ibiza, the French Riviera. Oooh, yeah.
“Everything’s great. You know, doing the bachelor thing.”
“Anyone special?”
“Nope.”
“Hot date tonight?” she asked in a teasing voice.
“Nope.”
“C’mon. I bet there’re probably women lined up ten deep outside your door.”
He swallowed his laugh at how precisely her words had echoed his thoughts. Right from day one of their friendship it had been almost eerie how they’d so often been on the same wavelength. “Not quite ten deep,” he said with a smile. “My only date tonight is working at the studio to help Nick get caught up on paperwork.”
“Bachelor-man doing paperwork on a Saturday night?” She made an exaggerated show of looking him over. “Unless your character has taken a total dive south, you’re a fairly decent guy. Reasonably attractive. Heterosexual. Financially secure. Just the sort to attract a woman or two. So what’s the problem?”
“No problem. Just taking a night off from the usual bachelor frivolity to help out a friend.” Right. No problem. Except I haven’t been able to think of anyone except you for the past week.
And it suddenly occurred to him that she’d been in his thoughts for a lot longer than the past week. She’d always been there, lingering in the back of his mind, and he’d compared every woman who’d come after her with the standard she’d set. As of yet, no one had surpassed it. If he was brutally honest, no one had even come close.
Shaking off that disturbing realization, he said, “So tell me, how did you and…what’s his name?”
“Greg.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“He’s an attorney. We met at a house closing.”
“How long ago?”
“Eight months.”
“Is it serious?” He congratulated himself on his light tone, which was in such total contrast to the inexplicable tensing of his every muscle while he waited for her reply.
She tapped the corner of her mouth with her napkin, pushed her empty plate to the side, then reached for the manila envelope. “I’ll let you know after he sees these,” she said with a teasing wink.
What the hell kind of answer was that? Surely if they were serious, she’d have just said yes. Yet, he couldn’t see her posing for such sensual photos for a man she didn’t have deep feelings for. Still…she hadn’t said yes, they were serious.
A flicker of something that felt suspiciously like hope flared to life in his chest, a tiny flame that he could neither blow out nor ignore. What was he-insane? He didn’t want her to be available. If she was available, that would totally screw up his travel plans. Again.
Wouldn’t it?
Hell, yeah.
Hell, no.
Why would it? If she was available, they could have a fling. She is not a fling sort of woman, his inner voice said. Totally true. Mallory was a forever sort of woman.
Which would be crappy timing because he was not currently a forever sort of guy. No, sir. Not him. He was footloose, worry free, Bachelor Number One, on his way to Europe for his dream vacation. She craved stability and for the next three months he’d be living out of a suitcase. Hell, in six months he wouldn’t have a place to live. For all he knew, he might very well be running a tiki bar in Hawaii. So yeah, it was good she had a boyfriend. Yup, sure was. So he just needed to put all these crazy thoughts out of his head. Now.
Forcing himself to remain silent so as not to bombard her with more questions about her relationship, Adam ate his last onion ring and watched her look over the proofs, noting the flush that crept up her face. He tried to recall the last time he’d seen a woman blush and realized it was exactly one week ago. While he’d taken Mallory’s pictures.
The urge to reach out and brush his fingers over that enticing wash of color gripped him, and he wrapped his hands around his frosty shake glass to keep from doing so. Unfortunately the chill did nothing to cool the heat nipping at him.
After taking a long, cold, chocolaty sip, he said, “You’re blushing.”
A self-conscious-sounding laugh escaped her. “It’s just kind of embarrassing that you’ve seen me in my lingerie.”
Mallory in her lingerie… Good God, he wasn’t going to survive this. He unobtrusively shifted to lessen the growing discomfort in his Levi’s. “At the risk of sounding crass, which is certainly not my intention, I’ve, um, seen you in less.” And damn it, the image those words brought to mind did nothing to lessen his discomfort.
Her blush deepened. “Right-almost a decade ago. While we were…”
“Sleeping together?” some devil inside him made him say when she seemed at a loss for words.
“As I recall, sleep had little to do with it.”
Touché. Damn, he felt as if he’d backed into a blowtorch. “Very little,” he agreed, his voice tight.
“Well, that was a long time ago. This is different. And in these pictures, I look so…”
“Sexy?”
Her gaze shot up to his. “You think so?”
He mentally shook his head at the genuine questioning confusion in her eyes. “Hell, yes. Don’t you?”
“Well…yeah, I suppose. I’m just not used to seeing myself this way.”
“Believe me, Mallory, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
She studied the photos for several more seconds, then said, “You did a really good job.”
“Thanks. But it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the subject matter. I blew up the three I thought were the best into eight-by-tens. My favorite’s the last one.”
She looked at the prints, staring the longest at the last one, then raised her gaze to his. “Why do you like this one the best?”
Because when I took it, I fantasized that you were thinking of me. Remembering me. Us. How good we were together. Because I was remembering you. “I think it really captures you. Your many facets. I like your expression, the contrasts it shows. You look seductive, yet shy. Tempting, playful, yet there’s an air of innocence. I like the way your eyes are looking right into the camera. The way you seem to be saying, ‘I want you more than Hershey’s Kisses’-is that still your favorite candy, by the way?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be forever loyal to my Kisses.”
Eye on the ball, dude-don’t think about kisses. He nodded. “As I was saying, ‘I want you more than Hershey’s Kisses.’ Believe me, it’s a look that any guy would give a lot to inspire.” Me, for example.
The thought ambushed him and he had to clear his throat to locate his voice. “And the way your lips are slightly parted, just enough to issue an invitation, but not too much. You look great in all the pictures, but speaking as a guy, that one is guaranteed to knock his socks off.” It sure as hell knocked off mine.
She looked back down at the print and frowned. “I hope you’re right,” she murmured.
Adam’s eyebrows shot up at her softly spoken words, words that, based on her faraway expression, he wasn’t sure she even realized she’d said. Christ, if one look at that photo of her didn’t give George, or Greg, or whatever the hell his name was, an instant hard-on, the guy needed to check his pulse.
But her murmured words… Was it possible that all wasn’t perfect between her and what’s-his-name? If there was trouble in paradise… He pulled in a slow breath, and even though he fought it, a bit more kindling was tossed onto that internal fire, burning bright within him that-which-suspiciously-felt-like…
Hope.
She glanced at her watch. “I’m afraid I need to get going.” She looked beyond him, over his shoulder, clearly looking for their w
aitress.
Disappointment washed through him, a fact that annoyed him. It was definitely time for this torturous stroll down memory lane to end. “You can go,” he said. “I’ve got the check.”
“You don’t have to-”
“I want to. For old times’ sake. Besides, I have to stick around and order something to-go for Nick.”
“All right. Thank you.” She slid toward the edge of the vinyl booth. “Lunch was delicious.”
He rose then patted his stomach. “Sure was.” He nodded toward the envelope. “Let us know which of the proofs you want made into prints.”
“I will.” She stood, looking a bit uncertain, as if she didn’t know whether to shake his hand or kiss his cheek or what. He helped her out by leaning forward and brushing his lips lightly against her smooth cheek. For a brief second, his eyes involuntarily closed. God, she smelled incredible. Like flowers in sunshine. He felt her lips touch his cheek, then she stepped back. “It was nice seeing you again.”
“You, too.” Really nice. Far too nice. Which meant that he needed to let her just walk out the door. But that stupid flame still burned, so instead he found himself saying lightly, “Maybe we can manage not to lose touch this time.”
Instead of smiling and agreeing, a small frown furrowed between her brows. Then she flashed a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe,” she said in a tone that made the word sound more like I don’t think so. “But with all your traveling and the summer being my busiest time…”
Her voice trailed off and he swallowed a sensation that felt like disappointment but was surely really relief-especially as it irrevocably extinguished that ridiculous flame. He knew a kiss-off when he heard one-especially from this particular woman. Obviously he’d misread her and everything was fine between her and the boyfriend.
Really, he was relieved. Given his apparent strong attraction to her, seeing her again wouldn’t be wise.
“I understand,” he said, forcing a smile. “Here’s hoping you sell a bazillion houses.”
“That would be nice. Good luck with all your travels and finding a new career and a new place to live.”
“Thanks.” Unable to stop himself, he said, “And hey, if things don’t work out with George-”
“Greg.”
“Right. Give me a call.” He gave her a jaunty salute and shot her his best lighthearted wink. “I’ll treat you to another bacon cheeseburger.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She turned to go, and even though his inner voice warned him to remain silent, he found himself saying, “Six.”
She turned back, clearly puzzled. “Six? What does that mean?”
“That’s the number of times we made love that afternoon on the boat.”
She said nothing for several long seconds, the silence swelling between them, tense and thick. Then she murmured, “Goodbye, Adam,” and quickly wove her way through the labyrinth of tables.
He watched her walk away, his insides aching with a hollow sense of loss he wished like hell he didn’t feel.
When she reached the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. They stared at each other and he wondered if she could see the desire he suspected lingered in his eyes. Seconds later she exited, then turned the corner and was lost to his sight.
Yeah, she was gone.
Unfortunately, he suspected the memories of her would linger in his mind for a long, long time.
4
Saturday, 4:00 p.m.
MALLORY STOOD in the parking lot at her real-estate agent’s office and waved goodbye to her clients, the Langdons. The afternoon house showing had gone extremely well and the couple had made an offer on the Maple Drive split-level. Matching up the Langdons and their three school-age children with the spacious house with the big backyard situated on a quiet cul-de-sac had filled her with a deep sense of satisfaction.
For Mallory, uniting a buyer with the perfect place to live involved much more than just showing them a house-it was about finding them a home. In a neighborhood that suited their lifestyle. She accomplished that by talking in depth to her customers, asking them lots of questions, and really listening to their responses. The Langdons’ new home was only a short walk to the elementary school, and the school district was among the highest rated in the county. It was convenient to both shopping and the Long Island Railroad, which Mr. Langdon rode daily into Manhattan.
Entering the office, she spent some time trying to catch up on paperwork, but her efforts were thwarted when her mind kept wandering…to the same thing it had kept wandering to for the past week.
Adam Clayton.
She squeezed her eyes shut to banish him from her mind, but instead an image of him flashed behind her eyelids. And not just any image. No, a memory of him naked. In the shower. They’d driven to Philadelphia to attend a concert and had spent the night at a cheap motel. It was the first time they’d spent an entire night together. First time they’d made love in the shower. She could visualize him so clearly…rivulets of warm water meandering down his muscular and aroused body. His eyes dark with desire. Holding out his hand in an invitation to join him. Slick, soapy hands, wet bodies aroused, his slow glide deep inside her-
Her eyes popped open and a disgusted sound pushed past her lips. Good grief, what was wrong with her? This had to stop. Dwelling on thoughts of Adam, indulging in reliving memories of their affair, was accomplishing nothing except filling her with a deep sense of guilt. And unfulfilled sexual frustration.
Surely the only reason she couldn’t exorcise thoughts of Adam from her mind was that Greg had been away on a business trip to L.A. all week and she’d been lonely.
Hadn’t she been lonely?
“Yes, of course,” she said out loud to the empty room. “Loneliness, missing Greg-that’s been the source of my frustration and discontent.”
But the words roused her conscience, which forced her to admit that she’d actually enjoyed having a week to herself. Enjoyed not worrying about meshing her crowded schedule with Greg’s insane calendar. Enjoyed spending her evenings in peaceful silence, catching up on her reading. Cooking simple meals for herself or just ordering in. Hanging out in ratty old clothes.
Greg didn’t really enjoy quiet evenings at home. He preferred elegant meals at upscale restaurants. While Mallory definitely liked that once in a while, she also liked grabbing a pizza and popping a movie into the DVD player. Or just curling up with a good book. Greg liked being on the go. Driving into Manhattan to check out the latest club, bar or restaurant. Again-all fun, but she was definitely a girl who needed and enjoyed her downtime and beauty sleep, whereas Greg thrived on only four or five hours of shut-eye a night.
They usually got together two or three nights a week, then again on Saturday or Sunday evening. Greg complained that she worked all day on the weekends, but hey-she was a Realtor. Those were her two busiest days. Recently, on the odd evening she managed to talk him into staying in, he invariably ended up bored and channel surfing.
Of course, it hadn’t been that way when they’d first met. No, then he hadn’t minded so much staying in, and their sex life had been very good. Well, okay, it had been good. Oh, all right, it had been adequate. But Greg was a decent, intelligent, hardworking, attractive guy who’d persistently pursued her and she was willing to put in some time and effort to see where the relationship might-or might not-go. He was steady and stable. Dependable. He owned his own house. Had worked for the same law firm for the past ten years. Didn’t want to live anywhere other than Long Island. Wanted to raise a family here.
Not that they’d talked about marriage yet, but the subject would have to be addressed eventually. Not too long ago she’d considered broaching the future, but over the last few months, things hadn’t been going all that well. Greg hadn’t been as attentive, and quite frankly, neither had she. He’d been traveling to Los Angeles frequently, a couple of times spending the weekend there. Their sex life had, in her opinion, declined from adequate to per
functory.
Which had led her to Picture This. Which had led her to Adam. Unfortunate timing as he was the guy who’d set the bar for her sexual expectations-set it so high, no other man had ever come close. Which had led to a really confusing week where the more she tried not to think of her former lover, the more he invaded her thoughts. Which surely would change as soon as she saw Greg again and showed him the photos. Yes, surely that would get them back on track and light a fire beneath both of them. She wasn’t a quitter and wasn’t about to give up on a decent guy without trying simply because they’d hit a rough spot.
She and Greg had spoken over the phone several times this past week, but the time difference to the West Coast made it difficult to keep in touch daily. He was flying home tomorrow and they were meeting for dinner. She couldn’t wait to show him his present…
Her gaze drifted to the manila envelope on her desk. Unable to stop herself, she reached out. After opening the envelope, she slid out the photos and studied them carefully. And with each photo her discomfort and guilt increased.
Adam had said she looked sexy, and she couldn’t deny that she agreed. Sexy and…aroused. Which she’d definitely been. Which is precisely how she’d hoped to look.
Only problem was that it wasn’t thoughts of Greg that had inspired her arousal. It was memories of Adam.
“Argh!” She pressed her fingers to her temples in a fruitless attempt to change the direction of her thoughts then slipped the photos back into the envelope, where she couldn’t see them taunting her, whispering, Adam is the one you were posing for. Whose hands and lips and tongue you imagined touching your body.
Damn it, just as she’d feared, having lunch with him today had been a bad idea. An exercise in futility that had sorely tested her self-control. The effort she’d expended not to touch him, to keep her thoughts on track, to suppress the memories of their affair, to resist the urge to delve more deeply into his personal life, had left her frustrated and emotionally exhausted.
She absolutely shouldn’t have spent any more time with him-time that had only fueled more memories and fantasies. When his lips had brushed her fingertips while taking a bite of her onion ring, the vivid images pounding through her brain had stolen her breath. How many hours had they spent feeding each other? Everything from grapes to Hershey’s Kisses to French fries. It had become a game, a form of foreplay that had always ended with them making love. Feeding him today had resulted in a bolt of lust that had practically incinerated her. It had required all her willpower to hide her reaction, and she wasn’t certain she’d succeeded.
Why Not Tonight? Page 5