Faking It d-2

by Jennifer Crusie

  She moved with him, feeling the pressure build, rolling in his heat. “I’m a forger,” she whispered in his ear, and he held her tighter and pulsed deeper. “My family… has been bent… for four centuries.” He bit her neck and she shuddered under him. “We’ve been wrong… forever.”

  He raised himself up over her, pressing harder and making her gasp, and then he smiled down at her, his eyes hot and his face flushed. “Matilda,” he said, moving against her. “My grandmother was a Gypsy. We stole nails at the Crucifixion. Beat that.”

  She rolled her hips to bring him closer, putting him on his back, rising up to straddle him, feeling him deep inside her as his fingers bit into her again.

  “I painted the Scarlets,” she said, rocking them both toward mindlessness, feeling him everywhere as her body flushed and swelled. “My mother painted Homers. My grandmother painted Cassatts. My great-grandmother-”

  “Thank God there were a lot of you,” Davy said, gripping her tighter.

  “My great-grandmother,” Tilda said again as her muscles tightened inside. She stopped, savoring the tension, knowing the screaming would start soon. Oh, this is going to be good, she thought, and looked down at Davy, strong and hot and holding on to her as if he was never going to let go.

  “Don’t tell me Great-grandma was straight,” Davy said, his breath coming hard. “I was hoping for centuries here.”

  She leaned down slowly, feeling her blood thicken in her veins, and she kissed him, long and deep. “My great-grandmother Matilda,” she whispered against his mouth as she began to move against him again, “sold a fake van Gogh… to Mussolini.”

  “Good for her,” he whispered, watching her.

  “It was a bad fake,” she said, the edge sharpening inside her.

  He arched against her, and she choked as she felt him deep inside.

  “It was a terrible fake.” She breathed in again, her skin damp with anticipation, her eyes on his. “Anybody could have told it was fake.” There, she thought as he moved, there. “He must have been insane.”

  He moved against her, intent on her mouth. “Did she look like you?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes half-closed. Almost, almost. There. There.

  He curled up against her, making her cry out as he wrapped his arms around her. “Was she naked when she sold it to him?”

  “Yes,” Tilda said, choking on the heat. “Yes.”

  “I’d have bought it, too.” He rolled to trap her underneath, and she felt herself against him, digging her nails into him and biting his shoulder as the spasm started, clutching at him as he held her down, trying to consume him, devour him, possess him, taking him for everything he had while he took her and she lost it all, over and over and over again.

  When she could think again, she felt him shaking on top of her and realized he’d come, too, that part of the shaking was her, that he was holding on to her like death, and that she didn’t care about anything except having him again.

  “Christ,” Davy said finally, still trying to breathe.

  “I want to do that again,” Tilda said, around her own gasps.

  “Yeah,” Davy said, gasping into her neck. “Me, too. Maybe next week.”

  “That was so good,” Tilda said, stretching under him. “Oh, God, that was really good.”

  “Have I mentioned,” Davy said, still trying to breathe, “how pleased I am… to meet your family? God, I hope there are thousands of them.” He kissed her hard. “You’re good at this, Scarlet.”

  “Not lousy,” Tilda said.

  “World class.” He dropped his head back into the hollow of her neck. “I think you left marks.”

  Tilda held him tighter as her breathing slowed. “I think you did, too.”

  “That’s so I can find the way back. Damn, you’re good.”

  “Oh, stop.” Tilda tilted her hips so he rolled off her, and then followed him to keep his heat. “You’d think you’d never had sex before.” She licked into his ear, so besotted with his body that she wanted to start at the top and keep going.

  “Not like this,” he said, and she lifted her head to look at him. “There was a real quality of insanity there, Scarlet.” He took a deep breath. “I usually don’t fear for my life during sex but…”

  “Oh.” Tilda grinned at him, exhausted and exhilarated. “Thank you. That’s so sweet.”

  He laughed and pulled her back to him, holding her close. “Maybe we could pace ourselves. There were so many things we could have done that we didn’t get to.”

  “Really?” Tilda said, brightening at the thought. For the first time the unknown seemed interesting and inviting instead of dangerous. “Give me some examples. I’m suddenly feeling very open-minded.” When he didn’t say anything, she propped herself up on one arm and saw him frown. “What?”

  “That was it, wasn’t it?” he said, and she tensed again. “That’s what’s been wrong all along. You’ve been scared this whole time, haven’t you? Of me finding out.” He waved his hand to take in the basement. “About this.”

  “Yes,” Tilda said. “God, this is such a relief. But you can’t tell anybody. Not even Simon. Promise.”

  “I promise,” he said. “Why?”

  She thought of the Scarlets and the shame and the disaster of being found out, and the glow slipped away.

  Davy held her tighter. “Never mind, forget I asked, don’t look like that, Jesus.”

  He pulled her back down and kissed her hard, and she said, “Just don’t tell,” and he said, “Never,” and kissed her again and again until she relaxed beside him.

  “It’s okay.” She pushed herself up again. “I’m okay.”

  “You’re better than okay,” he said, following her up, not letting go. “You’re…”

  “What?” she said, and realized he was looking past her, at the Scarlets lined up along the wall. “What?”

  “They’re you,” he told her, still holding on to her as he stared at them. “All that color and light and anger and sex. They’re all you.”

  She looked at the paintings, trying to see them the way he did, without guilt and pain, and they were beautiful, full of laughter and passion and joy.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he said, still looking at the paintings.

  “Oh,” Tilda said and felt something give way inside.

  He turned back to her and smiled into her eyes. “Scarlet,” he said, savoring her name as if he were tasting it. He bent close to her. “Matilda Scarlet Goodnight. Her work.” He kissed her gently.

  I love you, she thought and kissed him back, naked and unashamed.

  Chapter 17

  T HE NEXT MORNING, Tilda met eve over muffins in the office.

  “My God,” Eve said when Tilda smiled at her, practically bouncing on her heels. “What happened to you?”

  “Me?” Tilda tried to tone down her beam. “Davy got the last Scarlet back. I’m free.”

  “And what did he do after that?” Eve said.

  Tilda got the juice out and poured. “Oh, we talked some. He figured out I’m Scarlet.”

  “Really.” Eve’s smile faded. “Was he upset?”

  “Not so’s you’d notice,” Tilda said. “It turned him on.”

  “Everything about you turns Davy on,” Eve said. “This is not news.”

  Tilda choked on her juice, surprised. “Davy? No.”

  “Yes,” Eve said. “He’s blind with it, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.”

  “Well, last night he figured it out,” Tilda said, grinning again in spite of herself.

  “Really,” Eve said. “That good?”

  “Really that good,” Tilda said, looking out the door to the gallery. It was still full of her furniture, but it was also bright and clean and full of light, and she thought, I love this place. Thank you, Davy.

  “He wasn’t mad,” Eve said.

  Tilda put her glass down. “Tell Simon you’re Louise.”

  “No.” Eve got up and put her own
glass in the sink so Tilda couldn’t see her face.

  “It was a real turn-on for me, too, Eve,” Tilda said. “I didn’t have to be afraid anymore once he knew it all.”

  “That’s when I’d start to be afraid,” Eve said.

  “No,” Tilda said, leaning closer. “That’s when you’re free. When there’s one person you can tell anything to, and it won’t matter because he understands you.”

  Eve took a step back and shook her head. “I think you may be overreacting here.”

  “I don’t think so,” Tilda said. “I think-”

  “That this is it?” Eve rolled her eyes. “You’ve known this guy two weeks and this is it? The real thing?”

  “I don’t know about that,” Tilda said, a little taken aback by how cold Eve was. “I don’t know if it’s true love forever. He’s definitely not a fairy-tale prince. But I trust him. I know him.”

  “No you don’t.” Eve turned away from her again. “You never know anybody. You just guess.”

  “All right,” Tilda said, more worried than insulted. “Are you coming to the opening tonight?”

  “I think Simon is expecting Louise,” Eve said, sounding a little tired. “She told him she was getting off early because she wanted to catch the last of the opening.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Louise.”

  “I want to catch the last of the opening,” Eve said.

  “Well, give Louise the night off, then,” Tilda said. “Come as you are.”

  Eve shook her head. “She’s got a really nice dress.”

  She straightened a little. “You know, she’s got a dress that would be good for you, too.”

  “Like I could get into Louise’s stuff,” Tilda said. “The only reason I can wear yours is that you buy everything two sizes too big.”

  “This one’s loose,” Eve said. “Sort of drapey.”

  “Drapey?”

  “Well, it doesn’t have a back.”

  Tilda thought of Clea Lewis. “What color?”

  “Blue,” Eve said. “Midnight-blue like the Scarlet skies.”

  “I’m in,” Tilda said and started to follow her out the door, only to stop when they met Gwennie, very pale, carrying the bank bag.

  “What’s wrong?” Tilda said.

  “The mortgage.” Gwen dropped the bank bag on the desk and sat down on the couch. “I tried to put the money from last night on the principal, and they wouldn’t let me.”

  “Why not?” Tilda said. “Nobody could buy that mortgage, we’ve been making the payments.”

  “It’s been paid off,” Gwen said, looking like death.

  “Paid off?” Tilda said.

  “Really?” Eve said, cautiously delighted. “Really, it’s gone?”

  Gwen looked at her and shook her head.

  “Who?” Tilda said.

  “Mason,” Gwen said. “It has to be Mason. He’s the only person we know with six hundred thousand dollars and a yen to run an art gallery. It has to be him. And I think he wants to marry me.”

  “Oh,” Eve said, sitting down beside her. “Well, we’ll just give the money back. Unless you like him.”

  “He’s nice,” Gwen said.

  “Nice.” Tilda sat on her other side. “Gwennie, you cannot marry for nice. Or for six hundred thousand dollars. Tell me you’re not thinking about doing this in some insane bid to save the plantation. Because it’s not necessary. We can give the money back. We’ll be out of debt in-”

  “About forty years,” Gwen said. “But no, that’s not why I’m thinking about doing it. Mason is sweet.”

  “Sweet is good,” Tilda said doubtfully. “I mean, definitely when I decide to settle down, I’m doing the muffin thing.” She thought about Davy. If she stretched the definition of “muffin”…

  “That’s Mason,” Gwen said. “All muffin.”

  “I’m just saying, maybe not this muffin.” Tilda took her hand. “He’s just a little… bland for you. He’s bran, you’re orange-pineapple.”

  “Muffins are bland,” Gwen said. “If they’re not bland, they’re just doughnuts without holes.”

  “Well, take him for a trial run first,” Eve said. “Even for six hundred thousand dollars, you shouldn’t have to be bored in bed.”

  “Right,” Tilda said, looking at her sister in disbelief. “Good advice, Louise.”

  “We’ll be just fine,” Gwen said, standing up. “Uh, how exactly do I ask him if he paid the mortgage?”

  “He’ll tell you,” Eve said, still channeling Louise. “Guys love to tell you stuff like that.”

  UPSTAIRS IN Simon’s apartment, Davy said, “What would you think if I paid off the mortgage on this place? Don’t tell Tilda.”

  “I’d think you were insane,” Simon said. “Why would I tell Tilda?”

  “You told Louise we worked for the Feds,” Davy said.

  “It seemed like a good idea,” Simon said. “You’re not serious about that mortgage?”

  “Pretty much. I gather you told Louise you were a Fed, but you didn’t tell her you were a thief?”

  “Good God, no.” Simon sat on the edge of the table. “About that mortgage. I think we’ve been here long enough. What do you say we go back to Miami?”

  Davy felt like punching him. “You know, the thief thing would have turned Louise on a lot more than the FBI.”

  “She’d have told Eve,” Simon said. “It’s been two weeks. Time to go home.”

  “She did tell Eve about the FBI,” Davy said. “Who told Tilda. Who told me last night, which is when I realized why she’s been avoiding me. She thought I was an agent. You screwed up my sex life.”

  Simon got up and pulled his suitcase out from under the bed. “I don’t see how.”

  “I feel strongly,” Davy said, “that if somebody is going to lie to my girl, it should be me. That way none of us gets confused.”

  “Your girl.” Simon shook his head. “We are definitely going back to Miami.”

  “And leave Louise?” Davy turned to go.

  “I’m ready to go,” Simon said. “You got your money back-”

  Davy turned back. “Do not mention that to anyone!”

  “Interesting,” Simon said. “I would think that would turn Tilda on even more than the FBI.”

  “You don’t know Tilda,” Davy said. “I mean it. Nobody finds out.”

  “You’re a lot easier to live with in Miami,” Simon said. “ Ohio makes you tense.”

  “Not really,” Davy said, thinking about Tilda upstairs. “Have you ever met a woman you wanted to give everything to? Just turn over everything you had?”

  “No,” Simon said. “Being of sound mind, of course not.”

  “Me, either,” Davy said. “I’d have told you that Clea was the great love of my life, but I never felt the slightest urge to buy her a diamond.”

  “Smart boy,” Simon said.

  Davy sat down on the edge of the bed. “I looked at that money in my account last night and suddenly felt this overwhelming need to pay off Tilda’s mortgage.”

  “So we should be leaving now,” Simon said, opening his suitcase. “A good time was had by all. Cheerio.”

  “It was only six hundred thousand.” He shook his head. “And then later…” He looked at Simon. “Did you ever watch a woman in glasses strip to ‘I Can’t Stay Mad at You’? Dumb song, but Tilda can sing the hell out of it.”

  “I’ll make the reservations.” Simon picked up the phone. “Would you like me to hold on to your checkbook for you?”

  “No,” Davy said. “Look, I can afford it. It would be a generous thing to do. I still haven’t paid for the bed.”

  “Do not give money to women,” Simon said as he dialed. “They either take it badly, or they take it and want more. You can’t win.”

  “I could tell her it was an investment.”

  “In a broken-down art gallery that is rapidly going to the dogs that even she doesn’t want anything to do with? No.” Simon spoke into the phone. “Hello, lo
ve, it’s me, your favorite client. How fast can you get Davy and me on a flight to Miami? Out of Columbus.”

  “I have to go see my sister on Sunday,” Davy said.

  “Out of Columbus on Sunday night,” Simon said into the phone.

  “You know, a smart guy could make this place work,”

  Davy said. “Put in a little capital, start the old razzle-dazzle-”

  “Absolutely not,” Simon said to him, and then spoke into the phone again. “No, not you, darling, that sounds brilliant. Two tickets, one-way.”

  “Simon, I already did it,” Davy said and Simon hung up.

  “ Sandy ’s got us on the ten o’clock direct flight on Sunday,” he said briskly. “That’ll give you time to see Sophie, and me time to say good-bye to Louise. In fact, why don’t you go see Sophie now? Spend the weekend?”

  “Because the opening is tonight,” Davy said. “Did you hear me? I transferred the money to the Goodnights’ loan last night. It’s done.”

  Simon crossed his arms. “You did. And what did Tilda say?”

  “I didn’t tell her,” Davy said. “It’s going to be hard to explain.”

  Simon nodded. “Because many women, when given large sums of money, expect that the giver will stay around for a while.”

  “Well, yeah.” Davy stood up. “Actually, I’m thinking about staying.”

  “No you’re not,” Simon said with heavy patience. “You’re thinking about sex.”

  “Go away,” Davy said, wanting to punch him because he was probably right. “It’s Friday. I have to call my sister.”

  “Much better to go see her,” Simon said, “now,” but he left as Davy punched the numbers into his cell phone.

  “Tucker residence,” Phin said, and Davy thought, Oh, hell, not you.

  “Harvard, old buddy,” he said. “It’s me. Sophie around?”

  “Nope,” Phin said. “Council meeting. She’s going to come home bitchy, though, so I’d try again tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” Davy said. “Don’t tell her I called in case I can’t get back right away.”