Come and Get Me

by Julie Cannon

  “Dinner would be great. I’ll call you when I get in.”

  Thursday could not come fast enough. “I’ll talk to you then. Have a safe trip.”

  “Thanks.” Lauren hesitated. “Elliott?”

  “Yes.” Elliott could tell by her tone that there was something else Lauren wanted to say. After several seconds of silence, she prompted, “Lauren?”

  “Yes, I’m here. Sorry.” Lauren cleared her throat as if she had something important to communicate, then seemed to cut herself off. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

  Disappointed that Lauren didn’t finish what she was going to say, Elliott said, “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Me too.”

  Lauren hung up and took a deep breath. Her nice, orderly life had suddenly been turned upside down by Elliott Foster. She knew how exhausted she would be after three days in Chicago; she had back-to-back depositions that would last well into the evening hours, and even though she traveled quite a bit, she always had difficulty sleeping in hotels. However, the idea of being with Elliott banished those thoughts. She stared at the button blinking on her phone and wished she had been able to find the words to express the one small worry she had about their plans.

  Most of the time, she didn’t give a second thought to the difference in their relationship histories, but she thought they should be honest with each other. Elliott had been open with her, but Lauren had avoided making personal disclosures. The past just didn’t seem that relevant to what she felt now. There would be an opportunity to get her minor confession off her chest, she decided, probably during their dinner. Right now, she wished she could call Elliott back, just to hear her voice again.

  Feeling foolish about this teenage urge, she forced her mind back to her work and lifted the phone. “I’m back. Sorry for the interruption, gentlemen. Now, where were we?” Lauren was all business again. Yeah, right. Two minutes ago I was almost having phone sex and now I’m talking to a bunch of fifty-year-old gray-haired white guys.

  *

  The Boeing 757 taxied at a snail’s pace toward the arrival gate. Lauren had made this flight more times than she could count but this return trip had seemed longer than most. She was in first class and the man seated next to her had snored the entire flight. After three days inside a stuffy conference room drinking stale coffee, taking depositions, and generally putting up with bullshit from the defense attorney, her nerves were fried and she was beat.

  But her energy level lifted along with the top of her flip phone when she dialed Elliott’s number. “Hello, Teresa? It’s Lauren Collier. Is she in?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Collier, but Ms. Foster is out of town. She asked me to forward you to her cell phone. Will you hold while I connect you?”

  “Certainly.” Her spirits took a nosedive as she waited for Elliott to come on the line. She had looked forward to this evening all week.

  “Welcome home.” Elliott’s melodious voice made Lauren’s pulse rate increase.

  “Thanks.” The background noise she heard coming through the phone sounded all too familiar. “Where are you?”

  “Charles de Gaulle Airport.”

  “You’re in Paris?”

  “Oui,” Elliott replied. “I’m standing in line at customs. Actually I’m joined by about a thousand of my closest friends, also standing in line at customs.” By her count, over half the custom booths were empty, and those that were staffed appeared to be having problems with the passport screening equipment, increasing the wait time to enter the legendary capital even more.

  Lauren did a quick count of the days and time zones and frowned. “Are you going in or coming out?”

  “Unfortunately, going in.” Elliott was not happy about having to leave the country on the day that Lauren was returning. “It was totally unexpected. A client on one of our major accounts is meeting some investors here and at the last minute he decided he needed my help, specifically my presence. So here I am. A command performance, if you will. If this guy wasn’t worth a bundle to me I would have told him to go fly a kite, but I couldn’t. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course I understand.” Lauren ruefully remembered how many times she had boarded a plane a few hours after being notified she was going somewhere. Out of necessity she’d learned how to pack quickly and travel light. She tried to hide the disappointment in her voice but she was suddenly too tired to be successful. “The same thing has happened to me more than once.”

  “Lauren, I am just as disappointed as you are, believe me. I’d much rather be having dinner with a beautiful woman than room service.”

  “I’ve been to Paris, Elliott. There is no shortage of beautiful women you can dine with.” And that worries me.

  “But none of them are you,” Elliott replied softly, realizing her statement was honest and not just fluff to keep a girl on the hook. She really did want to see Lauren again.

  “Thank you, that’s a nice thought.” Lauren sighed over the missed opportunity. “If we can’t even find time to talk to each other, how are we ever going to…” She stopped when she realized what she was about to say.

  “Going to what?” Elliott prompted.

  Have sex for hours. “Spend time together,” she said hesitantly. Her mind swiftly filled in the gaps.

  “And do you want to spend time together, as you call it?” Elliott gripped the phone tighter, her feet rooted to the floor.

  “You know I do.”

  Elliott’s crotch started to throb. She was often aroused in an instant at the sight of a woman, or from her touch, but very rarely from her words. Along with the pulsating sensation came a warm glow that spread throughout her body. “Lauren, I…”

  The rest of her sentence was muffled and it was several moments before she came back on the line. In the interim Lauren could hear her talking to someone in French.

  “Lauren, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. I’m at the window and the customs agent is telling me I have to hang up or he won’t stamp my passport. I’ll call you just as soon as I get to my hotel. Gotta run. Bye.”

  And just like that she was gone.

  *

  Elliott did call Lauren that night, and several other nights while she was in Paris. Since she had to be in Europe, she decided to take advantage and research prospective leads. Two weeks later she had eight new clients and had secured financing for a major development project for another one. All in all, she was pleased and it was a very productive trip.

  Although her schedule was busy, she did find the opportunity to mix business with pleasure, dining with old friends and a few women who made it perfectly clear that they were willing to be her new friend, at least for a night or two. She had been to Paris on many occasions and found that French women were fabulous in bed. They had no inhibitions, were very creative, and left the next morning with a kiss on the cheek and an au revoir.

  On her last evening in the City of Light, Elliott decided to take one up on a tempting offer, and so far she was finding Isabella an entertaining companion. The music was slow, the lights were dim, and Isabella was soft and responsive in her arms. There were times when Elliott wanted a slow, seductive evening, and other times when all she wanted was a good fuck. This evening she was definitely in the mood for the latter, and by all indications Isabella was more than willing to comply.

  Ten minutes after their hot, slow dance, she was walking the short distance to Isabella’s apartment near the Palais de Justice. Isabella’s hand was heavy on her arm and she chatted the entire way. The sidewalk was crowded with boisterous tourists and Elliott was jostled several times, once so hard she almost lost her temper. She could not help but compare this uneasy stroll with the last time she had walked with a woman on her arm. That evening had been tranquil and she and Lauren were almost alone. Elliott had been as comfortable with the silence then as she was irritated with the noise now. I wonder if Lauren’s ever been to Paris with a lover.

  The thought drew a surprising response from her: instant dismay and some
thing approaching resentment. She didn’t want to think about Lauren in anyone else’s arms. Steps loomed ahead and she forced herself to pay attention to her surroundings. Isabella opened her apartment door and barely waited for it to swing shut behind them before she pounced on Elliott, smothering her with kisses. It wasn’t as if Elliott didn’t expect to be kissed, but she was still thinking of Lauren so her reactions were slow. Isabella asked her something and had to repeat it before she answered.

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind. You just surprised me. This is exactly what I want.”

  Elliott let the chic French woman lead her across the room and through an open door. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness she took control. Her hands were steady as she unbuttoned Isabella’s blouse, and soon the floor was littered with their clothing. The bed squeaked under their weight and Elliott frowned at the irritating noise. Isabella rolled her onto her back and kissed her again. Elliott twisted her mouth away and wondered when Isabella’s kisses became sloppy rather than sensuous. She thought of the soft, feather-light kisses from Lauren and how aroused she became from them.

  “Ouch!” She was startled by a bite on her neck. Shit, that better not leave a mark. Try explaining that to Lauren. She froze, realizing what she had just thought. She didn’t owe Lauren an explanation. She didn’t owe her anything.

  “Are you with me, chérie?”

  The unfamiliar voice jarred Elliott back to the dark-haired woman hovering over her. Pushing thoughts of Lauren aside, she quickly switched their positions and showed Isabella just exactly how with her she was. Legs wrapped around her and the image of lithe, muscular limbs clad in silk popped into her mind. God damn it, Elliott, what in the fuck are you thinking? Pay attention.

  She had never been distracted while in the arms of a naked, beautiful woman, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Lauren. Although she had often used sex to disengage from herself or from the pressures of work, this time she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing something wrong. Her brain told her she wasn’t, but her gut was screaming just the opposite. Would Lauren be hurt if she knew I was doing this? Would she care?

  “Are you going to fuck me or the woman you’re thinking about?” Isabella demanded, clearly pissed off.

  Elliott could relate; she was less than thrilled herself. How dared Lauren control who she fucked? She did not need anyone’s permission to sleep with a woman, especially someone she hadn’t even slept with. It was none of Lauren’s business what she did in her spare time, and, if their roles were reversed it wouldn’t be any of her business who Lauren chose to sleep with, either.

  Elliott let her actions speak for her. She had Isabella writhing under her hands and mouth and Lauren was not going to interfere with her pleasure. Unfortunately she was dead wrong about that. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  She pulled away from Isabella, and after mumbling a sincere apology, picked up her clothes and got dressed. She did not even bother to button her shirt before heading out the door. Her head was pounding and her stomach was tied in knots as she walked along the Seine River back to her hotel. She was angry that thoughts of Lauren kept intruding while she was with Isabella and even more furious that she could not stop it from happening, but what disturbed her most were the feelings she was having about Lauren. She felt guilty about the entire evening with Isabella and was even a bit jealous imagining Lauren with someone else.

  The cool Parisian air chilled her body, but the relief only seemed skin deep. She was still churning hotly inside. The full moon lit up the deserted streets, providing ample light for her to see. It was after 2:00 a.m. and she did a quick calculation to determine the time in California. She wondered what Lauren was doing. Was she still at work? Was she having dinner alone or with someone? Stopping under a lamppost on the Quai des Orfevres, she reached for her phone.

  *

  Elliott awoke on the plane to the smell of breakfast and was not surprised that she had dreamed of Lauren. For a moment she experienced a pang over her episode with Isabella but she quickly pushed the feeling aside as ridiculous. After trying unsuccessfully to reach Lauren the night before, she had walked for hours on the streets, circling her hotel until exhaustion finally drove her inside. Methodically she had showered, packed her bags, and waited for a taxi to take her to the airport.

  In the first class lounge, waiting for the flight to depart, she had come to a decision. She rarely felt guilty about her sexual activity and was not about to start now. She was not committed to any one woman and, as far as she was concerned, that meant she was free to see anyone she wanted.

  Elliott sighed and put her tray table down. And it just so happens the only woman I want to see is her.

  She dozed intermittently during the rest of her long flight home, cleared customs quickly, then headed straight to her office from the airport. She would face jet lag later. Even though Teresa took care of urgent matters, she knew her desk would be piled with work, and even though it was Friday and she could spend the whole weekend catching up, she hated when work got out of control. The sooner she made some headway on the backlog, the better.

  Piled was an understatement. Elliott scanned her calendar for the next few days and choked on her coffee when she saw the HRC dinner penciled in for tomorrow evening. Holy shit, how could I have forgotten! She was a big supporter of the Human Rights Campaign and had attended the annual dinner for the past ten years. She quickly dialed Lauren’s direct line from memory, praying that she didn’t already have a date for the night.

  “I have no excuse for not inviting you sooner, Lauren,” she said when the voice mail bleep sounded. “I’m sorry for the last-minute call, and I’d understand perfectly if you had other plans…”

  “Elliott?” Lauren picked up. “It’s all right. I understand and I’d love to go with you. The HRC dinner, I assume?”

  “Yes, tomorrow.”

  Lauren paused. “It’s good to have you home again.”

  “It’s good to be here,” Elliott said vehemently. She tried to find the words to express just how good it was to hear Lauren’s voice and to know they were in the same city and would soon be seeing each other again.

  “Pick me up at seven. And don’t be late,” Lauren added teasingly, perhaps to lighten the mood.

  “Yes ma’am, I’ll be there.” Elliott had never felt so relieved to have a date in her life.

  Chapter Eight

  They made a striking couple on the dance floor. Lauren wore a midnight blue silk tuxedo and a white vest with no blouse. Elliott’s royal blue bow tie contrasted nicely against her white dinner jacket. They danced well together and moved gracefully across the floor. Elliott was a strong lead and Lauren felt as light as a feather in her arms. When the music slowed, she drew Lauren closer, and their hips swayed sensually to the melody. Elliott had felt an initial awkwardness when she picked Lauren up, still guilty over the debacle with Isabella in Paris even though she’d convinced herself the feelings were irrational. She could barely look Lauren in the eye even when they entered the reception hall, but after dinner, she’d invited Lauren to join her on the dance floor and the feelings had passed.

  Lauren wrapped her arms around Elliott’s neck, pulling her closer. She felt Elliott take a quick breath in surprise, then the warm arms she was waiting for encircled her waist. “That’s more like it,” Lauren murmured into Elliott’s shoulder. “Traditional dancing is fine, but sometimes I just want to dance close like this.”

  Lauren’s warm breath on her neck sent shivers down Elliott’s spine. “I like it too. Particularly when it’s you I’m holding.”

  She dropped her hands a little lower on Lauren’s back, lightly grazing the top of her butt, and not for the first time, Elliott noted how their bodies fit together almost perfectly. Several minutes into the song Lauren lifted eyes bright with desire and lips asking to be kissed. Not being one to require that a woman ask twice, Elliott slowly lowered her head. Lauren’s kisses were as soft as she remembered, and this time the memory was sweet.
Lauren nibbled on her bottom lip, and Elliott had to restrain herself from deepening the kiss even more. She wasn’t sure how she remained upright and guided them around the other dancers on the floor by instinct.

  Lauren’s senses filled with the musky smell of the woman in her arms. Her back burned under Elliott’s soft caresses. But it was the taste of Elliott’s lips that had her full attention. Elliott’s kiss was soft and tentative at first, then insisted she become an active participant. Lauren was more than willing to comply; she felt safe and warm. Her hands drifted into Elliott’s hair and pulled her closer as she took control of the kiss. She didn’t have much more than a brief chance to enjoy the taste of Elliott before they were jolted apart by the blaring voice of the DJ announcing the next song.

  If she didn’t want Elliott as much as she did, Lauren thought the passion she saw in her eyes would be frightening. Her legs shook and Elliott’s guiding hand on her elbow was comforting as they returned to their table. Elliott resumed chatting with friends and colleagues, making every attempt to include Lauren in the topic. Yet Lauren had trouble assembling her thoughts. She made a few intelligent comments but most of the time she was content to let the discussion wash over her. There was no point trying to concentrate on politics or social issues when all she wanted was to be in private with Elliott so they could pick up where they’d left off two weeks earlier.

  One by one, their tablemates drifted away until finally they were alone. The night was cool but Lauren felt quite warm. She removed her jacket and slid it over the back of her chair, then stood, reaching for Elliott’s hand. “Let’s dance.”

  But Elliott didn’t move.

  Sweet Jesus! The back of Lauren’s vest was completely devoid of fabric, exposing her smooth, tanned back and shoulders. She couldn’t catch her breath, and the only thing she heard was the blood roaring through her ears. Muscles danced under the exposed flesh, and a small tattoo on Lauren’s right shoulder blade dared Elliott to step closer to make out exactly what it was. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t think, and she couldn’t do anything but stare with her with her mouth gaping open.