Facets

by Barbara Delinsky

  The bills came in, and the pressure mounted, although no one would have guessed it from the calm and confident way John carried himself. It wasn’t part of his persona to look worried. Not once in any social conversation did he give the slightest suggestion that Facets was treading on shaky ground. That wasn’t anyone’s business but his own. Still, the pressure was there, making him tense deep down inside.

  It was only natural that he should want a woman to divert his anxiety. Although his sexual appetite had been on hold in the months following the accident, it had returned in bits and pieces, and was back with a vengeance now.

  Patricia was lost to him. She refused to see him—not that he wanted to see her either. She was a blemish on his record, a miscalculation on his part. Every time he saw how shattered she was, he remembered the cause. The accident wasn’t his fault, of course. He hadn’t been driving the car. Like the affair, the accident was Eugene’s fault. Eugene had driven them to sleep together.

  Now there were other women, strangers to him, whom he bedded. Having one woman, one night, added to the mystique of John St. George. It also kept him safe. He didn’t want any woman getting close enough to interfere with his plans for the future. He didn’t want any woman getting under his skin, discovering his needs, finding that he wasn’t made of steel after all.

  Hillary already knew that, which was one of the reasons he kept returning to her. She was privy to his past and wasn’t part of the crowd he was trying to impress. She wasn’t part of any crowd at all. Although she had plenty of friends, they were from diverse groups. She was an individual in that sense, which definitely fit into his plan.

  “I like you, Hillary,” he told her one night. They were lying among the twisted sheets of her bed, their lovemaking so recent that their bodies were still damp with sweat.

  She lay on her stomach with her head turned away, but she faced him at his comment. “Thank you, John. It’s nice of you to say that.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?” Usually he could tell, but her voice was faintly muffled by the pillow.

  “No. I’m serious. It is nice of you to say it. You don’t usually say things like that.”

  He took a long drag of his cigarette and let the smoke linger in his lungs before sending it out in a leisurely stream. “Does it bother you?”

  “When you say it? Of course not.”

  “When I don’t say it. Does it bother you that I’m not a big one for sweet words?”

  “No. It bothers me when you don’t call me for weeks and weeks, then expect me to think that you haven’t been with other women in between. I’m not stupid. I know the score, and it’s fine, John. Really it is. You have a right to do what you want. I have my own life, too. I’m not climbing the walls waiting around for you.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that. “You see other men?”

  “All the time.”

  “I mean socially. Sexually. Are you sleeping with other men?”

  She lifted one bare shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I have.”

  He breathed in another lungful of smoke, exhaled it. “Are you now?”

  “I’m with you now.”

  “How many? When you’re not with me, how many are you with?”

  “At a time? Only one.”

  “You know what I mean, Hillary. How many other men are there?”

  Again she shrugged. “Two, maybe three in the last year.”

  He was annoyed to feel so bothered. “Are they as good as I am?”

  She turned her head away again, but not fast enough to keep him from seeing the small, smug twitch of her lips. Snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the night stand, he kicked aside the tangled sheet and came over on top of her. Grabbing her wrists from under her breasts, he pinned them high to the sides.

  “Are they?”

  “You’re crushing me, John.”

  “I’m not crushing you. You’re used to my weight. Are you used to the other guys’ weights, too? Do they do it to you like I do?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said primly.

  “No?” Releasing one of her hands, he slid his own beneath her. It cupped her breast, rolled over her nipple, slid down her belly and between her legs. “Do they light a fire down here?” he murmured in her ear. His voice was deeper. He felt himself growing hard against her bottom.

  “A fire? They’d have to do that, now wouldn’t they, if they wanted me wet.”

  His stroking fingers told him that she was plenty wet for him then, but she always was. “Do you come?”

  She was a minute in answering. Her voice was a little higher. “I try.”

  He increased his penetration. “Once? Twice? More?” He bit on her earlobe, then sucked it hard into his mouth.

  “John,” she whispered, “what are you doing?”

  “I want to know what it’s like with them. Do you cry out the way you do with me? Do you ask them to do it harder?” Spreading his hand over her belly, he drew her to her knees.

  “John, no,” she began, but his fingers continued to stroke her and her next breath was a helpless moan.

  “Do you let them do this?” He touched her where he knew she was ultrasensitive and, at the same time, probed for entry.

  “John, don’t—”

  But he was rock hard, needing to take her this way. “No, you don’t let them,” he whispered hoarsely, nudging deeper and deeper inside her. “You don’t, because this is our way.”

  “You’re hurting me,” she whimpered.

  “Only because you’re fighting it. Don’t resist. Take it easy.” He withdrew, then pushed back into her. The pleasure was so intense that his voice was little more than a growl. “That’s it. That’s it.” He felt her hand covering his between her legs, pressing, rubbing, all of which excited him more, but when she began to move against him, drawing him in deeper, holding him there, he lost all thought of caution. With her cries of pleasure ringing in the air, he thrust into her again and again, harder and harder, until he felt sure he’d split her apart. His climax was long and hot. She was trembling when he finally pulled out.

  “Help me,” she whispered, turning under him and reaching for his head. He lowered it, took her mouth in a savage kiss, then moved down her body. With the same savageness, his mouth brought her to one climax, then another. By that time he was rock hard again, so he entered her that way and brought her to yet a third. Their bodies were hot, slick, and spent by the time they finally sank back against the pillows.

  Closing his eyes, John let his pulse calm while he listened to the way Hillary panted, mixing sighs with low moans of pleasure. He loved the sound. It was one of the ways she was different. She wasn’t ashamed of taking her pleasure. She didn’t try to hide it. She let him do what he wanted, and she enjoyed it. Not all women did.

  “So,” he said. “I ask you again. Are they as good as I am?”

  It was a minute more before she caught her breath enough to answer. Looking up at him, her dark hair a riot of tangles exotically framing her face, she whispered, “No one is as good as you are, John. You can bet that if I ever find one who is, I won’t be waiting around for you anymore.”

  He saw the same twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Bitch.”

  “You’re full of compliments today. So what brought on the first? What prompted you to tell me you like me?”

  The comment had come in the aftermath of passion, when his defenses were down. She’d been an outlet for the tension that had built inside him for a long time, and he had felt relieved.

  Hoisting himself up against the headboard, he reached for another cigarette. “I just realized that I did, so I thought I’d say it.” He flicked the silver lighter that she kept around for his use, and talked with the cigarette in his mouth. “You’re easy to be with. You don’t make demands. I like that.” He drew deeply on the cigarette, only then taking it in his hand.

  “Go on.”

  He was feeling mellow enough to indulge her for once. “You don’t cling
. You don’t curl up on top of me after we’ve made love, like you’re afraid I’ll run off somewhere if you don’t.”

  She gave a throaty laugh. “If you wanted to run off, I wouldn’t be able to stop you. Besides, I’m hot and sweaty. The last thing I want is to curl up on top of you.” She ran a hand under her breasts to catch the dampness there. “Go on. Tell me what else you like.”

  “You’re independent. You have your own life. You work.”

  “For what that’s worth. It doesn’t seem to be getting me far.”

  He didn’t expect that it would. Newspaper journalists were a dime a dozen. The ones who made it big were aggressive to the point of ruthlessness. They had guts and grit. Hillary might be independent, but she wasn’t sharp-edged. Not that he minded. He didn’t want her name in lights. He wanted her to stay the nobody she was. She wasn’t any threat that way.

  Knowing that she wouldn’t understand his line of thinking, he said, to mollify her, “You haven’t been at it long.”

  “Three years. I think I’ve been stereotyped. The assignments they give me are fluff pieces. I need a change.”

  “To a different department?”

  “To a different paper.”

  “You’re at the best Boston has.”

  “New York’s got a lot more.”

  “New York?” He grunted. “Don’t start in on that again.” Annoyed, he took another drag on his cigarette.

  “It’s just a thought.”

  But he worried that it was more than that. “Not a terribly good one. Living in New York is different from living here, Hillary. For every dollar more you earn, you’ll need two to maintain the same standard of living.”

  “I don’t care how I live. It’s the professional opportunity that I want. I want to be somewhere I’ll be noticed.”

  “You think you’ll be noticed in New York? Think again. New York is big business. Hundreds of people wanting to be noticed step off planes there every day. You’ll be the smallest fish in the biggest pond in the world.”

  “But I’m a good writer. All I need is a chance to show the world that.”

  “So they all say.”

  She propped herself on an elbow to face him. “Do you have a problem with my trying to make a name for myself?”

  “Of course not. But if you go to New York, you’ll be setting yourself up for a fall. I know New York, Hillary. New York won’t take kindly to girls from Timiny Cove.”

  Her mouth grew tight. “I’m from Boston now, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a woman.”

  “I’m the one who made you a woman. How could I not notice? And I just told you I like you. So why do you want to change things?”

  “Because I want to be someone. You should be able to understand that. You’ve spent years working for a name and an image. Is it so wrong for me to want the same thing?”

  Dropping his cigarette in the ashtray, he drew her to his side. “I want you to stay the way you are. I like you this way. Why do you think I keep coming back?”

  “Because the others won’t put up with you the way I will.”

  “The others would love to put up with me if I’d let them, but I won’t. I’ve never had a relationship with another woman like the one I have with you.”

  “Not even with Patricia?”

  He went very still. Of course, she’d known. She had been around the house a lot during that time, and she wasn’t blind or dumb. But she hadn’t mentioned it before. If she was hoping to one-up him, though, she was in for a let-down. He had no intention either of denying what he’d had with Patricia or of apologizing for it.

  “Not even with Patricia.” Setting her aside, he climbed from the bed and went to the window. He drew the sheer drape back only enough to give him a look at the alley. It was a bleak view, oddly compatible with what he felt inside when he let memory take him back. “Patricia was weak. She had to be protected from every little fear. She wanted to know all about the business, but she couldn’t take half of it.”

  “Do you discuss the business with other women?”

  Letting the drape fall back into place, he turned. “No. It has nothing to do with them.”

  “It has nothing to do with me, either.”

  She was propped against the headboard the way he’d been moments before, looking lazy and replete. The fact that she wasn’t rushing out of bed was another of the things he liked about her. She didn’t jump up to smooth her hair or repair her makeup or take a shower. She was perfectly content to linger with the sight and scent of their sex-play on and around her.

  Looking at her, the pique he felt at the thought of Patricia began to ease. “I tell you about the business because I trust you. I trust that you won’t take what I say and turn it against me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that!”

  “That’s what I just said.” He came back to the bed and reached for another cigarette, but she snatched the pack from the nightstand.

  “You’re smoking too much.”

  “It relaxes me.”

  “Why are you so tense?”

  Staring her down, he held out a hand. When she put the pack of cigarettes in it, he shook one out, lit it, then sank onto the edge of the bed with his back to her. “I’m human. I have pressures like everyone else. Right now, they’re pretty heavy.”

  “Is there a problem with Facets?”

  “Nothing that time won’t fix.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He was a minute in answering, reluctant to air his worry but, finally, wanting her encouragement. “We spent a lot of money getting started. It’ll be a while before we show the kind of profit I want.”

  “You knew that would happen.”

  “Anticipating it is different from living through it. I’ve done a lot with the business since I took over, but it’s not easy. There’s always a risk that something unexpected will happen. I’m the guy in charge. It’s my future that’s on the line if something goes wrong.”

  Her voice was closer, bolstering him in the irrationally effective way that neither his banker nor his lawyer nor his accountant, for all their facts and know-how, could do. “It’s a super idea, Facets is, and it’ll be a huge success. You’ve done it right, John. You don’t need to worry.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. He felt her hand on his shoulder, working tension from the muscles there. He couldn’t have taken it from another woman, but Hillary had just the right touch.

  “You’ll see,” she went on in that same gently enthusiastic voice, “the profits will come rolling in pretty soon, and then you’ll be thinking of opening another store. Is New York next on the list?”

  He’d been so embroiled in establishing the flagship Boston store that it had been months since he’d thought ahead. But New York was the one. “If all goes well.”

  “So. You set up your New York store, and I’ll get a job with one of the papers there, and we’ll see each other the way we always have.”

  Grabbing her hand, he hauled her around his body and onto his lap. “Dammit, you had that whole conversation planned.”

  “I did not!”

  “Then why did it wind up so conveniently in your favor?”

  “Because it makes sense. Doesn’t it?”

  He didn’t answer. The feel of her naked hip against his naked groin was arousing, as was the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, the musky scent surrounding them both. So he kissed her hard by way of punishment for her good sense, then kissed her hard again by way of recognition of her sexiness, then kissed her hard a third time by way of expressing the unbridled desire that her sexiness sparked. His last thought before he tumbled her to the floor was that he would enslave her to keep her in Boston until he was good and ready to let her go to New York.

  Four months later, when plans for the New York store were still in the dream department, she went. John supposed that he might have been more attentive during those four months, but a string of social engagements had kept him busy. He hadn’t had time for her. We
eks had gone by when he had been so engrossed in all Facets was becoming that he didn’t think of her. Then, typically, when the pressure built inside him, when he found he needed someone to talk to, when he found himself hungering for the fire that only she had, he called.

  She didn’t complain. She didn’t nag or whine or ask why he hadn’t called sooner. She gave him her all for the weekend that he spent at her apartment. Three weeks later, she moved to New York.

  He knew that it was revenge, and it infuriated him. Pam had been the one—what pleasure she’d gotten from that—to hand him the new address. Hillary hadn’t even had the guts to tell him herself.

  So he fought fire with fire. He didn’t call, didn’t try to see her, although he was often in New York buying gems. Two months went by, then a third and a fourth. He tried to fill the gap with other women, but no one excited him for longer than an evening. There were none of the prolonged orgies he and Hillary had, none of the wild, impulsive couplings where he could really let himself go and pour everything he had into uninhibited sex. That wasn’t part of the image. Nor was talking over his worries. He missed Hillary for that, too. When she had lived in Boston, she was his for the taking. When the mood hit, he could be at her apartment within the hour. He couldn’t do that now. Seeing her required forethought, which was an annoying imposition.

  After stewing about that imposition for a good long time, he finally capitulated and called her, which annoyed him all the more—which in turn meant that when they saw each other for the first time in New York, he had a plethora of anger and frustration to slake on her. It made for hot, hard, heavy sex.

  Hillary didn’t complain. She was as hungry as John was, which told him that she hadn’t yet met anyone to take his place. Buoyed by that thought and by the fact that she had received him with open arms despite the long silence, he returned to Boston feeling smugly content. She had been right after all, he realized. It didn’t matter where she was. They could still see each other.

  In some respects, having her tucked away in New York was very convenient. It meant that he could move freely through the Boston social scene without worry that he’d be associated with her. No matter how sophisticated she became, she was still from Timiny Cove. She wasn’t part of the Facets lure. She didn’t have the sparkling clear shine that his future did.