“My sweet Kari, do you know how you affect me? Do you know how I burn to be with you? I want to talk with you, cuddle with you, cozy with you and share the Sunday papers with you, sip coffee with you and eat dinner with you and sleep with you cradled in the crook of my elbow. But most of all, I want to make love to you.
“I want to trace up and down the length of your body with my fingertips and raise goose bumps on your silken skin. I want to trace the tips of your nipples and make those little bumps rise on your areolas. I want to kiss every inch of you and feel the dappled softness of your derriere, the giving flesh of your breasts, the firm protrusion of your pelvic bone, the warmth emanating from the secret place between your legs.
“I believe in preparing a woman first, not taking her in a rush. By the time I enter you, you’ll be begging me to satisfy you.”
“I’m begging you now,” she sobbed. “You have me in such a state, I can’t possibly last till this weekend.”
“My dear, I’m no torturer, but I’m also no magician. I can’t slip through the phone wires and magically appear at your end of the connection.
“I also can’t just pick up and drive over there tomorrow. There’s the matter of a little thing called work. I suspect you can’t easily get time off either. But the anticipation will whet our appetites for each other, and when we do get together, we’ll be that much more appreciative of each other, hmmm?”
“I doubt I could appreciate you by phone and modem any more than I do already. What I want now is to see you in the flesh, Max, honey...to touch you...to kiss you, cook for you, make love with you, laugh with you. To reach over and touch you whenever I want. Maybe then I’ll appreciate you more, but for that you have to be here....”
There was so much to look forward to, so much they could enjoy together: They would be able to share their bodies for real...and share a pot of coffee, and the Sunday paper, and a drive around her hometown, and conversation, and their aspirations, and stories of their childhood and families, and so much more, she thought.
“You are sweet, my dear, so sweet...and so desirable.” Max’s voice sounded tired now, but soothing and reassuring. Kari realized she was tired, too. The long day had taken its toll.
“I’m going to hang up now. Do you realize how long we’ve been talking? You’re worth every penny on my long distance bill, but you do need to get your sleep, and so do I. A sleepy stockbroker and a sleepy publicity writer are not going to do their jobs well in the morning. Good night, my dear, and sleep well. Dream only of me, and dream only sweet dreams.”
“No bad dreams for you either, tonight,” Kari instructed him mock-severely.
“I won’t be online in the morning,” Max said. “I have a seven o’clock business breakfast. But remember that I’ll be thinking of you. And I’ll be writing to you tomorrow evening. Do you have any plans for the evening?”
“Not a one,” Kari answered. “I’ll probably do laundry, balance my bank statement, that sort of thing. Maybe curl up with a good book.”
“What do you like to read? Never mind—we’ll be off and running, talking for another hour. Save it for one of the many things we’ll talk about when we get together. Meanwhile, cuddle your pillow and pretend it’s me...and I’ll do the same. Sweet sleep, my dear. Till tomorrow evening by email.”
“Good night, my Max.” She had almost said “Good night, my love,” but stopped herself in time. She didn’t really love him yet...did she? Could she? Or was she just beginning to? In any case, prudence dictated that she curb her tongue till she met him face-to-face.
Hanging up the phone, Kari turned off the light and rolled over, hugging the extra pillow to her as Max had told her to, though it didn’t feel at all like a man in her bed. Letting go of the pillow, she imagined him in her arms and drifted right off to sleep.
Chapter 8
Kari awoke before the alarm went off on Wednesday morning, feeling particularly refreshed. She luxuriated under the covers, feeling the cool, softness of the sheets against her bare skin while trying to recover the dream that had put her in such a glowing state. Then she remembered. It hadn’t been a dream—it had been Max’s phone call, providing the dangled hope of a visit this weekend.
Excited at that prospect, she threw back the covers and bounced out of bed. The carpet was cool under her feet. In a sensuous mood, she wriggled her toes on the pile and got into the feel of the plush fibers under and between her toes. She had not laid out any clothes the night before, and now she decided to dress in something smashing to celebrate her upbeat mood. Her red pantsuit would do very nicely. It was bright and cheery, had a thinning effect, and projected an efficient, executive image.
She flinched at her nude image in the mirror as she passed it, but was relieved when the scale didn’t chastise her for all those yummy desserts. Her weight, though not diminished, was at least holding steady.
She mentally went over her wardrobe, already debating what to wear that weekend. Kari wanted to wear something with a slimming effect like the red pantsuit. She expected Max to be somewhat put off by her weight, but if she could continue to captivate him while she was still dressed, and manage to look slimmer than she was by dint of selecting her outfit carefully, maybe by the time she undressed, he’d no longer care about her girth.
He’d be so smitten that her weight would seem irrelevant...especially if she could manage to keep the bedroom dark so he didn’t get a good look at her. Mentally dressing herself for the weekend, she grew nervous but excited, and her already good mood soared even higher.
Halfway down the stairs, she remembered Max saying he wouldn’t have time to log on in the morning, and momentarily her high spirits evaporated, but she felt too good for the disappointment to linger. A band of bright orange crested a bank of purple clouds to the east, as Kari saw when she opened the blinds on the that side of the house. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning? Hell—I’m not a sailor! While the coffee brewed, she logged on optimistically, but true to his word, Max wasn’t there. At least I know why, know he’s not back with his ex-fiancée or something.
As if benevolent gods were determined not to douse her good spirits, the day at work went smoothly, and to top it all off, Lylah called at 4:30. “Doing anything this evening? Steve unexpectedly got a call to help out with something at Larrimore’s headquarters. I’m available if you want to get together.”
They went out to dinner at a new Norwegian restaurant. Kari had never met a cuisine she didn’t like, but there were any number she simply hadn’t tried yet for lack of opportunity. She mentally crossed Norwegian off the list of never-trieds and pronounced the dinner delicious. They went back to Lylah’s house for a while afterward.
Most of the talk was about babies. Kari felt doubly left out. First of all, she wished she, too, were starting a family. Put simply, she was jealous. Second, the forthcoming baby was a major part of Lylah’s life now, and an experience she, Kari, had never shared, could not discuss from an I’ve-been-there point of view. It made the conversation kind of one-sided.
More and more, Kari felt distanced from Lylah these days. Lylah’s life seemed to have moved into a whole new sphere. Kari could understand Lylah’s being caught up with the baby, but did Lylah have to let her enthusiasm lead her to exclude Kari from her life?
Kari felt uncomfortably jealous of the baby. She was angry at herself for this unworthy emotion, but there it was. She tried to reason with herself, but the jealousy overrode reason. She’d felt twinges of envy all along that Lylah had a husband, a forthcoming baby, the life Kari wanted for herself, but that had never gotten in the way of her friendship with Lylah. This was different.
She was jealous not of Lylah, but of the unborn life growing within Lylah. It seemed that the larger the baby grew, the more of Lylah’s thoughts and emotions it took up till Lylah had no time and no thoughts for her best friend—or was it former best friend?—anymore.
Her life was an endless round of baby-clothes-shopping expeditions, obstetric
ian appointments, natural childbirth classes, parenting seminars, self-help groups, discussions with women who already had kids.... Not only didn’t Kari have a husband and child of her own, as she wanted, but she felt that now she’d lost her best friend, too. Lylah never had time for her anymore, and on those rare occasions when she did, all she ever wanted to talk about was the baby.
When Lylah bubbled with enthusiasm, pronouncing potential baby names aloud to see how they sounded, discussing the side effects of pregnancy—she was past the morning sickness, but the frequent peeing had returned)—and voicing her fears about childbirth, Kari could only listen. At best she could offer intelligent commentary or secondhand information. But she couldn’t offer firsthand advice or even say, “Yes, I know. I remember.” She didn’t. Pregnancy was a land she had never visited, and much as she coveted the journey, she lacked the passport—a husband.
“Isn’t this darling?” Lylah gushed, holding up one tiny item of clothing after another. There were clothes she had bought, hand-me-downs from various friends, and even a smattering of early gifts. More and more, Kari found herself forcing her enthusiasm till she began to debate pleading tiredness and leaving quickly. In fact, Max might have written her by now.
“And what’s new in your life?” Lylah asked. “I know you’re volunteering for Larrimore, but what else is happening with you? How’s the new Internet connection? Are you learning to surf the Net?”
“I’ve met a man.”
“Where?”
“Online. But he might be coming here this weekend. I’m waiting to hear for sure.”
“Where’s he staying if he comes?”
“With me—of course!”
“You’re going to let a stranger into your house? How do you know he’s not a nutcase?”
“He’s not a nutcase and he’s not a stranger. We’ve been talking by email for weeks now. We even talked by phone last night.” She pressed her thighs tightly together at the memory, and flares went off in the cleft between her legs. “If I were the kind of woman to ‘do’ bars, and I picked a guy up there and took him home, would that be any safer?”
“No, but I’d worry about that, too.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about Max.”
“What about you—are you worried? What if he shows up and you find you don’t like each other in person? What if you have nothing to talk about? What if he’s ugly...or if he doesn’t like your looks?”
“Relax. We’ve exchanged pictures.”
“Suppose he snores like a steam engine, picks his teeth with your Things to Do list, smokes a cigar, stinks up the bathroom, doesn’t bathe, has nasty teeth....”
“Stop it! Why are you determined to ruin my weekend in advance?”
“One of us has to be sensible, sweetie, and it obviously isn’t you.”
“Max is coming this weekend, and that’s that. And I’m going to have a good time with him, and that’s that. Since when are you so sensible and serious? Where’s my fun-loving friend? I finally get to spend an evening with you...and you’re not you anymore.”
“I guess impending motherhood has brought out my maternal instincts.”
“Well, can it and just be my friend again. Like the old days.”
“Sweetie, people change. We’re all growing, stretching. You too.”
Yes, but we’re growing in different directions. “Is it motherhood that’s made you so serious, or are you just grouchy from lack of sex? Or has the doctor taken sex off your no-no list?”
“No, I’m still not allowed that pleasure. Poor me. Poor Steve, too! Thank God I trust him. I think this no sex thing is even harder on him than on me. With all those pretty volunteers at Larrimore’s headquarters, I’d be worried if I didn’t absolutely trust my husband.”
“Well, be grateful for that. Now, ease up on Max. Trust him too. Just be happy for me. Be glad I’ve met someone. Who knows where it could lead?”
Lylah reached out and patted Kari’s stomach. “Who knows? By this time next year you could be married and pregnant...and be proud of your size. You’d be rotund for a good cause.”
“Now that’s thinking positively. And speaking of ‘positively,’ positively I’ve got a good thing going. And positively Max is no axe-murderer. So lighten up and be happy for me. I’m happy. God, I never dreamed what getting connected to the Internet could lead to!”
“Has your Web surfing led you to a list of baby names anywhere? We’re having the damnedest trouble deciding. All these cute clothes already, but still no name! I’m going crib shopping again tomorrow evening. Want to come?”
“I promised I’d be at Larrimore’s headquarters tomorrow right after work. I’m just going to grab a quick bite first and run right in. I don’t know anything about cribs anyhow.”
“I could call Audrey. She’d know about cribs Or Joan. Or Marlene. Or Kayla.... We could get some other baby supplies while we’re at it. I still haven’t gotten baby powder, diapers, Q-Tips, crib sheets, a blanket....” And she was off, planning an evening with her new friends, billowed away on a gale of baby plans, caught up in baby-this and baby-that. Kari felt that Lylah seemed to be talking to herself, not even noticing if Kari was listening. Would she even notice if I got up and left?
Shortly after that, she did get up and leave. She had had enough baby conversation for one evening. She felt out of the loop. “I’ll talk to you soon,” she said as she left, and she remembered when that wouldn’t have been necessary to say. When it would have been taken for granted. When they often talked several times a day.
Suppose he snores like a steam engine, picks his teeth with your Things to Do list, smokes a cigar, stinks up the bathroom, doesn’t bathe, has nasty teeth.... Lylah’s litany of possible problems echoed in her head all the way home, but she tried to dispel the gloom that had settled in her car. Everything’s going to be fine...if he gets here.
Which he intended to, as she learned when she got home and logged on.
My dear,
Circle Friday night on your calendar. I’ll take off around 5:00, arrive your place around 9:00. Please send exact directions. I’ll stay till mid afternoon on Sunday.
If you’d like, I can make a big dinner for Sunday at noon. Do you do breakfast-lunch-dinner on Sundays, or brunch-dinner, or breakfast-dinner-supper, or what? Do you object to a man taking over your kitchen for a meal? Give me your thoughts. I want this visit to be a pleasure for you, not an intrusion.
I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed last night. My toes are still tingling...along with select other parts.
My maleness is swollen just since I sat down at the computer to write to you. “He” knows what’s in store for “him” this weekend, and “he” can’t wait! Neither can the rest of me. My arms long to wrap around you, my lips to kiss your soft lips, my eyes to feast on your beautiful body, my nose to inhale the sweet scent of your clean hair, my fingers to touch you all over and get to know you intimately, and my tongue to taste every inch of you.
Oh, my sweet Kari, what beautiful love we’ll make together...and what a wonderful time we’ll have out of bed, too. I want you to show me your favorite possessions in your house...your favorite places in Jeffersonville...and pictures of your family, because they’re a part of you.
No “hot talk” this letter...I don’t want to heat you up and tempt you into relieving the pressure yourself. I want you with a full head of steam, three days of pent-up longings and no satisfaction, when we meet, and merge, on Friday.
I’ve been at it since early this morning, sweet Kari, and I’m tired. I have another long day in front of me. Another breakfast meeting. I promise you, it’s business! And so I’m going to download some recipes and then go take a shower. I’ll read a little and turn out the light by 10:00. By the time you read this, I may be asleep already...dreaming of you and our Friday rendezvous.
Till then,
Max
A sweet letter, she thought. And how nice of him to reassure her that his breakfast meeting was
strictly business. How did he know she was worrying about that very thing? She was only worried about one thing he’d said—“My eyes to feast on your beautiful body.” What if he didn’t think her body was so beautiful when he saw it?
But she refused to dwell on negative thoughts. Kari’s innate optimism was the reason she always bounced back from unhappy encounters with men. Immediately, her mind jumped to a negligee she’d seen in a window downtown. It was in a shop near the office. The negligee was black, cut full rather than tight, and would make her look glamorous—and thinner. She’d buy it tomorrow!
Kari answered Max’s letter, including precise directions for getting to her house from the Interstate, and asked him to bring pictures of his family with him. Next, she answered her other email and, since it was still early, she browsed around online awhile, downloading recipes, posting comments on a bulletin board, exploring what was still largely unfamiliar territory to her. At length, with thoughts of Max keeping her unable to concentrate on what she was doing, she logged off. After showering, she went to bed.
The human body is perverse. Just because Max had implored her to build up her desires, she was more filled with need than ever, and it took every ounce of willpower not to take steps to relieve that burning need. Images of Max floated into her mind. Max kissing her breasts, Max holding her tight, Max grinding his male hardness up against her, Max burrowing that engorged flesh into her churning depths, Max....
Abruptly, she sat and up and turned the light on again, reaching for the book on her night table. She read till her eyes would not stay open any longer, and only then—long after her usual hour of sleep—did she put down the book and turn out the light again. She knew she’d be groggy in the morning, but at least she knew she could go to sleep now.
For a few minutes, as she drifted in the neverland between wakefulness and sound sleep, her mind was a jumble of hazy thoughts. Lylah—they were drifting apart, weren’t they? It was terrible to lose a friend. Babies—would she ever have a husband and a family? Max—what if Lylah was right and he did have some terrible habit, some overwhelming bad quality that she could not live with, something she couldn’t discern by email? Well, better to find out now than later. Besides, she doubted it. Steve—he and Lylah hadn’t had sex in ages, and still, Lylah was sure of his faithfulness. Would she, Kari, ever feel so confident in a man? Dinner Saturday—maybe she and Max would share the kitchen, each cooking part of the meal.
MacGregor, Cynthia - An Appetite for Passion (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 7