Double Jeopardy

by Bobby Hutchinson

  “I’m sure, Ben.”

  Having sex with someone like Halsey is like playing with nitroglycerin. Maisie’s cautionary words came back to her, but she pushed them away. Men and women’s needs weren’t really that different, were they?

  There was also the element of trust. Strange as it seemed, she now trusted Ben. The conversation they’d had about Gemma last night when he arrived, even some casual remarks he’d made today, had absolutely convinced her he had no feelings for her sister except those of a concerned physician for a patient.

  “Are you always this slow at the beginning?” She kept her tone light, but there was a nervous catch in her voice.

  The next thing she knew, he’d lifted her in his arms and they were heading for the bedroom.

  Sera gave a squawk of alarm and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Put me down, you maniac.” She’d watched muscle men on California beaches pick up their bimbos and run toward the water. She’d watched movie heroes swing their slender leading lathes into their arms and climb staircases. She’d always been certain those scenes were executed by stuntmen. Once or twice she’d idly wondered how it would feel to be carried in a man’s arms. Now that it was happening to her, she could only think of how much she weighed and whether Ben’s back would give out.

  He was maneuvering them through the narrow bedroom door much the way stagehands carefully moved large pieces of furniture through small openings, and her legs got caught. The scene was becoming so ludicrous Sera started to giggle helplessly.

  “So you find my romantic impulses funny, do you?” They’d reached the bed. He dumped her unceremoniously and then collapsed beside her, pretending to be out of breath.

  “There goes my libido,” he moaned in a pathetic voice.

  Sera laughed until she was giddy.

  “Now, you disrespectful woman, where was I?” In one sudden lithe movement, he rolled over and trapped her beneath him, his thighs on either side of her legs, his hands by her shoulders, bracing himself so he wouldn’t crush her. He took his glasses off and tossed them on the bedside table. Bending forward, he kissed her, light, flickering kisses at first, kisses that made her hungry for more. She squirmed impatiently and at last his kiss deepened, devouring her, his tongue promising a rhythm she longed for.

  He drew back and brushed a lock of hair away from her face, and she looped both hands around his neck and tugged him down again, using her mouth to convey the feverish anticipation that burned inside her.

  “Too many clothes.” He caught the hem of her dress and maneuvered it up and over her head in one easy movement.

  “You, too.” His polo shirt was tucked into the waistband of his cotton pants, and she struggled to pull it out. At last she tugged it loose, and he took over, stripping off the shirt in one deft motion.

  “Hurry. Please, Ben.” She wanted his hands all over her. She wanted his skin against hers. She wanted him inside her. She’d never wanted anything as much, or as impatiently.

  Her bra fastened in front and he unsnapped it, leaning forward to draw one firm nipple greedily into his mouth, his breath rapid and fiery hot against her bare, tender skin. She bucked and whimpered, as he trailed his hand up her inner thigh, strong fingers brushing the silky crotch of her panties, making her breath catch in a sob of longing.

  “You feel so good,” he said, stroking, circling, slipping his finger under the fabric and inside her, withdrawing when she surged against him, touching and retreating in a clever dance that nearly drove her mad. “You are so sexy, my beautiful Sera.”

  Was she really his? For now, for this moment. And this moment was all there was.

  She fumbled to unfasten the button and zipper on his pants, then reached inside to hold him, to give him back some of the pleasure he was lavishing on her. He was hard and hot in her hand.

  “Careful,” he groaned, but it was a long moment before he drew away, and then it was only to strip off his pants and underwear.

  She looked at him and found him utterly beautiful. His abdomen was flat, his erection rising from the mass of dark curls. The same curls covered his chest and dusted his muscular arms and legs. She wanted him.

  Ben cradled her head between his palms and brought his face close to hers. “Concentrate,” he whispered. “Concentrate only on this.” He rubbed himself against her, slipping between her thighs, using the silken barrier of her panties to tantalize them both.

  “And this.”

  He took her mouth and tongue in a kiss that was savage and slow, and then he gripped the elastic of her panties and drew them down her thighs.

  All she was conscious of was hunger, raw and demanding, and she used her legs to frantically work the panties off. She kicked them away and then tilted her pelvis high, wordlessly inviting.

  In the madness of desire she’d forgotten about protection, but he hadn’t. He reached into the pocket of the pants he’d placed conveniently near, withdrew a condom, rolled it into place, and a second later nestled between her thighs. He touched her with his fingers, and then tasted her with his mouth, drawing, sucking, driving her close to the edge, making her gasp for breath and cry out.

  At last, at last, he slid inside, and she sobbed with gratitude. As he began to move, she matched him. But soon her convulsions began deep inside and she gave herself up to them, burying her face in his neck, mindless and shuddering with pleasure.

  An instant later he joined her, his cry of pleasure as ecstatic and lost to the world as hers had been.

  When at last thoughts formed again for Sera, only one was clear and definite and greedy: She wanted more. She wanted as much lovemaking as they could manage, tonight, tomorrow, tomorrow night. She wouldn’t think beyond that. She’d make each moment count. She’d make all those moments enough for the time when he’d be gone.

  He pulled the sheet back up over them and tucked them beneath the light blanket, curling her pliant naked body close to his. She sighed, one long, deep, trembling sigh. He felt her relax fully and slide into sleep. After a few moments she snored lightly, and he smiled. He wouldn’t tell her she snored. It would be his secret, intimate and very personal and dear.

  He thought of Greg, and sent heartfelt thanks through the ether for putting the idea for this trip in his head. Today had been extraordinary, filled with laughter and great conversation, with that constant undercurrent of pure sexual energy. And the lovemaking had been... He searched for a superlative and couldn’t find one. There’d been rightness about making love to Sera, a sense of deep partnering that was unique in his experience.

  Or maybe it was just because it was new and fresh. Certainly Sera was a lovely, passionate woman, but he would be making a mistake to start reading more into this than there was.

  They would have to carry on a long-distance relationship, he reminded himself, and that could cause problems. He’d tried it once or twice, and it hadn’t worked well; one or the other had gotten tired of never having someone around to go out with on a last-minute casual date.

  But Sera was like him in many ways, totally dedicated to her career, not looking for anything long term, so their relationship probably wouldn’t last beyond a couple of months. Now, why wasn’t that as comforting as it used to be?

  He dismissed the thought. This would work for as long as it worked, but at this moment the trip home was something he didn’t want to think about. There was still tomorrow to enjoy. He’d talked to the waitress at the restaurant when he’d paid the bill, and she’d suggested driving over the border into Mexico—Tijuana was only a half hour away. She’d given him directions to a seafood dine-and- dance spot the locals favored, twenty or thirty miles down the Pacific Coast.

  He hadn’t told Sera yet; it would be a surprise for the morning. He loved the way her expressive face registered excitement and pleasure. He loved her enthusiasm, her quick wit, her absolute honesty. Are you in love with her? The question popped into his head, and he firmly tossed it out again, telling himself that if he ever did fall in l
ove with a woman, she’d be someone like Sera.

  He pressed his lips against her shoulder and surrendered to sleep.

  Monday’s mail brought another envelope, and Gemma eagerly ripped it open.

  Gemma, I’ve come to know your body,

  Intimately, not from making love

  But from memorizing the way you move

  A shoulder, an eyelash. I know your touch,

  Not from your skin on mine, no.

  Instead I watch you thread your fingers through your hair,

  Or slide your tongue across your lips.

  Once I watched you sleep,

  And I whispered what I wanted you to hear

  But you were far away and didn’t listen.

  Still, sometimes you smile at me

  And caress me with your eyes,

  And it’s enough.

  For now, Gemma. (It has to be.)

  She read it over and over. As always, the poetry touched a deep and vulnerable place inside her, but today an overwhelming sense of guilt accompanied the pleasure. She’d kissed Jack Saturday night. More than kissed him.

  He’d started it. She’d been in a rotten mood all day. She missed Sera; she couldn’t understand why her sister had insisted on taking that stupid job in San Diego. When Jack had arrived in the evening she was foul, scrawling sarcastic comments on her pad and shoving them at him.

  Aldo and Maria had gone to a movie, and afterward they were having dinner with relatives, so they wouldn’t be back until late.

  Jack opened the wine he’d brought and offered Gemma a glass with a straw, unperturbed by her bad temper. He’d laughed at her sniping and teased her out of it. They’d had more wine, and he’d somehow dared her into trying to kiss him with her jaw wired shut.

  At first she’d just wanted to see if it was possible. They’d finished the wine, and they’d laughed a lot because the kissing part had been fun but not too successful. She slobbered and couldn’t open her mouth enough.

  Her face flamed when she remembered what followed, however. Jack was much too good with his mouth and hands, and there was that basic animal attraction that had always sparked between them. He’d kissed and touched other places besides her mouth, and she’d gotten carried away.

  He hadn’t; she’d learned a lot about Jack Kilgallin that night. He was a masterful lover, even without actual sexual contact, and he intuitively knew what would give her the most pleasure. He was controlled and proficient at making her feel safe while giving her license to go wild.

  She’d just had too much wine, she told herself, and then admitted that was no excuse. How could she let body hunger get the best of her, when Ben was telling her so plainly he was willing to wait?

  She was a cheat, she thought with disgust. She had no moral fortitude at all. She didn’t deserve Ben. She’d never let Jack near her again.

  When she’d finally come to her senses, she’d told him she never wanted to see him again.

  He’d laughed, thinking she was joking. It had taken a lot of notes to convince him she meant it. And he’d lost his temper with her finally, which was a good thing because at least that ended it

  “You’re nothing but an immature, selfish kid,” he’d raged at her. There was nothing wrong with his vocabulary when he got mad, she noticed. “I kept thinking you’d grow up, but you’re working hard at staying foolish. Well, Gemma, you don’t have to worry about me bothering you again, because I’m out of here. I can put up with almost anything except stupidity.” He’d stormed off, and for a while afterward she’d had trouble breathing, as if there wasn’t enough air. She’d also felt an incredible sense of loss, and when she finally got to sleep that night, she’d had erotic dreams, not about Ben but about Jack. When she woke up, she was crying. And part of her had waited all day Sunday for him to call or drop by, as if nothing had happened.

  He didn’t.

  How could she be falling in love with one man and still long to do hot, intimate things with another? Gemma reasoned that she’d probably fooled around with Jack because the only connection she had to Ben was through the poems he sent her. She needed to hear Ben admit that he cared for her, she decided, which she figured he’d never do as long as she was still his patient. But there were only three weeks left before the wires came out of her jaw. The swelling had pretty much disappeared, and it was obvious even to her that her face looked almost exactly as it had before. But three weeks felt like forever.

  She had another appointment with Ben a week from this Wednesday. He’d told her it would be the last time he’d need to see her until her jaw healed.

  She’d write him a letter, Gemma decided, and give it to him then. She’d let him know how much the poetry meant to her. She’d assure him she felt the same about him as he did about her. He didn’t have to say anything; she’d know how he felt by the expression on his face when he read the letter, and by that time it would only be two weeks until her jaw was healed, hardly any time at all.

  She desperately needed something more than poetry from him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It had been a week and a half since San Diego, and Ben was having to dredge up an enormous amount of self-discipline to apply himself to his work instead of thinking about Sera—a state of affairs that was disturbing him a lot.

  He’d arrived back Monday at noon, and come straight to the office from the airport, his mind on Sera and the weekend they’d spent together. He’d kissed her goodbye at the motel very early that morning. She’d wanted to drive to the airport with him, but the logistics didn’t make sense. He had to return the rental car, which would mean taking two vehicles to the airport.

  Convincing her to spend every last instant they had together making love with him instead of driving back and forth to airports hadn’t been difficult.

  He wanted to remember her in his bed, he insisted. He’d dragged himself out of her arms and into the shower with barely enough time to make his flight, and even now, nine days later, in his mind’s eye he could still see her, sweetly disheveled, her luxuriant hair spread in sexy disarray across the pillow they’d shared, her lips and breasts swollen and rosy from his mouth.

  That memory hadn’t faded as it ought to have in nine days. Which made it difficult right now to pay attention to Mrs. Newcombe, who thought one of her augmented breasts was noticeably larger than the other. It wasn’t, but Mrs. Newcombe wasn’t running on reason. She’d come to Ben for a second opinion; her surgeon was a man who did procedures on individuals Ben might have decided to refuse, and this was one of them.

  The lady was obviously unhappy with her life, and nothing surgical would change that sad fact. Ben talked to her for over an hour, gently asserting again and again that another surgical procedure wasn’t the answer.

  In spite of his patience, Mrs. Newcombe left in a huff, and Ben sighed with relief when the office door closed behind her. It was almost lunchtime.

  He relaxed for a few moments before he buzzed Dana to send in his next patient, remembering the conversation he’d had on the telephone with Sera the night before.

  They’d talked for over an hour, as they’d fallen in the habit of doing every night, discussing novels they were reading, plays and movies they wanted to see, music they’d heard and liked.

  Ben had brought home the photos he’d taken of her before Gemma’s operation. He’d pinned them up on the wall facing his bed so he could see different angles of her face as they spoke. He’d caught her smiling and frowning and laughing outright. The photos were a poor substitute for having her there beside him, but he was glad to have them nonetheless.

  He enjoyed her outrageous vignettes about working with the passionate but quirky Pasquale.

  In turn, Ben told her about Grendel, who’d insisted on sleeping on Ben’s bed ever since his weekend with the Brulottes. He waited until Ben was asleep to crawl up on the bed, where he positioned himself carefully, head on the spare pillow, paws on Ben’s back.

  The dog was traumatized, Ben told Sera. He
was checking into psychiatric help for him.

  He liked to hear her laughter, full throated and hearty.

  He glanced at the patient roster Dana had given him that morning, and was delighted to find that Gemma Cardano was next. Because of his relationship with Sera, he had a special tenderness for her sister, and he looked forward to seeing her, although he didn’t fully understand the promise Sera had extracted from him before he left San Diego.

  “Don’t mention to Gemma that you were down here, or that you and I are seeing each other,” she’d insisted. “I want to tell her myself when I come home.”

  It was probably a twin thing, he thought now. Whatever the reason, he certainly intended to honor the request.

  He smiled at Gemma when she came in, scanning her features and feeling satisfied at the visible evidence of a job well done.

  “This looks really good,” he told her, taking her elbow, escorting her to the chair opposite his own. “Obviously you’re healing really well. It’s not going to be long now before your jaw’s mended, and then your life can get completely back to normal.”

  He studied her. It was uncanny how very much she resembled Sera, but for him the similarity ended with their physical appearance. And the differences between them grew more apparent the longer he knew Sera.

  There were subtle but important contrasts in their personalities; Gemma often had a petulance about her that was foreign to Sera. At first, he’d thought it was simply due to the accident, but he came to realize it was part of Gemma’s basic character.

  Sera had a temper, all right; he’d witnessed it several times. She exploded, said what she had to say and it was over, as quick and furious as a summer storm.

  With Gemma, however, anger seemed to go deeper and last longer. In the hospital, he’d witnessed her being outright rude and obnoxious to Jack Kilgallin, with no apparent cause. Kilgallin dealt with it well; the man clearly worshiped Gemma. Ben had come to like and respect Jack; he was quiet and steady, but strong, the exact type of man, Ben surmised, who’d accept Gemma’s quixotic moods with equanimity without allowing her to ride roughshod over him.