No strings attached

by Alison Kent

  She never went into a sexual relationship without using her head before using her body. And sex, as a rule, came in one of two flavors: Sinfully Sweet Fun or Power Trip Delicious.

  The intimacy she and Eric had just shared was beyond her ability to define. Her head hadn’t factored into any part of their joining, yet she’d felt more than bodily connected. She feared she had put her heart on the line. Eric’s accusations had cut to the bone and his words continued to sting.

  Experience had taught her not to involve emotion, and to avoid give and take. Giving was too tied into giving up for her comfort. After so many years of being told what to wear, how to behave, where to focus her studies, she was finally in control of her life.

  Every single aspect of her life. And no one was going to take that away by convincing her they loved her and, because they loved her, knew what she needed, what she wanted.

  Who she was.

  She turned on the faucet, the rush of water a drowning sound ridding her of old memories and those still fresh, still sticky and new. Damn Eric Haydon and his ivory tower promises.

  Knowing she wasn’t going to be going anywhere until she did what she could to fix her face, she splashed warm water onto it and, resigned to using the liquid hand soap, had just started scrubbing her forehead when she heard the bathroom door open.

  Taking a deep breath before taking her medicine, she lifted her head, opening her eyes just enough to peak through the bubbles and get a glimpse of Melanie Craine in the mirror.

  At least it wasn’t Sydney. Or Eric, Chloe thought, hoping to avoid facing both of them.

  She finished cleaning her face, then rinsed her skin free of soap and rinsed it again. Melanie hopped up onto the far end of the counter, handing Chloe several paper towels once she’d turned off the water.

  She straightened, patted her face dry, grimaced at the reflection in the mirror of her splotchy red skin—the result of the harsh soap, the rough towels, her embarrassment and the abrasion of Eric’s beard.

  That last was harder than anything to look at because of the undoubted repercussions, both personal and professional. And professional she had to deal with first. She turned her gaze to Melanie. Melanie, the doll who hadn’t forgotten Chloe’s purse.

  “I owe you for this.” Chloe went straight for the tiny bottle of moisturizer. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Your guard dog is sitting on a bench outside the door.” Melanie crossed her feet at the ankles and swung her legs. “You might want to tell him that Peppermint Peony is not his color.”

  Chloe squeezed her eyes closed. Perfect. A walking, talking billboard advertising her bad timing and loss of judgment. “So everyone has seen him and knows?”

  “Actually, I don’t think so.” Melanie caught Chloe’s purse before it slipped into the sink. “You managed to pick an out-of-the-way rest room.”

  A light at the end of the tunnel? “Do me a quick favor?”

  Melanie nodded, watching as Chloe worked the lotion into her skin. “Stick your head out there and tell him to beat it.” When the other woman’s dark brows lifted in question, Chloe added, “And tell him I’ll call him when I get home.”

  Melanie hopped down from the counter’s edge. “Didn’t you two come here together?”

  Shaking her head, Chloe dug into her emergency makeup bag for foundation. “He met me here. He’s only my escort. We’re not dating. Remember?”

  Melanie’s reflected expression echoed her disbelieving, “Yeah. Right.”

  But she stuck her head out the door, anyway. Chloe listened to the mumble of voices, not able to make out any specific words. But Eric’s tone of voice was enough to convey his displeasure at being blown off.

  She wasn’t blowing him off. She really wasn’t. But she could deal with only one disaster at a time. And Sydney had to come first. If only Chloe could figure out how to diffuse that bomb before it dropped.

  Melanie returned, hopped back onto the counter, dragging the hem of her short dress in the second sink.

  “You’re going to ruin that silk.”

  But Melanie, being Melanie, and thinking on a technical plane, couldn’t be bothered with Chloe’s fabric care tips. “He left, but he wasn’t happy about it.”

  “So I heard.” Chloe paused, makeup sponge hovering above her nose. “You told him I’d call him, right?”

  “I did.”

  “And? I’m not in the mood to pull teeth here, Mel. What did he say?”

  She shrugged. “He’ll be waiting.”

  He’ll be waiting? “That was it?”

  “We didn’t take time for a long chat. I thought you wanted him gone.”

  She did. She didn’t. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m not at my best right now.”

  “Now I find that hard to believe, seeing your postorgasmic glow.” Melanie’s arched brow dared Chloe to deny the obvious.

  So Chloe told only half of a lie. “This is not a glow. This is the result of washing my face with industrial-strength cleaner.”

  “And Eric was wearing your lipstick because you were doing his colors?”

  Chloe returned the foundation to her bag, dug out her powdered blusher. What was the point of beating around the bush when the obvious was so damn obvious? She attacked one cheek with the brush.

  “Okay, yes. I’m wearing a head-to-toe postorgasmic glow. Eric and I just screwed our brains out.” She attacked the other cheek. “Was it worth ruining my face and my panties? You’re damn right it was. Was it worth screwing up my career?”

  She left the question hanging. She needed time to think, to make more than a few decisions about what she was doing with her life.

  “Panties, huh?”

  Chloe sighed.

  “Your career is fine.”

  Chloe snorted. “Sure. You can say that. You’re not the one who ran out on one of the most important nights gIRL-gEAR has ever put together. I let everyone down.”

  “I told Sydney you were sick.”

  Snapping her compact shut, Chloe cut her gaze from the mirror to Melanie’s face. “What do you mean, sick?”

  “It was obvious to everyone at the table that you weren’t your usual self. You sat through the entire meal and program without tossing off a single smart remark. Then Eric dragged you out of there right after you ate that lemon stuff.” Melanie shrugged. “Since the rest of us had chocolate, it was an easy enough bluff.”

  Chloe’s heart thudded. “You really think anyone, Sydney especially, bought that I’m sick?”

  “It’s worth a shot. Eric’s gone. You can say you sent him home, which is the truth.”

  “Yes. But it doesn’t say much for his character, does it? Leaving his sick date all alone?”

  “You’re not all alone. I’m here. And I helped you send him home. Besides, this is your career, Chloe. If you have to choose between gIRL-gEAR and hot sex…” Melanie let the sentence trail off, picked it up a second later. “It’s not really a choice at all, is it?”

  For all that she wanted to agree, Chloe found herself unable to do anything but twist the wand back into her mascara, leaving her eyes halfway bare. She looked over and met Melanie’s gaze. “What if it’s not just hot sex?”

  Melanie blinked, blinked again, then slowly scooted off the edge of the counter and leaned against the wall. “You are kidding, right? You and Eric? Wait. You and anybody? Since when is this mission to clean up your act the real thing?”

  “It’s not. Never mind.” Chloe went back to fixing her eyes.

  Melanie edged closer. “Don’t tell me to never mind. You wouldn’t have asked that question if you weren’t seriously wondering.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t want to think about what I’m thinking about. I don’t want it to be on my mind. I want to get through the Wild Winter Woman fashion show and be done with this escort business.”

  Except she owed Eric one more wish. And even then she wasn’t sure she’d have settled anything in her mind. Or what so strangely felt like he
r heart.

  10

  ANTON NEVILLE STOOD facing the converted freight elevator that would take him up the four floors to Lauren’s loft. He took one last drag on the cigarette he didn’t want, dropped the butt to the concrete walkway and crushed it beneath his boot.

  What the hell did Lauren think she was doing with Nolan Ford?

  She’d moved out of Anton’s place six weeks earlier, claiming he was a control freak, that he couldn’t deal with her sexuality or her sexual past, that he was too uptight and had never taken the time to get to know her the way he would have if he’d loved her.

  Anton could have thrown the same accusation into Lauren’s face. But he hadn’t. Because they’d both been guilty as charged. He was man enough to take what was coming to him. He wasn’t going to ask her to come back.

  He had been going to suggest they start at the beginning, that they take things easy and slow and forget they’d ever tumbled head over heels. He’d been going to suggest all of those things because he couldn’t believe Lauren had thrown away the year they’d been inseparable.

  But now he wasn’t going to suggest anything.

  Not when she was seeing Nolan Ford.

  Anton shoved his hands in the pockets of his baggy designer suit pants of dark brown corduroy. He’d left his jacket and his tie in his Jaguar when he’d parked in the garage adjacent to the loft.

  After the gIRL-gEAR gIRL ceremony, he’d dropped Annabel at her place and had been on his way home. He’d enjoyed her company and was quite sure she would’ve been happy to make sure he ended the evening a very satisfied man.

  But he wasn’t in any frame of mind for a new involvement. Not when he hadn’t yet given up the old.

  He hadn’t been aware of any conscious decision to stop and see Lauren. But old habits were hard to break. And now that he was here he didn’t know whether to leave or to take the ride to the fourth floor and see if she wanted to…get a cup of coffee and talk.

  The thought of finding her in the throes of drinking coffee with Nolan Ford was what finally turned Anton away from the elevator and back toward the garage. Thinking about Lauren with another man was bad enough. He didn’t need to give witness. And so he was walking away. Except two steps down the hallway, he heard the elevator motor engage.

  He hesitated, waited for his heart to regain its usual rhythm. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. And he stopped, turned back, listened to the mechanical bellow and groan as the car made its way to the ground floor.

  He had his hands in his pockets and his feet spread wide, prepared to come face-to-face with the laughing couple, and ready with the excuse of having stopped by for a DVD he was certain he’d left here and had promised to drop off for his teenage brother in the morning.

  But when the door creaked open it was Lauren, alone, and she was taking out the trash.

  She wore thick white socks and had shoved her feet into clogs. Her sweatpants were purple, worn and baggy. Her hair still tumbled to her shoulders in the same big curls he’d wanted to get his hands on all night.

  She hadn’t yet scrubbed the makeup from her face. Her eyes glittered. Her skin glowed. She was incredibly beautiful. And the T-shirt she wore was a concert souvenir she’d bought him weeks after they’d started dating. Even if Nolan had been standing beside her in the elevator, she was still wearing Anton’s shirt.

  He took the black plastic bag from her hands because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find his voice. Lauren fell into step at his side and walked with him down the hallway to the back door and the building’s Dumpster. Her feet made a shuffling, scraping sound that echoed off the high brick walls.

  “Did you have a good time this evening?” she finally asked, and her voice echoed, too, breaking the uncomfortably awkward silence.

  Pretending his sudden appearance wasn’t unusual suited him. “I did, thanks. Did you?”

  She nodded, gave a slight smile. “It was fun to finally see the program come together after all the work we put into it.”

  “That was a good thing gIRL-gEAR did, awarding those scholarships. And you picked the perfect girl for the job.” He frowned. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten her name.”

  “Deanna Elliott.”

  “Deanna, right.” He hesitated for a second, then went ahead with what he wanted to say, even though the issue had long been a bone of contention. “She seemed as passionate about fashion as you’ve always been about art.”

  “Are you dating Poe?” Lauren asked, exchanging one bone for another.

  “We’ve been out, but we’re not dating.” He pushed open the heavy steel door that opened onto the walled-off section behind the lofts and contained the building’s Dumpster, loading dock and maintenance shed. A lone streetlight illuminated the big asphalt square, and the night was cool and misty.

  Anton tossed the bag in with the rest of the trash and returned to the door Lauren held open. “What about you and Nolan? Are you and the old man serious?”

  Lauren released the heavy door. It slammed shut, the reverberating echo ringing in Anton’s ears.

  “Nolan is not an old man.”

  “Relatively speaking, I suppose not. But he’s got, what, twenty years on you?”

  “Seventeen, if it’s any of your business, which I don’t think it is.” She turned and started her shuffle and scrape back down the hallway to the elevator.

  Anton wasn’t going to let her slough off the subject as easily. “So what is going on with you two?”

  “Does it really matter, Anton? I don’t remember us agreeing to stay in touch and keep tabs on each other’s lives and loves.”

  “Is that what Nolan is? A love?” Anton hated the weakness that caused him to ask.

  Lauren wrapped her arms around her middle. “Nolan is a friend. A supportive friend who shares my passion for art.”

  Anton kept himself from asking what other of her passions the older man shared. He hadn’t come here to get into a sniping match and he didn’t really want to know. “Right. And since he seeded gIRL-gEAR, he no doubt thinks pouring all your energies into the company is what you need to do. Instead of, oh, say, exploring what else is out there. What bigger and better things you might do with your degree.”

  Another long-standing argument that had played a part in Lauren’s decision to break off their relationship. But she replied, “Actually, he’s made me realize that what I want to do is go back to grad school.”

  And that surprised him. Pleased him on one hand, caused a sharp pang of resentment on the other. “You never even hinted that you wanted to go back to school when we were together.”

  They’d reached the elevator now and stopped. Lauren delayed hitting the button that would retrieve the car. She looked at him instead, frowning slightly, as if trying to see something she’d missed before. Or something she’d hoped had since disappeared.

  “I didn’t know it myself. Leaving gIRL-gEAR was not something I wanted to think about. That I did know. But I hadn’t considered going back to school while working.”

  “Why that particular change of focus? School instead of a career change?” He liked that she was talking about taking her career forward. He just found it curious, since she’d been so adamantly against any change all those nights they’d argued.

  She gave a thoughtful shrug. “It seemed to make sense. I won’t be giving up a career I love, but I’ll be keeping future options open.”

  Which was all he’d ever wanted her to do. Did she now think differently about him? Or had she still not figured out he had her best interests at heart?

  “Nolan agrees that it won’t be easy—”

  Bitter, Anton shoved his hands to his hips. “I should’ve known. This is Nolan’s doing.”

  “No. It’s my doing,” Lauren said, raising her chin.

  “But you’ve talked it over with him.”

  “The same way I would have talked it over with you if you hadn’t been so set on me looking beyond gIRL-gEAR.”

  Had their relationship really been
so lacking in communication? “I never suggested you leave immediately.”

  “You never suggested I do anything but leave, Anton.” Lauren appeared on the verge of pulling out her hair. “We never discussed other options. You put down your foot and told me what was best for me.”

  “I suppose Nolan gave you those options.” Anton practically spat out the other man’s name.

  “As a matter of fact, he did. I talked to him about what I would need down the road if I wanted to move into marketing or even into film.” A grin touched the corners of her mouth as she drew an imaginary theater screen in the air. “Art Director, Lauren Hollister. I like the way that sounds.”

  Anton ground his teeth. “You could’ve talked over your ideas with me.”

  She shook her head, her gaze finding his. “No. You weren’t open to anything but things being done your way. I hadn’t even thought of film until Nolan brought up the subject.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’ve found someone willing to humor you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and frowned. “Nolan isn’t humoring me.”

  “He’s giving you what you want to hear. What would you call it if not humoring?”

  “Friendship. Caring. Interest.”

  Anton snorted, recognizing that what he was feeling was about as shitty as his attitude got. But it still didn’t stop him from saying, “You sure his interest isn’t in finding out what you have in your pants?”

  Lauren only stared, then huffed in disgust and smacked her palm against the elevator call button. “I think you’d better leave now. We’ve said all there is to say.”

  The elevator arrived. The door opened. Lauren stepped inside. The moment stretched.

  Apologize, Anton ordered himself. Tell her how you feel before it’s too late. But his emotions were a jumbled mess, inexplicable even to himself.

  So he let her push a button and refuse to meet his eyes. He let her leave, believing he was a first-class prick. He let her go back to her loft and evolving career and a future that didn’t include him.