Sex Drive

by Susan Lyons

  “Speaking of weddings, can you and Matt find time to do an invitation list? Kat says she’ll design something nice for an e-vite.”

  “Cool! Great idea.”

  “So I guess we’ll need names, e-mail addresses, and who they are—like, whether they’re a friend of yours, friend of Matt’s, family of Matt’s, or whatever.”

  “Sure. D’you need it for when you get home or can it wait until tomorrow?”

  “Uh, well…I’m not actually going to be home until tomorrow.”

  “What? But I thought your flight—”

  “Change of plans. Long story, and nothing bad.” No, Damien was definitely a good thing. “I’m staying in Honolulu overnight, same as I usually do.”

  “Okay, sure. I’ll let the folks know. Oh, and we planned a welcome-home barbecue for tomorrow. But I guess you won’t be home in time for dinner?”

  I winced. Usually, I could be counted on to appear on time. “No. Sorry to screw up everyone’s plans.”

  Merilee gave her tinkly laugh, which always made me think of wind chimes in the breeze. “Don’t worry, it was me who did that. Or, rather, Matt, finding that deal on the cruise. Like, could the timing have been any worse? Mom preparing for her Supreme Court of Canada case, Dad finishing the report on his latest research grant, me with the semester to make up? You and Kat and Jenna all busy with your own lives. And Matt’s swamped, too, because he’s back at his usual summer job at his uncle’s firm and he has to train someone to take over for him while he’s away honeymooning.”

  “Merilee, are you two sure you want to get married now? It’s such a rush, and we’ll never be able to put together the kind of wedding you dreamed of. Why not wait until next summer? You could still go on the cruise this year.”

  “No. Matt and I want to start our life together. Try to get pregnant. The wedding…Okay, I won’t lie.” She gave a quick laugh. “Like I could lie to any of you about the kind of wedding I wanted. I never made any secret of it, the way I mooned around with those wedding mags. But Theresa, things happen that make you think. Make you grow up and realize what’s really important.”

  The certainty in her voice made me smile, albeit a little mistily. Merilee’s life had changed this past year, and she clearly knew what she wanted. My baby sister had grown up. Though…“You always did seem pretty mature to me,” I acknowledged. “For your age. Self-contained, self-sufficient.”

  She didn’t answer, and I wondered if we’d lost the connection. “Merilee? Are you still there?”

  “Self-sufficient? Well, I had Matt, didn’t I?” There was an edge to her voice. Bitterness? It was unusual, because typically Merilee was sunny and sweet, the nicest kid of all of us, the one who had slipped through life smoothly. Until this past year, and the endometriosis.

  “Yes, of course you had Matt.” And yes, I felt a twinge of guilt for not having been a better big sister. “Anyhow, if you two are sure about the wedding, then we’ll do our best to give you a great one. Now, what else? Oh, I’m on the same flight as planned, just a day later, so I get in around midnight. I’ll catch a cab and come home and go to bed, then see you all in the morning. Kat’s booked train tickets and will get home on Friday. And Jenna—”

  “Let me guess.” Her tone was lighter again. “She doesn’t know her plans yet.”

  “She needs to work out her finances.”

  “When doesn’t she?” Merilee, eight years Jenna’s junior, had always managed money—and everything else—efficiently. “I bet Mom and Dad would pay for her flight,” she said.

  “I told her that, and I offered, too. She says she doesn’t want charity.”

  “Then she should get a real job.”

  “I know.”

  We were both quiet for a few seconds. Then I said, “Well, neither of us is going to change Jenna.” Though I worried about what life would be like for our footloose and fancy-free sister as she grew older. Of course, maybe she’d have one of those priority-changing experiences Merilee had spoken about, and finally grow up. I just hoped it wasn’t a bad one.

  “True. Listen, Theresa, I really need to get back to this paper. But Matt and I’ll do the e-vite list. Promise.”

  “Great. See you soon. Sorry to inconvenience everyone with the change of plan.”

  “No problem. Take care. Enjoy Honolulu.” Then she gave her wind-chime laugh again. “Wait, what am I saying? This is you, Theresa. You’ll be in a hotel room working. So I guess I should say, I hope you get lots done.”

  If she only knew. Not that I’d ever tell my family about Damien. Or would I? I gazed out to the lanai, where he was sprawled in a lounge chair, manuscript pages in one hand and a pen in the other. My lover. My very hot lover. The one who’d turned me into a sex goddess.

  My family thought they knew me so damned well. Maybe I’d drop a hint, to tantalize them and keep them off balance. For now, I contented myself with saying, “Thanks. You, too.”

  After hanging up, I went back to e-mail.

  First, I sent my new flight information to Merilee, with cc’s to Mom and Dad, and a reminder about the e-vite list. Then I sent the e-mail I’d saved in my Draft folder, asking my parents to see if they could pull strings and get us into VanDusen Gardens for the wedding.

  And then I replied to Kat’s message.

  Hi Kat. Glad you got the tickets. I should be able to borrow someone’s car and meet you at the station.

  Yes, you’re right about invitations. I think e-vites are a good idea. I talked to Merilee and she agrees. She and Matt are going to put together a guest list. So, when you have time, go ahead and do something up. I’m sure it’ll be great.

  She definitely had the skill, but she worked for a very upscale hotel and was used to doing international PR. To be safe, I added,

  Just remember, this is M&M, not some ritzy hotel you’re promoting!

  Oh, BTW, I won’t be in Vancouver until tomorrow night. I’m in Honolulu overnight. There’s e-mail (obviously!) and you can reach me by cell.

  Heard anything from Jenna? I told her to call you. She’s trying to work out her travel plans.

  Talk soon. Theresa

  And then I called Jenna. No answer, so I left a message, repeating my offer to pay for her flight home. “How about we make it your thirtieth-birthday present?” I suggested.

  After hanging up, I opened my wedding project plan, but my mind was still on Jenna.

  Hard to believe she’d soon be thirty. When I’d reached that age, I was a tenured professor at the University of Sydney. I’d presented papers to the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues and been published in every journal of any significance.

  I’d celebrated my birthday by taking my secretary out for a very nice dinner, telling her it was a thank-you for extra work she’d put in. She’d had no idea it was my birthday. I didn’t want any fuss, just a good meal, a bottle of wine, and pleasant company.

  Kat, who’d turned thirty last year, had spent her birthday in Cape Cod, with the guy whose name I didn’t recall. Jenna would probably spend her landmark birthday by picking up some new hottie and screwing his brains out.

  Not that there wasn’t something to be said for that particular course of action. I glanced out to the lanai, where male eye candy was stretched out, brown skin gleaming in the sunlight, reading intently.

  10

  Damien finished a chapter and smiled with satisfaction. The people at his publishing house had done a great job—so far, he’d picked up only a few small errors—and he liked the book. He always felt nervous when he read his own work in galley format, knowing that was how the book would be printed unless he made changes. What if, at that stage, he suddenly found an error in logic or a major inconsistency? Or worse, what if he decided the whole story sucked?

  It hadn’t happened yet. Didn’t mean he’d stopped worrying, though. But so far, with Gale Force, he was happy.

  Realizing he was hungry, he checked his watch and saw he’d been working for more than an hour. A
glance inside showed Theresa curled up in the desk chair, long legs bare and shapely under the tails of his shirt. She had the wedding planning book spread open and was typing and muttering. When he rose and moved to the open lanai door, he could hear her.

  “Wedding cake. Big, fancy, tiered cake with romantic topper. Separate slices to take home? Groom’s cake?”

  He stepped through the door and she glanced up.

  “Groom’s cake?” she repeated, eyes dazed.

  Not sure if it was a question, or just her mind stuck on the last thought, he answered anyhow. “Chocolate. Well, unless the guy doesn’t like chocolate. But what man doesn’t?”

  Her gaze sharpened, focused. “Or woman. But do you think we need one?”

  “Jeez, I’m no wedding expert.” Still, he’d been to a few. “People usually have them. They’re not fancy white things with icing swirls and roses like the wedding cake, they’re a big, flat cake.”

  “Sheet cake. Yes, I remember from my secretary’s wedding. It had some picture drawn in icing on the top.”

  “Yeah, like a surfboard or footie ball. Something the groom likes doing.” He winked at her. “Some hobby he’ll likely have to give up once he’s tied down with a wife.”

  She grinned. “Don’t look at me, I’m not pro-marriage.”

  Any bachelor in his right mind would be thrilled to hear his lover speak those words. But Damien couldn’t help but think what a pity it was her ex had been such a scuzzy bastard. A woman like Theresa shouldn’t shut herself up in an ivory tower. She had so much going for her, a guy would be damned lucky to find a woman with her beauty, sexuality, and intellect.

  Of course, she could be a real pain in the arse when she got argumentative.

  But now she was smiling, eyes bright and sparkling, not a criticism or argument in sight.

  He touched her soft cheek. “Done enough work, Prof? Time to hit the shops and buy you something sexy, then find some lunch?”

  She pressed into his hand, then moved away, getting up and stretching. His shirt lifted higher up her thighs, giving him naughty ideas. “Sure,” she said. “I’m hungry.” She stuck a bookmark in the wedding book and heaved it closed, then came over to him, rose on her toes, and planted a kiss on his lips. “I’m being irresponsible, Damien, but I won’t regret it. I deserve some fun.”

  “Damn right.” He kissed her back, harder and deeper, then shoved her away before he gave in to temptation. “Get dressed and let’s go out.” Part of him would be entirely happy to spend the whole day in this room, but the fact of being in Honolulu for the first time, with a special woman on a sunny day, made him want to go out and explore.

  Theresa gathered up her clothes and went into the loo. He pulled on the shirt he’d laid out earlier, stuck his sunnies in the shirt pocket and his wallet in his shorts pocket, and wondered how long it would take her to get ready.

  The door opened and she emerged.

  Most women spent half an hour on their hair and makeup, and didn’t end up looking near as fine as Theresa. Of course, with such natural good looks—dark brows and lashes, rosy mouth, great bone structure, soft, clear skin—she didn’t need much fancying up. Yeah, her natural beauty was a real turn-on.

  “What are you staring at?” she asked nervously. “I know these clothes aren’t right, but they’re all I have with me.”

  “It’s not that. You look great. That’s all.” She didn’t even look too out of place in her cotton pants and sleeveless top, but he guessed she’d be hot once she got outside.

  She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t ask him to expand.

  When he was writing, it was this kind of stuff that gave him trouble. He could write ten pages of action and dialogue in an hour, yet it often took him at least that long to draft one line of Kalti’s emotional response to a woman.

  “Oh crap, that’s what’s wrong!” he said.

  “Wrong?” She glanced down her body. “What’s wrong?”

  “Not you. My book. The one I’m working on.” He took her hand and tugged her toward the door. “Something didn’t feel right but I couldn’t figure out what it was.” As they headed for the elevator, he went on. “My cop protagonist Kalti has been assigned a new partner. And I know what a lot of their issues and conflicts are. Like, she’s scientific, logical, skeptical, and he’s the guy who…” He paused as they stepped into the elevator.

  “Who believes in Dreamtime spirits, and they come alive for him,” she said. “A fact that he hides from his colleagues.”

  “Too right. But if he and Marianna are partners, they need to be able to trust each other.”

  “A man who’s keeping secrets is hard to trust,” she said with a touch of bitterness.

  “True. But Kalti can’t tell her—can’t trust her—because she’s an outsider to his world. She’d never let herself believe in the spirits.”

  The elevator doors opened and they both stepped out. “So,” he said, “all that stuff sets up great conflict. But something was missing.”

  “And you’ve realized what it is?”

  “Uh-huh.” They’d crossed the lobby, and now stepped outside into the sunshine. “Sunscreen for you.” Her skin was a light golden brown. “And sunnies and a hat.” He slipped on his own sunglasses.

  “I hate hats. But yes to the rest. And to shorts, definitely.”

  “A sarong,” he teased. “With a bikini top.”

  She ignored the comment. “Let’s head over to Kalakaua Avenue. Now, go on, what did you figure out about Kalti and his new partner?”

  “He’s had casual relationships with women, but this is the first time he’s had a female partner. He has to see her as a woman, not just a partner.”

  “Isn’t that sexist?”

  “It’s human nature. Trust me, a man notices if a person’s male or female. So, does he think less of her, discriminate against her, or does he defend her when other guys make sexist remarks? Does he overprotect her in a dangerous situation? Does he lust after her?”

  She nodded. “I see what you mean. And, on that note, she’ll not only notice he’s a man, but that he’s Aboriginal Australian. What does she think about that?”

  “Like, does she think of him as a boong?” Deliberately, he used one of the derogatory terms that, along with coon and abo, were used by racist people. “Or, if she isn’t prejudiced, does she defend him against racial slurs, which might piss him off because he can take care of himself?”

  “Well? What do they think of each other?”

  “Good question. One I haven’t answered. I got caught up in the action of the story and forgot about the more subtle, personal stuff.” The stuff that, while being tougher to write, added essential texture and depth.

  Her fingers wove through his and she hugged his arm against her. “The issues you’re talking about—like discrimination, whether it’s blatant or subtle—are important.”

  She was right. And maybe in this book they’d come to the fore more than they had in the past. Some instinct had made him give Kalti a female partner, but if he hadn’t met Theresa, he might not have figured out the deeper implications and possibilities. Dealing with perceptions and prejudices could give this book additional depth and conflict and, who knew, those issues might even feed into the story line. Once he got started writing, he never knew exactly what words were going to flow through his fingers.

  They’d been weaving through other tourists, most in shorts and many sporting vivid Hawaiian shirts and tees. The streets were pleasant, with coconut palms offering some shade, overflowing flower baskets hanging from Victorian street lamps, surfboards displaying historic information, and ginger and frangipani perfuming the air.

  He and Theresa stopped at a red light and she tilted her head up to him. “The subtle, personal stuff, like you were talking about, is really interesting. Small things can reveal a lot.” She touched the sea eagle tattoo that was hidden under his shirt sleeve. “Like your tattoos.”

  “Symbols of teen rebellion.”


  “Symbols of two different heritages, ones that your parents avoided acknowledging. A statement of independence. You wanted to be your own person, and you recognized that your Chinese and Aboriginal heritage was part of that.”

  “I guess.” Yeah, this was the kind of thing women did so much better than men. Not only analyze subjects like this, but have the words to express them. Man, it was going to be a challenge weaving this kind of stuff into his book.

  The light turned green and they began to cross the street.

  “Do you have any contact with the Chinese side of the family?” she asked.

  “My grandmother died when I was young, but I’m in touch by e-mail with a grandaunt who lives in New Zealand.”

  “I guess you know what it means to be born in the year of the dragon.”

  He did. When his Chinese grandaunt had first told him, he’d been thrilled to learn he was a dragon. But to spout off about it to Theresa would sound egotistical, so he shrugged.

  Her eyes gleamed in the sunlight. “The dragon is one of the most lucky, powerful of the Chinese Zodiac signs. A person who’s born in the year of the dragon knows what he wants and is determined to get it. He has a natural charm and charisma, and easily influences others. People enjoy his company, turn to him for advice. He’s often the center of attention.”

  Damien gaped at her. “Jeez, prof, you’re a walking encyclopedia.”

  “No, I’m a good researcher.”

  “You researched me? My tattoos?”

  “I was overdosing on wedding stuff and needed a break.”

  Well, how about that. Was it intellectual curiosity or was she really interested in him?

  “This store,” she said, steering him through an open door.

  They’d passed a dozen shops and he had no clue how she’d chosen this one. Efficiently she went about selecting white shorts, a sleeveless top with a subtle pattern of seashells in sand and white, another in pale blue, flip-flops, sunglasses, and sunscreen.