by Mallory Rush
"Nothing better than a good back scratch, chere. What's that about you scratch mine and I'll scratch yours?"
"Stop that, Neil!" She laughed uncontrollably when he rubbed two sets of knuckles up and down her spine before goosing her ribs. "I'm ticklish."
"You hate it. You love it. And then you laugh at the pain 'cause it hurts so good."
She hadn't understood the first time he'd said that, but it clicked now as she giggled and struggled, then collapsed against his chest.
"What am I ever going to do with you, Neil? You are the most impossible, irresistible man I've ever met in my life."
"I'll tell you what you can do with me. Invite me inside, and let me make up for the last time I was here."
"I'm not going to bed with you."
"Certainly not. I meant it when I said I wanted you out of here, two keys for you and none for me till my fatal charms convince you to share. But since you don't seem of a mind to let me do that—yet—at least let me watch you take out the voodoo pins and fish my glossy out of the trash."
"I didn't trash it. Even if I did come close to burning it in effigy."
"Am I charred?"
"Just a little singed. Lucky for you that you came after me tonight and... apologized, sort of. The glossy thanks you."
He chuckled as she shook her purse to locate her keys. It was so dark in the hallway, she couldn't see to find them.
"Darn, I wish my landlord would replace the bulb. I left a message on his answering machine yesterday. If I had a ladder, I'd do it myself."
Neil's chuckle abruptly ceased, and she wished she hadn't brought up the subject. Feeling his disapproval in the taut silence, she was relieved to grab a hold of her keys.
"Can I come in?" His breath tickled her ear, and his chest brushed her back in a soft persuasion. "I promise to be good."
"Of course—" Had she put away her typewriter? She couldn't remember. Either it was stashed safely in her wardrobe or still sitting on the small table in clear view. "Of course not," she said, feeling frustrated and flustered.
"And why is that?" He leaned in closer, and she shoved the key into the lock, gripping it as if it could save her from something she really didn't want to be saved from.
"Because... because it's a mess, and you were less than impressed after I'd just cleaned. I'll say good night now and see you at work tomorrow, or make that later today."
She should be unlocking the door. Why wasn't she unlocking the door? Was it because his arms were wrapped around her waist and his palm softly rubbed a slow circle around her belly that quivered beneath his touch? Or maybe it was the touch of his lips nuzzling her neck and the trickle of Cajun French words she didn't need to understand to blush at them.
What power did this man have over her? She felt it with greater intensity each time he put hands on her. She was slipping, succumbing to a force that terrified and thrilled her.
"You're fighting me. Fighting yourself," he said quietly. "Don't. It's a no-win battle, chere."
"Don't—don't you need to write down your composition before you forget it?"
"I'll tell you a secret," he murmured. "I call my muse Simon. And Simon says remember. I always do. Right now all I want is to hold you, kiss you, and maybe even risk getting a bit closer to the heart I can almost hear racing in your chest. Can you feel mine?"
"Yes." She felt more, and it was that more she feared.
"But you're pulling away from me. How come?"
"It's the way you're touching me."
"But I've touched you before. We danced with my hands on your—"
"Please, Neil. Don't—"
"Mention how we kissed the first time, the way it ended? You remember, don't you? I got a little carried away, and my fingers went between your legs, while my palm—"
"Stop it," she groaned, frantically clutching the key because she didn't trust where her own hands might go once she released it. "I don't want to hear any more."
"Maybe because... you like hearing it too much?"
"Yes—no! I don't know. All I know is you're trying to seduce me, and I'm not ready for that. Not after tonight."
"Seduce you?" He laughed. "Believe me, chere, if I was bent on seducing you, our current position would be lots more intimate than this. I'd already have us on the other side of this door, with your back against it, those gorgeous legs wrapped round my waist and my pants on the floor with your panties."
His hand slid between her thighs, and the glide of his fingers was more than she could bear. She moaned low in her throat and slumped against the door.
"My, but you're hot, and so wet your pants are damp." He caressed her until she thrust against his rhythmic rotation. He slid his palm away and stroked her belly. "Seduce you? I could. But I won't. You mean more to me than that."
It was then she understood the danger she was in, the reason for her fear. This was intimacy. A gentle brush of palm to belly, a chest pressed to her back, and a man whose power lay in tender, nibbling kisses. This was a hold that could claim her soul. She wanted it so much, she dared not take it, because once she did, he might seize it back and destroy her dreams of having him this way. This side of Neil she could too easily love.
"You scare me, Neil. The way you are now, you scare me."
"How... odd." There was pleasure and puzzlement in his grainy voice. "Seems I do need to get into that head of yours. Try to find out why I don't scare you when I try, then manage to when that's not what I'm after. Forget seduction; I just need to hold you."
He turned her in his arms and pressed her head against his heart. She felt an impulse to beg him to stay, to take her away, anything so he wouldn't leave her side. Hungrily kissing his chest, she loved his strength that was tempered by gentleness, fearing it and yet compelled to confront her fear.
"Kiss me," she demanded.
"Just a kiss?"
"No," she answered truthfully. To hell with striking deals, and so what if he saw her typewriter? She'd explain it away somehow.
His mouth came down on hers. Softly. Longingly. The exquisite rubbing of lips induced her to open hers fully.
His tongue slipped in. Agile and anything but rough. While her own sought to dart and parry, his was strangely subdued, treating her mouth with care. She sucked it, wanting the fire, the force of passion his tenderness had stoked.
When she realized his fervor didn't match hers, that his hands coddled and stroked while she clenched and gripped, she slumped against him. "I don't understand."
"Me either. Did I ever tell you I knew I was in trouble the first time we met, and I could hardly think for wanting carnal knowledge of your teeth? I love them. They're beautiful. And so are you."
"I don't want to say good night, Neil. Stay. Please?"
"No." Neil disentangled her arms and stepped back. "Just a kiss, chere. Best we leave it at that for now. There's something going on here I find most unsettlin'." He stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a match, the flame illuminating his face. His gaze, troubled and dark, caught hers before he snuffed the meager light. "Go on in, Andrea," he ordered more than suggested. "I've got some thinking to do, and every time I look at you, my good sense takes off on leave."
She didn't wish him sweet dreams as she went inside her apartment.
Neil saw the thin strip of light bleed between the closed door and warped floor. He heard her stilled growl of frustration, the sounds of a couch bed being yanked out, then squeaking before two shoes hit the door.
Thud, boom, went heels to wood. Flip, flop—went a heart he'd thought long dead. It was so rusty, it hurt to feel the erratic pounding.
Damn her, he silently cursed even as his lips curved into a grin and he whistled his way down the stairs. He was hurting, but Lord, if it didn't hurt so good.
Chapter 8
The Vow. Neil repeated it aloud several times while he stared at Andrea's open balcony door from where he sat in his sleek red convertible.
He'd parked in front of her apartment five minutes ago, but
hadn't killed the engine. He could still drive to a pay phone, cancel, and make his getaway. Lots of other women were sure to be at Lou's party—available women. Then again, the women who'd made themselves available lately had only made him want Andrea even more.
Why had he walked her home four nights running and left with only a few kisses when he could have shared her bed? And why had he spent an afternoon changing bulbs in graffiti-marked hallways, then hunted down her lazy landlord to buy the hovel so he could fix it up, since Andrea wouldn't move?
What the hell was the matter with him? He'd finally figured it out this morning and nearly lost his breakfast. He was afflicted with a deadly disease that had him buying dolls, shaving for a date, gargling with mouthwash instead of brandy, and right now chewing on a breath mint instead of smoking.
In an act of defiance Neil immediately lit up. He almost choked on his second draw when a lilting husky voice called from overhead.
"Neil!" She waved excitedly, then blew him a kiss from the balcony.
And then he did choke—at the sight of creamy white legs in cutoffs and even creamier breasts straining to get out of a halter she had no business wearing to a party where there would be a bunch of men. He wouldn't even be able to enjoy himself if he had to spend the day making sure they kept their hands off her.
By the time he got his breath and started to yell that she needed to change her clothes, Andrea called out, "Stay where you are, and I'll be right down!" then rushed off.
His hands gripped and ungripped the leather-bound steering wheel in the stifling heat. When Andrea appeared, he got out of the car and held open the passenger door, just the way his mama had taught him a gentleman behaved. No honking horns for a lady, which Andrea definitely was. Even in the skimpy getup that had his blood boiling.
"You got it cut," she said, stepping in front of him and ruffling the hair he'd spent big bucks on to get styled just right. He self-consciously raked it back into place.
"I like it," she said. He didn't like the fact that her comment made him wish he'd cut it a lot sooner. "But I liked it the other way too. And here I thought we'd be twins today." She shook her head back and forth so that her ponytail swished.
"Get in," he growled. When her laughter trickled to a stop, he added grudgingly, "Please."
Neil was glad she kept her mouth shut until they hit the highway. Then the silence began to unnerve him. With only the whipping hot wind whistling past, he turned on the radio.
A quick glance at Andrea won him a sweet smile. She said nothing, but as he took an exit, and the convertible sashayed a few miles through a tunnel of gnarled oaks dripping moss, her hand brushed his knee. He saw her slide a tape into the player. Soon after, a familiar instrumental filled his ears.
Neil turned off on an isolated stretch of dirt road, stopped on a dime, and jabbed the "eject" button. No sooner had he done it than she jammed the tape back in.
Jab. Jam. Jab. Jam.
When she slapped his hand away from the tape that bore the title "Color Me Grey," he jerked her around to face him.
"Shut it off," he roared over the blaring music.
"I see you found your voice again," she yelled back. "I thought that would get your attention."
"Okay, you got it. Now what the hell's the big idea?"
"You tell me." She shook off his grip and turned down the volume. "I thought we were going to have a good time, Neil, but all you can do is sulk. Have you got a problem?"
"I've got a problem with this tape. Turn it off."
"But it's my favorite. Considering the album went platinum and won you a Grammy, it should be one of yours."
With a vicious twist Neil almost dislodged the volume control.
"That was really mature," she said quietly. The hurt look in her eyes got to him more than her put-down. "This date isn't starting out very well. Maybe you should take me back home... unless you want to tell me what's the deal?"
How could he tell her there were things in his past that cut so deep, he shuddered to remember? That certain songs, like certain smells, were time-machine triggers, and he didn't want to go back there. No more than he wanted to face the present and the emotions that were gutting his innards.
Andrea refused to let him ignore his past or escape the present. The stroke of her hand over his was forcing him to confront both. He felt an absurd longing to run home to a mama who wasn't there. How could she have left the little boy who had never quit needing her, who still searched for her in the mist, because if he could find her, they could go home, and he could grow up without hunger, hate, and the hard rules that now ruled his life.
Neil forced himself to turn up the volume until the sound of his own music spilled from the speakers.
"Excuse me, Andrea, but I'm in need of a cigarette and a bit of space. Enjoy the tunes."
He cut the engine and got out. As much as he wanted to run screaming into the bordering woods, he opted to slouch against the hood and stare into the distance. He stuck a cigarette between his lips.
Two feminine fingers grabbed his cigarette and tossed it into the dirt.
"I want a kiss," Andrea said, her soft palms cupping his face. "And then I want an explanation."
"I said I wanted to be alone."
"Too bad, because I'm not leaving you alone."
"Back off, Andrea. Any kiss you get from me now won't be the kind you're asking for."
"Funny, I don't remember specifying what kind I wanted."
The sneer he turned on her met with a smile so foxy, he couldn't stand it. She proceeded to shatter his protective shell.
"You know, Neil. I've never been in love before, so I can't really be sure. But I have to wonder if what I feel for you is more than infatuation since I have the strangest urge to hug you to pieces. Even when you're looking at me as if you want to chew me up before spitting me out to hitchhike my way back home. A home my landlord told me someone bought with cash because he didn't want to waste time with a bank. It seems he plans to gut and remodel, beginning next week. Strange, but I'm the only tenant who hasn't been paid to leave. Do you know anything about this?"
"What's it to you if I do?"
"It's a lot to me, that's what. You've given me what I've never had, Neil—a reason to stay, a sense of security."
"I make you feel secure?" he said, unable to believe it though he wanted to more than anything.
"You do. I've had to make my own way, see myself home with no one worried about whether or not I get there in one piece. Your concern for my safety means more to me than the money you use as a smoke screen to show that you care. It's the only way you know how to say what you can't, isn't it?"
She was killing him by achingly sweet, painful inches.
"Not on your life. Money's not the only way I can show what I feel. Take off that thing that barely passes for a shirt, and I'll prove it." When she hesitated, he knew a grinding impatience to touch her, to have her trust him without the sway of passion. He needed proof that she spoke the truth. What's more, he had to find out for himself if he could give instead of take, protect while he left himself exposed. "Did you hear me? I said take it off."
"But—but here? And why do you want me to—"
"Here. Now. And the reason why is unless you do we're getting out of here before I say something real stupid—like tell you I think I might love you too."
The glow on her face as she slowly peeled off the wisp of cotton was delicious torture. His eyes descended from hers, which revealed a timidity laced with eagerness that was far removed from his experience. It turned him on. It scared him. Almost as much as what he'd had the brainlessness to admit.
He was a virgin again, staring dumbly at a pair of perfectly round breasts. Pretty pink nubs were haloed by brown circles the size of silver dollars.
At heart he was an exhibitionist. But this was for his eyes only, and a quick scan assured him they were amply hidden on a dirt road cosseted by trees.
"Take off the shorts and anything underneath. No
hurry, the slower the better. I do enjoy a suspenseful show."
"But, Neil, I—" Her come-hither-and-touch confidence faltered. Her crossed arms blocked the view he couldn't take his eyes off of or get his hands on soon enough.
"Need some help?" In a flash his tank top was gone. "It would certainly be my honor to take off what little you've got left. And mine along with it." He'd said what he shouldn't have, but he wasn't about to waste the benefits of his confession. "After all, people who think they love each other just might be able to find out for sure once they get rid of anything that's keeping them apart."
She started to put her halter back on, her breasts bobbing and swaying.
"We'll be late," she said.
Neil frowned. Andrea wasn't a tease. And she'd made it plain several times in the last few days that she wanted a lot more than kisses. So why this? He aimed to find out.
Wresting the halter from her grip, he tossed it to the ground like a gauntlet. When she lunged to get it back, he grabbed her wrists and pinned her on the hood that had cooled down enough so he was sure she wouldn't be burned.
He burned. She was frying his insides to a crisp, and he was making certain that by the time they left, her own would be in no better condition.
"I think I love you, Andrea. But I don't have to think twice about skipping Lou's party to make love to a woman who doesn't screw, who I care for so deeply that I couldn't screw her if I tried. What's holding you back? You ain't a party animal any more than I'm a monk, and I don't get this."
Their sweat mingled as he rolled his chest over hers, over the sweet mounds he craved to touch, to suck. This he told her outright. And then she did that thing that made him crazy. She turned a shade of red and gave him a shy look of pleasure.
That look caused him to bring her wrists to his lips and kiss the imprint of his fingers. And that kiss bound her to him more surely than force ever could.
As she stroked his clean-shaven jaw, and then his windblown hair, Andrea's heart turned over. Somewhere between the removal of her halter and his aggressive pounce, she'd realized that loving Neil wasn't a possibility, it was a certainty. So why had she stalled the inevitable?