Isabel Sharpe

by Surprise Me. . . (lit)

She lifted her hips, responding more definitely to his thrusts. He got the message, quickened his pace, now and then grinding his hips against her in a tantalizing circle.

  A steady rise until she was again panting and bucking, straining harder for her second climax, feeling it within reach. He lifted up on his forearms, brought the focus of his thrusts up higher toward her clit and the climb became a certainty. A light sweat broke out on her body; she felt herself flush, felt the orgasm gathering force.

  “I’m going to come.” She held him tighter, repeated the phrase in a soft whisper.

  He groaned and tensed; she sensed him holding back, waiting.

  “Now. Now.” Ecstasy burned across her, more intensely than the first time, and he let go and joined her with a deep sigh.

  She let herself slump back, a dead weight into the pillows and mattress, spent for now. Perfect. Perfect.

  He moved, his body straining to her left in an odd way that threatened to pull him off her entirely.

  A second later she realized what was happening, too late to stop him. The light went on and forced her to confront what she must have known deep down, but wasn’t able to admit, even to herself.

  Edgar. Still inside her. Looking down at her warily, with his hot new haircut, his beautifully muscled arms still holding her.

  Oh, God.

  She wriggled away from him, yanked the sheet up to cover herself and glared, chest heaving with shock, even as her subconscious gave her a big told-you-so. “How could you do this?”

  “Do what? Make love to you? Make you come twice?”

  “Impersonate your brother.” Her outrage made her voice squeak. “Try to get into my pants in a totally underhanded way.”

  He rolled his eyes, looking annoyed with her. “I told you it was me the first time. You didn’t believe me. In fact you looked as if just the thought was going to make you throw up.”

  “I didn’t believe you because—” She stopped abruptly. Why didn’t she?

  “Because I am such a known liar?”

  “You could have insisted.”

  “Maybe. But you looked so disgusted that my ego couldn’t handle it.”

  A twinge of conscience. He hadn’t understood. “I wasn’t disgusted. It was just…confusing.”

  “It looked a lot more like revulsion than confusion to me.”

  She held the sheet tighter to her, searching for the upper hand. “So you wanted back in bed with me and—”

  “Of course I wanted back in bed with you. You wanted back in bed with me, too.”

  “I wanted back in bed with Stoner.”

  Edgar rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, good luck with that. I’m sure you’d have a great time with him. Much better than what we have together.”

  “How do you know I wouldn’t?” She shouted the words at him, even knowing he was right. Hell, she’d known the same thing about Stoner.

  “Because everything in Stoner’s life is about Stoner and always has been.”

  She closed her eyes. He was right again. But…this was still wrong.

  “You shouldn’t have made me think you were Stoner again tonight.”

  “No. I probably shouldn’t have. But Melanie, I wanted the chance to show you again how good we are together, and I knew you’d never let me into your bed any other way.”

  He was right. Again. This was becoming tediously predictable.

  “But…” She tried to find some way to score a point somehow, because she was sure on some level she’d been wronged. Yet she was so hopelessly confused by this time by what she felt and thought and understood—or only thought she understood—about this man and her feelings for him that…she couldn’t even think straight enough to understand what she’d just thought.

  “Here’s my deal, Melanie.”

  “Your deal? Shouldn’t I be calling the shots right now, after you tricked me like this?”

  “Nope.” His grin was still his endearing Edgar grin, but his assertiveness was new. And not entirely unattractive.

  Argh! She was having as hard a time reconciling this familiar friend with the wild man she’d spent the last forty-five minutes rolling around with as she had trying to reconcile dopey Stoner with her perfect lover-in-the-dark.

  Would her love life ever be normal? Would she ever go on a series of pleasant dates with someone, gradually become more attracted, fall deeply in love, get married and live happily ever after? No.

  “Here’s the deal,” he repeated. “You go out with me three times. Three dates, real dates, not buddy dates. My location, my activity, my treat. During this time, you can date Stoner as many times as you want. After you’ve been out with me three times, I’ll ask you again if you want to be with me romantically or just as a friend. I swear to you that I will respect your decision.”

  She believed him. Completely. Because up until tonight she’d trusted him completely, and even now, though she was still horrified at what he’d done, she couldn’t be completely horrified, because on some level she must have known it was him all along.

  “Or what?”

  “Huh?” He tilted his head to one side, and she wished he’d put on clothes again because seeing Edgar naked was like…no, not exactly like seeing a brother naked, because his body was really pretty incredible, and because she knew what he could do with it.

  Okay, nothing like seeing a brother naked. It was the face she couldn’t handle, that dear familiar face on top of raw sex waiting to happen. It was like those pictures when people Photoshopped one head onto someone else’s body.

  But this was Edgar in his entirety, someone she’d been close to for two years without really knowing.

  “You lied about having a girlfriend. You lied about being Stoner. Why should I believe you this time?”

  He sighed wearily. “Because, Melanie. It’s always been about you for me. Without my ‘girlfriend’ Emma, you would have been too nervous to let yourself get close to me, while as your ‘buddy’ safely involved with someone else, I was completely unthreatening. I was also completely unthreatening in the dark, sexually, when I was Stoner, because he’s a doofus you could never be serious about.

  “I want you to pull those images together and see me for who I am. I’m done being afraid where you’re concerned, Melanie, not after coming this far, because I know I can make you happy. Much happier than my brother could, and much happier than all the losers you’ve been wasting time with for so long.”

  Right again. It’s just that…he was Edgar. Not one of the deliciously dangerous bad boys she loved so much. Except in the dark, where he had it all over every one of them.

  God, this was confusing.

  “Three dates, Melanie. It’s not asking much.”

  “No.” She wrinkled her nose. “No, I guess not.”

  He laughed. “It’s at least a step up from the guillotine.”

  “I know. I know, Edgar. I’m sorry, this is just…” She waved at the room, let her arm drop.

  He picked up her hand and held it. She wanted to snatch it back, which he must have sensed, because his face shut down and he released her gently.

  “We’ll take this slowly, Melanie.” He got up off the bed and started putting his clothes back on, which made her feel both sadness and relief. “As slowly as I can stand it after knowing what we can be together. I promise I’ll be the perfect gentleman, and won’t push you to do anything physically unless you’re comfortable with it.”

  His beautiful body disappeared into his pants and shirt until he was once again her friend Edgar, though with clothes that matched and a great haircut that had so changed his face.

  “Deal, Melanie?” He stood at the foot of her bed, hands on his hips, watching her.

  She nodded, glanced up at him, dropped her eyes, then told herself not to be such a wimp and looked up again. “Just one thing.”

  “Mmm?” He reached down and squeezed her foot under the sheet, stroked it gently.

  “Did Stoner have anything to do with tonight? I mean, were the
two of you plotting to—”

  “No. Absolutely not. Stoner is, as usual, clueless in all things.”

  She sighed. “So this was all your idea.”

  “Not entirely.” He released her foot and took a few steps toward her door; she was disconcerted to find she wasn’t ready to let him go yet.

  “You had help?” God, she hoped not Kaitlin.

  “The idea was mutual, but I needed a kick in the pants to make it happen.”

  “Who kicked you?”

  He grinned, lunged suddenly across the bed and planted a sweet, tender kiss on her lips she recoiled from only slightly, and only from the surprise of it. Then he climbed off and opened the door, let himself out, and leaned back in for a second, just as she was going to remind him he hadn’t answered. “Your mother.”

  Her jaw dropped. He winked and started closing the door.

  “Good night, Melanie.” Just as the door latched, she could have sworn she heard him speak again, three more soft words, whispered into the dark hall.

  “I love you.”

  9

  EDGAR WAS HERE. Melanie wasn’t dressed. She didn’t want to go. She couldn’t decide what to wear. She’d just tell him she was sick. No, having horrible menstrual cramps.

  Her room was strewn with discarded outfits. This one was too sexy, this one he’d seen a hundred times, this one not flattering. She hadn’t slept well, her eyes were puffy, her hair looked as tired as she felt.

  She didn’t want to go.

  How many dates had she been on? Countless. She couldn’t recall ever being this nervous, this scattered, this convinced every thing about the evening would be a disaster.

  What could she do? If she canceled tonight, he’d reschedule. Three dates. Tonight’s misery times three.

  Worse, she’d called Stoner to schedule a date with him, and he hadn’t returned her call.

  Terrific. The guy she wanted wasn’t interested except when he happened to be around her, and the guy she wasn’t interested in was all over her.

  “Melanie!” Mom calling from downstairs. “Your date’s here.”

  Yes, Mom, I know. “Be down in a second!”

  Two seconds. How many seconds? She had to wear something. Going downstairs in her underwear would certainly send the wrong message. Damn it. Damn it.

  Fine. Whatever. She grabbed a pink skirt, tight through the hips, then flaring down a few inches above her knees. It was reasonably ironed; she’d wear that. Fine. She dragged it on, adjusted quickly, zipped. With it…

  There. She pounced on a white tank top discarded earlier for being too low-cut. Tough. At this point she’d wear whatever, and who cared anymore. She sure as hell didn’t. She wanted this evening, this date, over with as soon as possible. Maybe she could break out in a nice case of measles. Or food poisoning.

  God, a date with Edgar, how did she get herself into this mess?

  She jammed on tan strappy sandals that climbed up her ankles, and glanced in the full-length mirror hung on the back of her bedroom door. Well. She looked okay for a disaster. He’d think so, anyway. That was Edgar, always complimentary. She always felt pretty and desirable when she was with him. Even when she hadn’t been aware of the extent to which he, um, desired her.

  Melanie screwed her eyes shut, fisting her hands. She couldn’t deal with it. Nor her extraordinary response to him in the dark. No, no, no. Not Edgar. No. Nothing would happen tonight or the other two nights. Nada, zip, niente. Then she and he would put this behind them and settle back into platonic friendship, and everything would be fine again.

  That settled, she checked her makeup for only the third or fourth time, decided her lipstick was too plummy, and painted over it with a layer of pink that blended just right to match the skirt.

  Okay? Hmm. Mascara a little clumpy on her left—

  Argh! What was she doing all this primping for? This was Edgar. Edgar. He wouldn’t care if she wore a garbage bag with armholes.

  She was ready.

  Except for not being ready.

  One, two, three, go. She opened the door and stood there. It took another count of three to get her to move her feet out into the hallway, down the hall, to the top of the stairs, where she could hear her traitor mother and Edgar talking and laughing. He could charm anyone. Everyone liked Edgar. When she got home tonight, her mom would be waiting up and would give her a special smile and a wink and say, “What a nice man” and do everything she could to make sure Melanie married him before she went to Florida.

  Argh!

  One, two…no, wait, she’d done that. Three, four…nope, done that, too. Six, seven, eight, nine—

  “Melanie!” Her mother, sounding impatient, Edgar’s voice murmuring, undoubtedly telling her it was okay, he was in no hurry and Melanie could take all the time she needed.

  He’d be a hundred when she’d taken all the time she needed.

  “Ready. I’m here. I’m ready.” She clumped down the stairs, refusing to descend like a debutante for her assembled company. After all, this was Edgar.

  Who looked very nice in charcoal-gray shorts to his knees and a black-and-gray-striped shirt. Very nice. Chic even. Hand some actually. Maybe her heart could calm the hell down now. Because there was Mom glowing at her and glowing at Edgar, her own personal fashion creation, and it was enough to make Melanie want to throw up except she’d barely managed to eat anything today so she probably couldn’t even do that.

  “Hi, Edgar.” She spoke brightly, carelessly. Or…that was how she intended to speak. Unfortunately, it came out like a brittle shriek.

  Did this count as a date? Could she go back upstairs now? Because he was looking at her as if she were a combination Virgin Mary and Playboy centerfold, and she wasn’t sure she could handle the pressure.

  “Hello, Melanie. You look beautiful.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Smile that felt like a grimace. “You look very nice, too.”

  “So what’s the plan tonight, Edgar?” Tricia was looking nervously at Melanie.

  “I thought we’d go to McDonalds for some dinner, then browse around a gaming store for a few hours, maybe end up at DQ for a big ol’ Blizzard frozen treat.”

  Melanie’s smile was about to droop in horror when her mother burst out laughing, and Melanie immediately felt ashamed she’d bought it even for a second.

  “Boy, Edgar, do you know women or what?” Tricia giggled again.

  “I’m pretty sure what.” He grinned when she squeezed his forearm affectionately, but he was looking at Melanie, which made Melanie want to look back and also to look away immediately, which she did.

  “You’ll have a great time.” Tricia glanced toward her daughter, made as if to hug her and then changed her mind, making the entire situation even more awkward.

  “So. Let’s go.” Melanie was using that superbright voice again. The sooner they went wherever they were going, the sooner they could be home.

  Outside the breeze was cool, the fading sunlight warm. Neighbors had just mowed and the smell of cut grass made her wistful for her childhood in this neighborhood where her most complicated social interaction had been competing with kids on the block for the highest tally of fireflies in a jar.

  She got into Edward’s car, as perfectly vacuumed and polished and uncluttered as hers was dirty and dusty and full of everything she tossed into it and forgot to take out.

  “Where to?”

  He gave her that killer smile that did something a little unusual to her insides, and she hoped wherever they went involved plenty of alcohol so she could have some chemical help relaxing. “Fencing.”

  She was pretty sure they didn’t serve alcohol to people with weapons. “Um…really?”

  He chuckled and started down the street. “Would you rather do the McDonalds date?”

  “No-o-o-o.” She wished he wouldn’t say date. “I’ve just never been.”

  “That’s why I’m taking you. If you’re going to be my girlfriend for all of three dates, you should know about my
life outside work.”

  “Right.” She wished he wouldn’t say girlfriend. “Well, that sounds fun.”

  It sounded dismal. Fencing? Prancing around with swords? This was what he considered a date? She’d never been on a date anything like that. One guy took her bowling once and that was definitely the end of him.

  “No, it doesn’t sound fun to you. Not yet. But I think you’ll like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She didn’t mean to, but the words came out sounding as if she’d said, I’d rather stick pins in my eyes.

  He gave her a sidelong look she couldn’t return, which meant he got an eyeful of her staring stoically through the windshield. Poor Edgar. Maybe he’d realize very soon that the idea of the two of them was a really horrible one, and he’d give up tonight and spare them struggling through two more evenings.

  They drove several blocks in silence, Melanie unable to help noticing that he drove the car like he was part of it, negotiating turns with grace. She kind of barreled around in Honey the Honda.

  Then that idea of him managing a powerful machine with skill started seeming kind of attractive and made her think about him managing her body similarly. She decided it was a great idea to start a conversation.

  “What made you start fencing?”

  He took so long to answer that she turned to look at him and found he was watching her—luckily they were at a red light—with an odd expression, as if he knew she was trying to make conversation.

  “I really want to know, Edgar.” Thank God that time her voice came out more naturally.

  “Okay.” The light changed. The car surged ahead. “I was too small for football, not tall enough for basketball and team sports didn’t appeal to me. Maybe it was arrogant, but I liked that fencing match results rested on my own shoulders. I went out there, I won or lost, outcomes were all up to me. The sport suited my loner personality, but also my competitive side.”

  “I always liked being part of a team.”

  “Yeah? What did you play?”

  “Soccer and softball. Fullback, left field.” She sighed, hating that already they were talking like strangers. As though they hadn’t been friends for two years. Didn’t he see how this dating stuff could ruin everything? “How did you get started in fencing?”