One Kiss, Two Kiss, Red Kiss, Now You Kiss

by Linda Wisdom

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Jill protested. “In fact, why don’t you run along and find your future husband?”

  “I don’t need to. He’ll come to me. Call me tomorrow and tell me all about your evening.”

  Jill didn’t have much time to herself before Greg tapped on her door and entered. He froze, taking in her appearance from head to toe before blurting out, “What did you do to your hair, put your finger in a light socket?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jill was stunned by Greg’s less than tactful statement. “This happens to be very chic, and I like it.” She enunciated each word carefully. That man could deflate her ego with the fewest words!

  Greg swiftly realized it was a good idea to back off before Jill tore his head off. He almost asked how she managed to keep her dress up, but decided not to push his luck. That was when he held out a gift-wrapped box. “Happy birthday. I know you didn’t want to celebrate it, but I figured you wouldn’t turn down a gift.”

  Jill eyed the elaborately wrapped square box with suspicion. “Are snakes going to pop out of it, like last year’s gift?”

  “No, that was only appropriate for a twenty-ninth birthday.” He grinned.

  Jill took the small box from him and carefully undid the wrapping. What she didn’t expect was a beautiful gold pendant with a fire opal set in the center of the intricate design. “Oh, Greg!” she breathed, fingering the swirls of gold. She looked up, unable to understand why she felt like crying. “It’s beautiful.” She stepped forward to give him a thank-you kiss, but when their lips met it didn’t feel as casual as it had the other times they exchanged light, friendly kisses. Their mouths began to soften and move to find just the right spot instead of dispensing with a light peck at the lips.

  Greg’s fingertips rested lightly on Jill’s hip, and he found himself fighting the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her thoroughly. He felt a sense of need during the short exchange—a need for much more.

  Jill stepped back quickly, searching Greg’s face for the same questions plaguing her; she wasn’t disappointed. He was just as surprised as she.

  “We’d better go,” Greg said hoarsely, breaking the thick silence between them.

  Jill nodded, allowing him to assist her with her coat. They walked down the stairs, their shoulders brushing along the way. Jill felt as if she was going out on a date, not just going out with a good friend; the idea was somewhat unnerving. Still, she had wondered what he would be like in that category, so why shouldn’t she just relax and enjoy it?

  Dinner passed in a haze for Jill. They ate at her favorite restaurant, and during those hours they found themselves talking more openly than they had before and learning new things about each other. Jill discovered that Greg had suffered a good spanking at the age of five for cutting his younger sister’s hair in a crew cut. She confessed to the time she and her sister had decided to paint a picture on the bathroom wall using the oil paints from a paint-by-number kit they had received for Christmas. They hadn’t been allowed to play with their friends for a month. And with each reminiscence, another followed.

  Dessert was a succulent chocolate soufflé with brandy afterward.

  “Greg,” Jill said as she drew her scarlet-tipped nail across the white linen tablecloth, “thank you so much for a lovely evening.”

  “It isn’t over yet, beautiful,” he informed her, slipping a charge card inside the leather folder that held the bill. “Think you’re up to some dancing now that your doctor has released you?”

  Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Try me!”

  It wasn’t long before Greg regretted his decision to give Jill a wild night on the town. When they entered the private club he belonged to, he soon discovered that he wasn’t the only man interested in the way Jill’s dress parted all the way up to her thigh when she walked. Funny, it had never bothered him before when men admired the woman he was with, because it heightened his ego. But this time he wanted to slip Jill’s coat back on her and hustle her out the door. He glared at one man who appeared more than interested in Jill’s legs.

  “Over here,” Greg muttered in her ear, steering her to a table in a dimly lit corner.

  “Wait, there’s one near the dance floor.” She pulled on his hand.

  He cursed under his breath as they wove their way between the crowded tables. It took all his concentration to reply to several scattered greetings from friends. He didn’t bother looking around because he was too busy watching the enticing sway of Jill’s hips as she walked in front of him.

  Greg ordered champagne from the waitress before allowing Jill to pull him out on the dance floor. She threw her arms over her head, wiggled her hips and moved seductively with the music. Greg had no choice but to move along with her. The next song was slow and sensual, prompting him to step forward and take Jill into his arms.

  “This is a first for us,” he commented, keeping his hands on her hips so that her arms wound around his neck.

  Jill tipped her head back, her lashes half covering her vividly colored eyes. She could feel the heated strength of his chest against her breasts and found the sensation exciting. For one brief second a startling thought flew through her mind. I could fall in love with this man! “Oh?”

  “Sure.” His dark mood rapidly evaporated under her spell, not to mention the warm scent of her perfume drifting up from her skin. He felt tempted to lean down and kiss the bare slope of her shoulder and find out if she tasted as good as she looked and smelled. “Do you realize in all the time we’ve known each other we’ve never danced before?”

  “What do you mean we’ve never danced together? Of course we have. Don’t you remember my New Year’s Eve party?” she reminded him. “There was dancing then.”

  Greg shook his head. “We were otherwise occupied.”

  Jill sobered. Funny, she assumed there wasn’t anything she and Greg had not done. Well, there was one thing. The champagne must be affecting her wits for her to think so easily along those lines. She freely admitted that she thought of Greg as a sexy man, but for the sake of their working relationship, she vowed to try to keep it to herself.

  It was a birthday celebration to end all celebrations. It didn’t take them long to drain the bottle of champagne. Hours later the tipsy pair left the club and poured themselves into a taxi.

  “Come up for a drink,” Jill invited, her words slower than usual.

  “Think you can handle more?” Greg asked, paying the driver and following her up the suddenly moving stairs to her apartment.

  “Shue—sho—sure.” She laughingly wondered why one simple word could be so difficult to say. Inside her apartment, she stepped out of her high heels and sashayed into the kitchen, humming one of the songs they had danced to that evening. “Think we should stick with champagne?”

  “Safer.” Greg half collapsed on her couch before realizing he still had his topcoat on. After a few major contortions he finally discarded it, not caring that it fell to the floor.

  Or maybe coffee.”

  “Ta-da!” Jill caroled, dancing into the room holding a bottle and two fluted glasses aloft. With a flourish she presented the foil-tipped bottle to Greg.

  He screwed his face up in a comic expression of distaste when he studied the label. “This is pink champagne.”

  Jill retrieved the bottle, holding it up so she could read the label. “Yep, it’s pink all right,” she agreed with the solemnity of one who was quite drunk. “Peter—you ‘member him? He brought it to the party. We just didn’t drink it.”

  “Real men don’t drink pink champagne,” Greg intoned, looking up at her with bleary eyes.

  Giggling, Jill dropped down onto the couch next to him. “Oh, Greg, that’s awful. Promise you won’t write a book with that title.” She found the last word difficult to pronounce.

  Greg shook his head. “Nope, never sell.” It took him a few moments to release the cork and pour the bubbling liquid into the two glasses. “To an old lady’s thi
rtieth birthday,” he toasted, but missed clinking Jill’s glass. She laughed as if it were the funniest trick she had ever seen.

  Jill sipped her champagne and held her glass up. “To the even older man who can’t toast worth a damn.” She polished off her drink and poured more into her glass.

  “To the woman with the electric hair.”

  “To the man who most resembles Hairy Harry.”

  The level of the bottle quickly lowered as toasts of every subject imaginable were made.

  “To our fifth anniversary of working together,” Greg announced.

  “That’s not for three more months,” Jill objected. “I wish you’d stop swaying.” She didn’t realize she was moving in the opposite direction.

  Greg squinted, concentrating on pulling the two hazy Jills into one clear one. “To Hairy Harry—may his adventures continue selling.”

  “You said it.” Jill’s hiccup and giggle escaped her lips at the same time.

  He smiled, even though it looked a bit lopsided. “To the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

  Jill pouted. “How about the entire world?”

  “Don’t press your luck.”

  The alcohol-induced euphoria didn’t last long. Jill curled up on the couch, unaware that the folds of her dress had fallen away to reveal the top of her thighs. She stared at Greg with her lower lip wobbling and her eyes liquid with tears.

  “Greg, I’m getting old,” she whispered in a shaky voice. “I’ve found some gray hairs, and I know there are wrinkles around my eyes. Oh, they may be small now, but they’ll get bigger; I just know it. Pretty soon I’ll have to have a face-lift or go to Europe for those sheep placenta treatments.”

  If Greg had been sober he would have laughed and teased Jill out of her fears. But he was beginning to feel just as low. He pulled her into his arms and settled her on his lap, cuddling her the way he would a small child.

  “Hey, it’s not so bad,” he soothed, rubbing her back. “I bet you’ll be a great-looking old lady. Who knows, you could turn out to be a matriarch known for her ageless beauty.”

  “Sure,” she said with a sniff, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “I’ll be there wearing support hose, oxfords and tweeds.”

  “You forgot your girdle,” he said.

  Jill would have punched him in the stomach, but she missed and her hand connected with the couch arm instead. “Where’s the comfort you’re supposed to show me?” she demanded.

  “Comfort.” He wrapped his arms closer around her. At that moment their faces almost collided. He might have been drunk, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. He dipped his face down further and kissed her lightly on the lips, paused, looked down into her eyes and moved his lips over hers again. This time the pressure increased with alarming pleasure.

  Jill linked her arms around his neck and relaxed to enjoy the varied movements of their lips. “Where did you learn to kiss so well?” she asked, opening her eyes wide so she could see clearly.

  “Nicole Kidman.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not that drunk.”

  Greg brushed his mouth over Jill’s again. “Liz Barnhart,” he murmured, again warming her mouth with his. “I was a tender fourteen and she was a very experienced woman of sixteen. She deserved a Ph.D. in oscillation.”

  “Mmm, and you made straight A’s in the course.” She brought his face down to hers for more.

  Their kisses became light, almost teasing, and Jill’s arms remained around Greg’s neck as his hands rotated against the base of her spine. Anyone walking in would have thought two teenagers were indulging in a heavy necking session. Soon their mouths parted and Greg’s tongue bathed Jill’s lower lip before delving inside to search out her moist sweetness.

  “Kiss me,” he whispered.

  She complied without hesitation, eager to taste him again. She also felt the slight roughness of his skin below the smooth lip glistening from her moist touch. Unable to stop at that, Jill’s tongue followed the curved line of his upper lip and slipped inside. A soft, throaty moan left his throat at her daring. His arms tightened around her hips and one hand moved upward to bury itself in the silky curls spilling down over her nape.

  “Do you realize how well you fit in my arms?” His husky voice revealed the arousal his body had already shown her.

  “Pink champagne certainly tastes better on you,” she murmured, tracing his ear with her fingertips.

  “I heartily agree.” He nuzzled the soft and very vulnerable spot of her throat. “But I like this much better. And this.” He found another enticing area along her shoulder. “And especially this.” He kissed the top of her breast, which was barely hidden by the black silk.

  Jill drew in a sharp breath at the fire racing through her veins. With Greg’s cheek resting against her breast, she knew he would feel her nipple pucker in reaction to his touch. She wondered what it would feel like to have his mouth take possession of the aching bud. She ran her fingers over his face as she inclined her head to nip his earlobe and down to slant her parted lips over his.

  “Oh, yes, Liz Barnhart taught you very well,” she whispered in a voice breathy from the passion flowing between them. Jill could feel the heat building up in the middle of her body and flowering outward, seeking surcease. She wiggled her fingers between the buttons of his shirt to feel the heat of his skin.

  Greg lay back on the couch with Jill over him. “You’ve got sexy legs, Jill,” he murmured, edging one hand under the hem of her dress and up her thigh. “I always like summertime because you wear those cute shorts that outline your sweet tush.”

  “This does not sound like a man who writes about a gorilla attending preschool,” Jill gurgled.

  He pressed his hand against her buttocks until her hips were cradled against his. His hands moved along Jill’s sides, skimmed over her breasts and shoulders, then tunneled through her hair, his palms warming her ears. She was powerless when his mouth ground ruthlessly against hers. They shared each other’s breath as their tongues met, playing seductively. It wasn’t long before both were breathing harshly. Jill’s eyes drifted shut so she could allow the beauty of Greg’s touch to wash over her. She couldn’t remember any man taking her to these heights just by kissing her. As far as she was concerned, Greg was more than welcome to carry her into the bedroom and finish this wonderful experience.

  Easily reading her thoughts, he sat up, keeping his arms around her as if he was loath to give her up. “This isn’t the time, Jill.” His voice was gritty with passion. “We’ve both had too much to drink, and while I want very badly to make love to you, I also want us cold sober so there won’t be any repercussions the next morning.” He still couldn’t resist running his palm over her shoulder. That same palm itched to caress her breast, but he knew if he touched her further it would be all over before it could truly begin. He glanced away, unable to look at her glistening and swollen lips, knowing he was the one responsible.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Jill asked, using her forefinger to trace an imaginary line along his jaw. She suddenly felt powerful in her femininity. “Or should I say, not do this?”

  Greg looked up at the ceiling, laughing out his frustration. “Believe me, babe, the last thing I want to do is leave, but it’s for the best.” He set her upright on the couch, stood and reached for his coat.

  Jill couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You— you’re just going to leave?” She was incredulous, not to mention disappointed. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

  He shook his head, a faint smile touching his lips. “Jill, I only wish this were a joke, but this isn’t the time for us.” He leaned over, kissed her on the forehead and walked to the door. “Happy birthday, Jilly Bean,” he said as he left.

  Jill leaned over to extract a cigarette from the box on the coffee table and picked up her lighter. She curled up against the couch arm and lit up, pulling the smoke into her lungs and slowly blowing it out. It was just what she needed to calm her quiv
ering nerve endings; at least it was a poor imitation. She finally got up and went into the bedroom, not bothering to clean up the empty champagne bottle and two glasses, which was an excellent barometer of her jumbled emotions. Her clothes were dropped carelessly onto the carpet and she slid into bed without bothering with a nightgown.

  The strident whine of a vacuum cleaner sliced through Jill’s tender brain like a hot knife. She shot up in bed, holding the sheet up to her chin.

  “Oh, please, Mrs. Hathaway,” she moaned. “Not now.”

  The older woman appeared in the doorway. “About time you woke up.” She eyed the strewn clothes with distaste.

  Jill covered her eyes with the heels of her hands in the hope of blocking out the white dots dancing a polka before her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Two o’clock in the afternoon. A late hour even for you.” The housekeeper glanced toward the open bathroom door as if expecting a man to appear. “I still have to clean up in here,” she announced with a sour purse of the lips. She had no sympathy for hangovers.

  “Okay.” Her head was killing her from the inside!

  “I’ll be leaving soon,” the older woman reminded her.

  “Fine.” Jill wondered if her face was still in one piece or if it had scattered all over the bed.

  “Then I guess I’ll finish the living room,” Mrs. Hathaway decided, moving away and slamming the bedroom door behind her.

  “Ooh,” Jill moaned as the loud sound pierced her eardrums. She climbed out of bed, only to stagger into the bathroom for a reviving shower.

  She stood under the streaming jets of hot water, allowing the steam to clear her head for more rational thoughts. They soon came, fast and furious.

  Had she really kissed Greg back last night? Had they really almost made love? Had she really felt more aroused than she had in a long time? Last but not least, had an equally aroused Greg left her to sleep alone? She groaned at the memories crowding her bruised brain. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or upset that Greg had left her alone.