For a Good Time Call

by Trish Jensen

  Vaguely she remembered being lifted into strong arms. Vaguely she remembered looping her hands behind his neck and snuggling against his warm, broad chest. Vaguely she remembered his steady gait, as he carried her inside. Vaguely she remembered him tucking her in bed, and telling her he’d be back as soon as he brushed his teeth. Vaguely she remembered voicing a groggy protest.

  Then, as clear as the night sky that had enveloped them, she remembered burrowing deeper into the bed and whispering, “Kit?” And when he’d answered her, she’d said, “I love you.”

  “Oh, no!” she said aloud now, covering her eyes with her hands. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.” But she had.

  She remembered now. She remembered the utter stillness that had suddenly cloaked the room. She remembered being surprised by it. And then she remembered falling into a contented void.

  She’d told him she loved him. Good Lord, no wonder he’d stayed away from his own bed. With a guilty pang, she wondered if he’d had to sleep on the couch, or on a guest bed. She’d driven him away.

  Heart pounding, she pushed up from the bed and got to her feet. In horror she realized she was still naked. Glancing frantically around the room, she tried to locate her clothes, without success.

  Running to the bathroom, she quickly splashed water on her face, then brushed her teeth, praying he wouldn’t mind her stealing a brand-new toothbrush from his medicine cabinet.

  Then she returned to the master bedroom and tried to decide what to do. No way would she climb back into bed and wait for him to bring her clothes. In truth, what she wanted to do was sneak out of the house and avoid the confrontation she knew was brewing.

  Well, what had he expected? How could he make love to her the way he had, and not expect her to fall in love with him? No one, no one had ever loved her like that.

  Biting her lower lip, she walked to what she assumed was his closet door and opened it. Naturally it was a walk-in the size of her bedroom. Switching on the light, she took inventory. The man owned enough clothes to open a store.

  Grimly, she chose the first white shirt she saw and put it on. The sleeves hung well past her fingers, so she rolled them up. The tails of the shirt nearly reached her knees, but the slits on the sides exposed plenty of thigh.

  Well, that couldn’t be helped. She certainly couldn’t borrow a pair of pants. They’d just fall to her ankles, anyway. Besides, there wasn’t an inch of her he didn’t know. Didn’t know very, very well.

  Dread clogged her throat, but she managed to open the door just the same. She walked down a long hallway to the winding staircase. Peering down over the banister, she searched for Kit. All she saw was a huge marble foyer.

  Gingerly, she made her way down the stairs, for some reason reluctant to make a sound. As she neared the first floor, the tantalizing aroma of fresh-brewed coffee hit her, and her stomach rumbled. What she wouldn’t give for a Snickers bar right now.

  At the bottom of the steps she stopped. Then, steeling herself, she raised her chin, stiffened her spine, and followed the smell of coffee. At the door to the kitchen she stopped. The master of the house was sitting at the broad oak table, staring into his mug, a brooding, bleak expression on his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night. His hair was in adorable disarray, as if some woman had spent the night threading her fingers through it. Which, of course, some woman had. His beard was heavier and fatigue lines creased his forehead.

  Yup, she’d definitely told him she loved him.

  She couldn’t see what Kit wore on the lower half of his body, but his upper half was decidedly bare. And beautiful. Bathed in the early morning light streaming in through the window, his skin glowed golden.

  “Good morning,” Sherry said, trying to sound cheerful. Trying not to sound like she knew her heart was about to be broken. Maybe if she just pretended not to remember, they could both ignore what she’d said.

  Lord, she needed a chocolate fix.

  His head snapped up as if she’d startled him. He took in her attire in one quick sweep, then his eyes began darting around the room. “Did you . . . sleep well?”

  She strolled into the room, ignoring the agitated tic in his jaw. “Don’t remember. I was unconscious at the time.” She tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Sorry about this, but I couldn’t seem to locate my own clothes.”

  His gaze again traveled over her, and though his expression seemed bleak, something flared in his eyes. “I washed them. They’re in the dryer now.”

  “Oh! Well, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Sitting down across from him, she asked, “You?”

  “What?”

  “How’d you sleep?”

  He swallowed. “I wasn’t tired.”

  She decided not to call him the lousy liar he was. “May I have some coffee?”

  He jumped to his feet so quickly Sherry nearly started crying. Obviously, the man was nervous, and he didn’t know how to handle her declaration of love. Unfortunately, she knew how she had to handle it. And her heart began splintering apart at the realization.

  Another realization hit her. Kit wore nothing except paisley silk boxers. And he looked fantastic in paisley silk boxers. The muscles in his arms and back rippled with his movements, and his butt filled out those boxers in a very attractive way.

  He brought her a steaming mug, and waved at the cream and sugar on the table. She added a generous amount of both, then drank, closing her eyes in appreciation.

  Kit prowled the large kitchen, seeming unable to sit still with her in the room. Sherry set down her mug and sighed. It was time to get to the point. “Thanks for putting me to bed.”

  He stopped at the sink and looked out the window. “You’re welcome.”

  “Kit?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please come here.”

  Reluctance was written in every dragging step he took toward the table. He sat down and again stared into his mug. His hair fell over his forehead and impatiently he shoved it back.

  “Kit?”

  “Yes?”

  “Look at me.”

  He raised his head.

  “Are you always this charming the morning after?”

  He blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Are you regretting last night?”

  His mouth dropped open. “How can you even ask a question like that?”

  “Pretty easily, when you’re acting like I’m some kind of disease you’d rather not contract.”

  His coffee mug hit the table with a dull thud. “I am not.”

  “Look at yourself,” she said, waving. “You’re afraid to look at me, and if I walked around this table right now, you’d probably jump up and run.”

  His head dropped forward and his fingers massaged his temples. “It’s not you, Sherry.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He sipped his coffee before answering, whether as a stall tactic or to help him get his thoughts together, she didn’t know. Finally, he stood and went to the coffee maker, refreshing his cup. “More coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  After pouring, he turned back to her. “Do you remember me carrying you to bed last night?”

  She considered lying, but decided that was not a particularly sound basis on which to build a relationship. The truth wasn’t going to do her much good, either, but at least she wouldn’t be deluding herself. “Yes, I remember bits and pieces.”

  “Do you . . . remember what you said to me?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze dropped to her mug. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? Does that mean . . . you didn’t mean it?”

  His tone was so hopeful, Sherry wanted to throw something at his thick head. She glanced up, and found hope gleaming in his eyes, too. The clod. “I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, Kit,” she said, “but I can’t. I meant it.”

  Plowing his fingers through his hair, he swore under his breath. “God, Sherry.” He shook his head, staring at the fl
oor. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Sherry stood up. “You don’t need to say anything. I understand—maybe more than you do—what this means.”

  “What does it mean?” he asked, meeting her gaze once more.

  “It means that we just engaged in a good old-fashioned one-night stand.”

  “What?”

  “It means, Mr. Good Time Kit, that the good times between us are over.”

  “But why?” He set down his mug and moved to her, taking her shoulders. “I wish I could give you what you want from me. But I can’t. That doesn’t mean we can’t . . . enjoy each other’s company for as long as it lasts.”

  Sherry wanted to scream and cry and pound his chest with her fists. But dignity was the only thing she still had going for her, so she laughed instead. “Oh, Kit, you are such a man.”

  Pulling her closer, he said, “You didn’t seem to dislike that about me last night.”

  “I’m not talking about the physical. I’m talking about the emotional.” She squirmed. “Let me go.”

  “Tell me you don’t like being this close to me.”

  “I love being this close to you. Too much, in fact. Let me go.”

  He didn’t. “Tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself last night.”

  Sherry rolled her eyes. “I had a blast. I saw stars. I came as close to heaven as I ever will, I think. Feel better?”

  “Then why would you give it up?”

  Her heart ached, because she didn’t want to. But she didn’t have a choice. She needed to cut her losses, before she fell so hard she’d never recover.

  In a burst of painful clarity, she had to admit that this situation was not Kit’s fault. He’d been honest about his desires and limitations from the very beginning. She’d been the one to lie, to herself and to him. She thought she could handle it. She thought she could take the desire and leave the emotion out of it. But she couldn’t. And neither of them deserved a scene sometime in the future, of Sherry clinging to him as he tried to walk away. Of her begging him not to leave her, to love her forever.

  “Tell me something, Kit,” she said softly. “Have your rules changed at all after last night?”

  He looked into her eyes, searching for she didn’t know what. But when his taut features seemed to go even tighter in grim resignation, she had her answer before he spoke. “No, Sherry, the rules haven’t changed.”

  She shrugged off his hands and stepped back. “That’s all the answer you need, don’t you think?”

  She started to turn away, but he grasped her upper arm and swung her back to him. In the blink of an eye, he had her in his arms. “You knew the rules last night, Sherry. But still you let me make love to you. What’s different today?”

  Dignity be damned. “You didn’t make love to me, Kit. You had sex with me.”

  He waved. “Whatever. You still knew the rules.”

  “You’re right. I knew the rules. It’s not your fault I can’t live with them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, you fool, I’m in love with you!”

  “Aw, damn,” he said, letting her go so fast, you’d think she’d caught fire. He threw back his head, staring at the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”

  He was sorry. Her heart was shattering, and he was sorry. Oh, what an idiot she’d been. “Yeah, well, me too.”

  “But . . . I’m not ready to let this go, Sherry.”

  “It’s not your choice to make.”

  “Go out to dinner with me tonight.”

  “No.”

  “Lunch.”

  “No.”

  “Dammit, why not?”

  Sherry folded her arms over her chest. “I have my own set of rules, Kit. And I’m not wasting my time with a man who doesn’t have any intention of living by them.”

  His brow creased. “What rules are those?”

  She held up five fingers and started ticking them off. “I want a man who respects me.”

  “I respect you.”

  She snorted. “I want a man who knows how to romance me.”

  “I’m trying to learn!”

  “I want a man who makes love to me.”

  He opened his mouth.

  “With the emphasis on love.”

  He shut his mouth with a click.

  “I want commitment, marriage, children—the works, Kit.”

  His face drained of all color and he cleared his throat.

  “I want happily ever after,” she added for good measure. “I believe in happily ever after, and I’m not settling for anything less.”

  He rubbed his forehead and swore softly. “Sherry—”

  “No!” She held out her hands, warding him off. “No, don’t say anything.” Turning away, she asked, “Where’s the dryer? I’m sure my clothes are ready by now.” She began walking toward the door.

  “Sherry?”

  At the threshold she stopped, but didn’t look back. “What?” she whispered, her voice croaky with suppressed tears. She would not cry, dammit! At least not in front. of him.

  “For the record, if I could love a woman that way . . . I’d choose you.”

  Her throat completely closed at that declaration. A good thing, too. Otherwise she’d break out in hysterical laughter. “What a flatterer you are, Mr. Fleming.”

  Twelve

  “You look great,” the male model said, his eyes roaming appreciatively over the female model, who did, indeed, look fantastic. Her shining black hair was arranged in an artless bun, her black lycra dress hugged her curves. Her creamy skin screamed for a man’s touch.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, her color rising alluringly on her cheeks.

  “You smell great, too,” he added holding out a single white rose.

  She said nothing, just took the flower and brought it to her nose.

  The man reached out and touched her bare arm. “You even feel great,” he said, his voice slightly husky. Then he cleared his throat. “Well, are you ready?”

  “Yes, I’m ready,” she said, her smile turning provocative.

  As the man turned to open the door for her, the woman looked directly into the camera and added, “Thanks, Bella Luna, for making my date.”

  Sherry clicked off the VCR before all of the technical information came on, then nodded at Kit’s secretary, who turned up the lights.

  Sherry glanced around the room and found everyone looking to Kit for his reaction. He was staring thoughtfully at the blank screen, his opinion unreadable.

  Sherry’s heart pumped painfully as she peered at him, as it had the dozen or so times she’d seen him since their night together. He was such a disgustingly handsome beast and he didn’t love her. Two perfectly good reasons to hate him. Unfortunately, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  Seeing him today hurt more than usual, though. Because it would be the last time. After this morning’s meeting, Kit Fleming was out of her life for good. Then she could truly set about the business of purging him from her system.

  He glanced over at her, and his gaze flickered up and down her body impassively. The jerk. After a couple of half-hearted attempts at asking her out the first few times they’d seen each other after that night, he’d reverted to the old unemotional Kit.

  “Well?” she said, a little too sharply. She hated the fact that thoughts of him and their night together had consumed her the last two months, while he treated her as if he wasn’t sure he remembered her name.

  Kit hated the fact that he couldn’t help but remember every minute detail about Sherry Spencer, while she treated him as if she wished she could erase every memory they shared.

  Damn, he wished she would have let their relationship proceed in a normal fashion. Maybe then he would have gotten her out of his system by now, and thoughts of her would cease to haunt him. Instead, he’d been granted just a little bit of heaven for just one night and it only made him crave more.

  He still wanted her. So much, in fact, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to sleep with any
of the other women he’d dated since his night with her. He deeply resented her for that, considering celibacy had never held any appeal whatsoever for him. If he could have her just one more time, his problems would be solved. He’d sate this gnawing need for her and be able to move on and get back to his normal way of life.

  “Well?” she snapped again, dragging Kit from his self-pity.

  He examined her again, hoping against hope the raging desire she inspired in him didn’t show in his eyes. “It’s good.” Too good. What they’d shared together had been too good. Too intense. Too incredible. If she’d felt half of what he did during their lovemaking, no wonder she’d fancied herself in love with him.

  Gazing into her eyes, he wondered if she still felt that way. Some awful, selfish part of him hoped so. There was something very satisfying about knowing a woman like Sherry could care that much. He didn’t deserve her love, he knew, but still the thought of it thrilled some inner part of him. A part he’d thought long gone, killed by foster parents who’d done everything possible to demonstrate that love didn’t exist.

  He realized, suddenly, that his pronouncement had opened up the floodgates, and the others sitting around the conference table were all talking at once, registering their approval. The ad was good. The whole campaign was good. Already the two commercials that had aired were garnering plenty of attention. Fan mail was pouring in, and sales were up. All thanks to this sprite of a woman who could turn him on wearing a severe black business suit.

  I want you again, Sherry. He couldn’t help the thought. It pounded in his head, in his chest, and lower. He wanted her. But he couldn’t have her. Not without all the other baggage that went along with her. Commitment. Marriage. Children. Surprisingly, he didn’t shudder at the thought as he normally would. Which just went to show that his hormones were overruling his common sense.

  Reining in his desire, he looked down at his legal pad. Checking off number one on his list—View and Approve Final TV Ad—he moved to item number two.

  Kit waited a few moments for the group to get their congratulations over with, waited while Sherry moved to her chair. She surprised him by beginning to pack up her briefcase, as if the meeting were over.

  “Sit down, Ms. Spencer. We have more items on today’s agenda.”