Asking For It

by Alyssa Kress

  The bank would call Blaine Development with their questions, questions nobody there would be able to answer. Hopefully, suspicions would be aroused. Hopefully, enough suspicion would be aroused to kill the whole deal.

  So it was obvious Ricky was not deeply involved with Deirdre. How could he be when this was how he'd used information she'd told him in confidence?

  Ricky came to a stop at the bottom of the off-ramp, turned left, and drove in brooding silence up the winding hills of Silver Lake. Okay, he might feel a little guilty about using Deirdre. He might even like her a little bit. But he wasn't involved. He didn't need her.

  Ricky had learned long ago that it wasn't a good idea to need. Need made you weak. He'd needed his father, who'd gone back to Mexico when Ricky was five and never returned. He'd needed his mother, who was so busy trying to make enough money to put food on the table for Ricky's six brothers and sisters that she'd barely had time to say 'hello' to him.

  Allowing himself to need his parents — who hadn't been available — had made Ricky weak. He hadn't studied in school, he hadn't tried to make friends, or at least not the right friends. He'd lived in a wasteland of indifference and futility.

  Never had he turned to the only person it was safe to need: himself.

  On a narrow street overhung with magnolia trees, Ricky swerved into a parking place. He turned off the motor and frowned out the windshield. For him, he knew, the turning point had come at Camp Wild Hills. There, his eyes had been opened. He could depend on someone. Himself.

  The man of the hour was Ricardo Ascensios. Always available, always able. Nobody else — nobody — was going to come through. Nobody else could be trusted, could be allowed close. Not even Kate. No, Kate had only helped him to see this.

  Ricky clicked open the car door, swung himself out, and strode swiftly up the sidewalk toward the two-story apartment building that he knew, in the daytime, was a pale, lime green.

  Ricky took the exterior stairs two at a time, his heart starting to speed. He stopped outside a door marked 2C, took a moment to even out his breath, then gave the door three smart knocks. He tapped his thumb against his thigh as he waited.

  The door cracked open, then widened. Deirdre's face appeared. Oh," she said, and smiled. "So you made it, after all."

  "I made it." Ricky heard his voice come out strange and husky. He didn't need Deirdre, but he sure as hell liked sleeping with her. He put his hand around the back of her neck and lowered his head.

  Deirdre let out a small, happy sigh as they kissed.

  Ricky closed his eyes, ending the kiss and setting his forehead against hers. What a terrible thing, he thought, to have lied to Kate so.

  ~~~

  She wasn't going anywhere to meet anybody.

  Kate sat under the light at her linoleum kitchen table and wrote out checks.

  But as if operated by a power other than her own, her eyes strayed up to the school-type clock on the wall. It was ten forty-five.

  Forty-five minutes since lights out.

  Kate forced her gaze back to her checkbook. She drew in a steadying breath. In disgust, she noted that her fingers were trembling as she attempted to make out a check for last week's supply of eggs.

  Ridiculous. There was nothing to be nervous about. She wasn't going anywhere. For heaven's sake, there was no point to meeting Griffith tonight. There was no potential relationship to which she ought to keep an open mind. They had nothing in common. They shared no values. They barely even knew each other.

  Kate let out her breath and concentrated on numbers. Twelve dozen eggs, plus delivery. Now, was that for one week, or did the number cover two? She scowled, unable to concentrate.

  She wasn't interested in a relationship, not with Griffith, not with anybody. She couldn't bring herself to trust a man.

  Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say she couldn't trust herself.

  By dint of sheer determination, Kate solved the egg problem, wrote the check and stuck it into the envelope she'd send down the hill with Lupe the next morning. She reached for the next bill. Electricity.

  It was ten minutes to eleven.

  She ripped the electric bill from its envelope and nearly tore the invoice in half. A frustrated breath hissed out of her. Was Griffith already out there, by the big oak tree? Was he looking up the path, watching for her? She hoped he wasn't foolish enough to be expecting her. But all the same, in her mind's eye she could see him standing there, his long, elegant torso, his broad, manly shoulders, the latent power and expertise. She remembered the feel of his lips on hers, so strong and warm, and the sensation that had sizzled all the way through her.

  Oh, she might not be able to visualize a real, meaningful relationship with Griffith, but she sure as heck could imagine a heavy-duty sexual encounter with the fellow. Imagine? The idea suffused her. It was as if, refreshed by its long slumber, her libido was now working overtime. The poor thing was chomping at the bit. She felt restless and edgy. Wanting.

  Kate smoothed the electric bill flat on the tabletop. Her poor, under-utilized sex drive. Now it was begging for mercy. Screaming for it. She had to do something to shut the thing up. She looked over at the clock.

  Five minutes to eleven.

  Her fingers danced nervously over the flattened electric bill, then stilled. She looked down at them, bemused. Why had that happened? She leaned back in her chair and drew in a long breath, acknowledging why she'd stopped shaking. Because she'd made a decision.

  Or half a decision, anyway.

  She stood up, pushed her chair under the table, and went out her front door.

  ~~~

  She was coming. She wasn't coming. Standing with his arms crossed and his weight on one hip beside the fence edging the tomato field, Griffith went from one prediction to its opposite, like a child plucking a forget-me-not. With each alternative, he went from delighted anticipation to pained disappointment. It was a debilitating pendulum.

  Part of him knew this assignation was a very bad idea. Kate had no idea he was actually her landlord, let alone what he planned to do with the property.

  And yet a far bigger part of him willed Kate to come walking down the path. Who cared what he was going to do with the property? He wanted that energy of hers, he wanted her ability to make him feel...human.

  With rigid discipline, Griffith avoided looking at his watch, but he knew she was late. Quite late. He was just steeling himself to accept that she was standing him up — not that she'd ever agreed to come — when he saw her, a solitary figure coming down the path.

  She was still in her jeans. Her hair was still pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. Kate had taken no pains to pretty herself up for this rendezvous. Griffith felt a moment of dread. Had she only come in order to say no?

  But there was something in the way she was walking, tentative rather than determined, that brightened Griffith's outlook. She was nervous. She wouldn't be nervous if she'd come to say no.

  Griffith did not move to meet her. She had to be completely willing. Eager, even. He wouldn't be able to manage the underlying guilt otherwise.

  Her boots made a scuffing sound on the dirt path as she stopped about six feet away from him.

  Damned if Griffith knew what to do next.

  A line formed between her brows. Griffith could see it in the half-moonlight. She crossed her arms over her chest. A picture of resistance.

  "Hello," Griffith said. As a romantic opening, it left a lot to be desired, but he felt like a tennis ball was lodged in his throat.

  "Griffith." It was the tone Kate used when she was disciplining one of the boys.

  "I fixed a place over there." Griffith pointed across the tomato field to a big spreading oak tree, a place more private than here beside one of the main paths. He'd gathered dead leaves and bunched them under a blanket. It was hardly ideal, but he hadn't much to work with, being without his Hilton card.

  Kate spared a glance toward Griffith's proposed love nest. She seemed to find it easier t
o look there than at her prospective lover.

  "Come on." Griffith did his best to infuse a note of enthusiasm into the proceedings. He took her hand.

  She nearly pulled her hand out of his. Griffith panicked then. "Ah, we don't have to do anything," he claimed. "Just be with me. A date, huh?" He smiled.

  Kate frowned back. "A date."

  "Yeah." Griffith tried a small tug.

  She resisted again, but only half-heartedly. He continued to pull, helping her over the fence. Then, walking as far away as she could while still holding hands, she let him lead her across the tomato field.

  "Hey," Griffith said, as they arrived at his makeshift bower. "We'll call it rustic."

  Kate snorted, the first halfway friendly sound she'd made. At the same time, she let go of his hand.

  "You want something to drink?" Griffith asked. "A beer? Some Coke?"

  "Where'd you get a beer?"

  "Arnie." Griffith did not mention the other entertainment devices Arnie had provided. "Want one?"

  She lifted a shoulder. "Why not?"

  Delighted, Griffith went to the cooler he'd borrowed from the main kitchen and pulled out two of the Coors Arnie had given him. He popped the top off one and handed it to Kate.

  She took the can and tapped it against the one he still held. "Cheers."

  "Yeah, cheers. Hey, have a seat."

  She thought about that longer than she'd considered the beer but then, with another so-what lift of the shoulder, she folded into a cross-legged position on the blanket.

  Griffith settled himself as close as he dared. This was tough, he was discovering. He'd never tried to seduce a woman without using some material inducement. From the beginning of his sexual life he'd discovered he needed things to gain desired behavior. The back seat of his father's brand-new Cadillac had served to rid seventeen-year-old Eileen Cunningham of her panties. A suite at the Ritz-Carlton had secured the compliance of Rita DeLuca, the most sought-after co-ed at Princeton. And so on through the years and the women.

  But here Griffith had nothing. He gazed at Kate's closed, tense face as she tipped the Coors can to her lips and racked his brains for an opening. "I'm glad you came," he finally said. This was, at least, sincere.

  Kate lowered her beer can. "Even though nothing's going to happen?"

  Griffith looked straight at her. "Something already is."

  She went very still. Her eyes looked almost transparent in the darkness.

  Griffith used the opportunity to shift closer to her, close enough to take the beer can out of her hands and set it in a spot between the roots of the tree. He then took the hand he'd just freed. "You came, didn't you?"

  Kate didn't say anything, but her hand squeezed his very gently. Frightened?

  "You're here," Griffith said, even more softly, and squeezed her hand back. He leaned toward her. Gambling, he touched his lips to hers.

  It was like that night on the bunkhouse porch, an amazing burst of sensation, like the shock of water upon first jumping into a pool. But Griffith was better prepared this time. He kept his lips against hers, absorbing the shock, riding with it, and then seeking more. "Kate," he murmured.

  She jumped, breaking the connection between their lips. "Don't," she said.

  "Don't?"

  Griffith was confused. Especially when she leaned forward to initiate her own kiss. She moved her lips over his, nibbling, licking, sucking. She might as well have been a key, turning on his ignition. "Kate," he said again, more urgently.

  Once again, she jumped. "No," she told him, very stern. "You can't do that."

  "What?" Griffith was truly perplexed now. "What am I not supposed to do?"

  She scowled. "Say my name, like that."

  He frowned. "Like what?"

  "Like..." She drew back. "Listen, I'm not in any place — This isn't going to go beyond what's strictly physical, see?"

  Griffith could only blink.

  "That's it," Kate went on. "I've given in about that. There is this...physical attraction between us. I can't understand and don't even want to try. But that's all it is. Physical. I don't — You aren't — There's no way we could actually — This isn't going to lead to any sort of relationship."

  Griffith blinked some more, but he got it now. She was saying they were here to scratch a physical itch. She didn't ask for anything more of him, didn't even want anything more.

  Oddly, he felt taken aback. Had he wanted something more? Tenderness, affection...trust? No, surely not. In a few weeks he was sending bulldozers up to take Kate's water.

  He sucked in his lips. Kate was right. In fact...he ought to be thankful. This was his out. She wouldn't be able to lay a trip on him later. By her own choice this wouldn't be about tenderness, affection, or trust.

  "All right," Griffith said. "We're here for physical pleasure. Nothing more."

  "Right." Kate's eyes were watchful. As if she didn't trust him, which of course she'd just proved she didn't.

  Nor, Griffith knew, should.

  He drew in a deep breath. But his untrustworthiness was something they'd just shoved under the rug. She didn't need to trust him, except in matters physical. And in that, thanks to Arnie's generosity, Griffith could come through. He let out his breath with a smile.

  Under the rug. Gone now. Forget about it.

  "But if I'm here to give you physical pleasure, Kate, you're sitting too far away."

  She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Clearly, despite the agreement they'd just made, Griffith had more work to do. How he was to do it, however, without a Porsche or a twentieth-floor view of West Los Angeles, he had no idea. Once again, he had nothing to fall back on but his own self.

  This was obviously not enough, but he wasn't giving up. Releasing a deep breath, he scooted closer to Kate with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Kate," he said.

  She threw him a warning look.

  "Now, you're going to have to let me use your name," Griffith admonished. "Strictly in passion, I promise."

  She snorted again, but this time with a hint of amusement.

  All right, that was good. Amusement. Now, what? Griffith had nothing to offer except...whatever she most wanted from him. Like her laugh just then. He'd have to watch, see what pleased, and try to give her more of it.

  Feeling more optimistic, Griffith scooted yet closer. "Now, I wasn't wrong about that, was I? You do want passion?"

  She threw him a sidelong look.

  "All right, maybe not passion," Griffith corrected himself. "Not straightaway, anyhow. Maybe we ought to start with..." Tenderness? No, no, no. She'd established she didn't want that. "A bit of play," Griffith proposed, and tilted his head to watch her reaction.

  The corner of her lips twitched.

  That was a go, then. Griffith let his own lips curve generously upward. He chucked her lightly under the chin. She looked up, warning sparks in her eyes, but Griffith figured that was all part of the play. He touched his lips to hers again. This time he kissed teasingly, nipping from one side to the other.

  Did she like that? It was all he had to give her, this...attentiveness. He felt her shudder with something between a laugh and arousal.

  Amusement and arousal stirred within him, mirroring her response. Hey...this was fun.

  Griffith caught her lower lip between his teeth, then opened his mouth over hers, shifting her from the amusement further toward the arousal.

  She made the transition without protest, opening her mouth beneath his and clinging to his shoulders. Rather than seek his own pleasure, Griffith paid close attention to hers. Did she like his tongue curling over hers? Yes? Like that? Ah. And that?

  It was the most amazing kiss he'd ever experienced. Every time he felt her shudder or shift or grab him closer, a fresh burst of pride and desire zigzagged through him.

  And they were only kissing.

  Although, admittedly, they were about to move beyond that. Griffith could feel Kate's movements growing restless a
gainst him. She wanted more.

  He smoothed one of his hands under her shirt. With a shamelessly practiced movement, he unhooked her bra.

  She tensed. Griffith hesitated. Didn't she want this? But then he realized it was the tension of anticipation. She was waiting for him to cup his hand around her breast. Letting out a breath of gratitude, he did just that. Soon he had the softest, sweetest breast in his hand.

  She tensed yet more, but arched her back, clearly wanting her breast in his hand, perhaps wanting him to do something with it. Griffith rubbed his thumb over her taut nipple. A wavering cry came out of her mouth.

  It was like no experience of breast-fondling Griffith had ever known. When his movements made her twist or grip his shoulders with steely fingers, he felt her pleasure as his own. And that made him seem to understand exactly what to do, how tight to squeeze, when to stop and how to soothe. She was pressing kisses against his cheek, his throat, wherever she could reach, occasionally using her teeth when the sensations threatened to overcome her.

  Griffith could have spent the rest of the night doing nothing more than play with Kate's breasts.

  Or at least, he thought he could be satisfied with that until she began tugging on his shirt, one of Arnie's oversized things. Griffith hissed in a breath, astonished by the sensitivity of his chest to her fingers as they sneaked under the knit.

  "Off," she breathed.

  Using a hand behind his neck, Griffith pulled. Kate helped, tugging on the material he brought over his head. And then those hands were all over him, burrowing under his chest hair, spreading across his pectorals and sliding with violent sensation over his own rigid nipples.

  "Kate." He sounded like a man being strangled.

  She laughed low. "Now that's how I want to hear my name."

  "Kate," he said again, grasping onto control. He had to stay in control if he wanted to keep her interested. He caught hold of her hands and held them tight against his burning skin.

  "What?" she asked.

  "You're driving me crazy."

  Her expression was frankly astonished. "And you think you weren't doing that to me?"