Nothing to Hide

by Isabel Sharpe

“I made the rules of this game.” She was suddenly furious and went to pull her legs off his lap. He held them there with strength she couldn’t fight.

  “My little unloved girl.”

  “Not yours.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Not ever.”

  “Is this why you aren’t married? Because your parents didn’t want you so you assume no one does?”

  Her mouth dropped; her throat thickened. She tried to get up off the swing, but he wouldn’t let her move. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “Because you won’t let anyone know you. Because you’re afraid if someone saw you as you really are, they’d run, not love you, is that right?”

  Her breath was too shallow, tears rising too quickly to stop. Damn it. This game they were playing was supposed to go the other way. She wasn’t supposed to have to reveal anything.

  “Leave me alone. You don’t know me.”

  “Actually, I think you and I are remarkably alike, Sandra.”

  “You are remarkably full of sh—”

  His kiss was hard, passionate, cutting off her words, setting the swing in motion as he lunged over her. Her sexual response was fierce and quick, but as quickly as it started, the kiss was over, and Erik was back seated on the swing.

  She stared at him, still panting, but with the fight-or-flight slowly draining out of her.

  If he’d seemed triumphant or the least bit smug, she would have punched him in the nose. But his eyes were serious, his forehead lined with concern. “You okay now?”

  “Yes.” She swung her legs down and tucked her hands under her thighs. He’d kissed her the way you’d slap a hysterical person. She didn’t know whether to feel protected or violated.

  Erik stopped the motion of the swing. “So.”

  “So?” She barely glanced at him. Every emotion she’d experienced still swirled through her. Anger, shame, grief, fear and a tiny bit of something vulnerable and sweet, as if Erik had reached a place she was only dimly aware she had.

  “Are we done?”

  “Yes.” She knew what he wanted. She’d promised him access to her breasts if he told her a secret. The idea of him cashing in on their deal sickened her as much as it excited her.

  “Want to take a walk?”

  Sandra looked at him in surprise. “A walk?”

  “Yeah. Along the lake. It’s nice this time of night. No black flies. Too breezy for mosquitoes. Want to go?”

  Why? He’d earned the right to touch her. A deal was a deal, and she had not ever weaseled out of a promise in her life.

  “What about... You told me your secret.”

  “Jeez, what kind of guys have you been hanging out with?” He didn’t try to hide his distaste, got up off the swing and held out his hand. “Give me more credit than that. You think I’m going to put you through an emotional wringer and then say, ‘Okay, done, can I play with your tits now?’”

  She giggled and gave him her hand, feeling lighter, younger, definitely relieved. “I guess when you put it like that...”

  “We’ll go for a nice walk, we’ll have a good time, come back all relaxed.” He held the screen door open and followed her down the steps. “And then I’ll play with—”

  “Do not finish that sentence.”

  He laughed and put his arm around her, pulled her close. “I really like you, Sandra. Want to move to New York?”

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  “I could get used to having you around.”

  His words pleased her absurdly. But not, as they were supposed to, simply because they meant she was succeeding at reeling him in. They pleased her because it was really pleasant to be liked. Really pleasant to be with him out here on a beautiful night.

  They walked until the sand ended and the rocky shore began, swinging hands, letting their bare feet swish through the water’s edge. Then they turned and retraced the journey, passing the house, meandering along the beach until rock reclaimed the shoreline again on the other side of the property.

  Back at the house, they returned to their seats on the swing with big glasses of ice water, chatting some, but already comfortable with silences.

  Sandra hadn’t felt so at peace, so content with a man...ever. Maybe with some of her gay friends in the theater. But even they were always wanting to talk, to share themselves. She’d always wondered why people seemed to open up to her so easily. Maybe Erik was right, maybe they came to her because she didn’t tell them anything in return, didn’t burden them back with a need for opinion or advice.

  They talked on, until the moon was high and Sandra was tired of talking. She put down her water and pulled her top up. And off.

  Erik stopped talking.

  She folded the shirt, took off her bra, folded it neatly, too, and carefully tossed the clothes onto the chair next to the swing.

  Then she sat, letting the swing rock, one arm along the back of the cushion behind them, the other on the side.

  “Sandra.” His voice was husky in the near darkness.

  “Yes, Erik?”

  “You are beautiful.”

  His touch when it came was not carnal, not greedy, but reverent, gentle. She hid her climbing arousal, kept her body relaxed, and he controlled his, keeping his movements slow, unhurried. Gradually she got used to the steady simmer of desire and let herself sink into the sensations. His hands were smooth and capable, testing the weight of each breast, moving over them in leisurely caresses. His mouth found her nipples one at a time, sucking and exploring with firm lips, swirling warm patterns with his tongue.

  Only once did she betray her reaction, when her breath caught as his teeth gently grazed her areola. Then gradually the sweetness became confused with too much lust, and she turned the corner from wanting power over him to wanting him. But just as she opened her mouth to surrender, to tell him he could give it to her any way he wanted, he stopped, lifted his head, and kissed her gently.

  “Thank you, Sandra. You are an amazing woman.”

  “You’re welcome.” She sounded as dazed as she felt, already missing his touch. Not since grade school had a guy stopped after petting, and back then it was because she made him. Erik could have done whatever he wanted.

  “Ready for sleep?” He stood, solidly masculine, holding out his hand to her as he had earlier that evening, the consummate gentleman, except for the erection pushing out his shorts.

  Ready for sleep. Not ready for bed. He was honoring her rules.

  Sandra didn’t want honorable. She wanted sex.

  Giving him her hand, she let him pull her up and lead her inside and to the second floor. She was supposed to be guiding this. She was supposed to be doling out the sexual favors one by one, and here he was leaving her in a state of such violent arousal, she was going to have to bring herself off in bed.

  “Good night.” He pulled her to him and kissed her. Once. A nice, sweet good-night. Twice. Longer, his mouth lingering. The third time she responded, pressing her body against his. A second later, she found herself backed against the wall, his erection pressing into her, his eyes glazing with lust.

  “Good night, Erik.” She managed a smile and slid out from under him, headed down the hall to her room, knowing he was watching. But instead of feeling triumphantly back in control, she felt dirty, ashamed of the cheap bait-and-switch she’d pulled on an honorable guy.

  In her room, she collapsed onto the bed, badly shaken. In one day Erik had changed from the guy she had to teach a lesson to, into someone she had to defend herself against or...

  Or what?

  She didn’t know. All she knew was that for the first time in many years, she was in a position she swore up and down she never would be again.

  Way over her head in a situation she herself had instigated.

  11

  “SO YOU’RE GETTING a second interview―that’s great.”

  “Yes.” Allie nodded several times to make up for the lack of energy in her voice. “They seemed really excited abou
t me.”

  Julie flicked her a glance. She was standing in front of the full-length mirror on her bedroom door, wearing skintight black pants and a belted tunic, clothes strewn over every available surface except the bed space Allie occupied. Tonight Julie was going out Wednesday-night clubbing with her boyfriend, David, and friends from work at Condé Nast. Apparently none of the gazillion outfits she’d tried on already made the correct fashion statement. “I’m sure they’re excited about you. But you don’t seem that excited about them.”

  “No, no, I am. I need a job. They have one I can do. It’s perfect.”

  “Oh whee, that sounds thrilling.” Julie yanked off the belt and tunic. “I give up on these pants. Nothing looks right with them.”

  Uh...tight black pants on a tall, model-perfect body like hers? Everything looked right with them. Allie had given up on suggestions half an hour before. Julie certainly had strong ideas about how she didn’t want to look. Eventually she’d stumble over how she did. “It is thrilling. My long weeks of unemployment could be just about over, and I might not starve. That’s cause for celebration.”

  “When are you going back to Lake George?” Julie turned to her dresser and started rummaging in her bottom drawer.

  At the mention of the lake, Allie felt an immediate stab of misery. “I thought I’d rent a van and go tomorrow, early. Just pick up the clothes and come back the same day.”

  “What? You’re not staying up there?” Julie straightened, holding a black camisole with a glittering floral design. “But Jonas will be there for the weekend.”

  “I know, I know.” Allie flopped over onto her back and glared at the ceiling. She’d been having this battle with herself for the past two days. “I just don’t see the point of going back there, falling for him harder and then saying goodbye. I don’t want to date someone I see once a month.”

  “He’s loaded. You could probably see him every weekend.”

  Allie lifted her head. “Once a week? Would that be enough for you?”

  “If I could see us working out long-term, I’d at least try it. What about this?” She turned to Allie in the camisole, arms spread.

  “Well, I can’t see us working out long-term.” She eyed her friend critically, her brain coming up with her own fashion ideas. “It looks great. Like everything else you’ve tried on.”

  “Why won’t you and he work out?” Julie demanded.

  “We just wouldn’t. We’re too different.” Allie rolled off the bed and grabbed paper and a pencil from Julie’s desk. “I wish I had those clothes here now for you. There was this fabulous shirt, black with lace sleeves and two lace panels over the boobs, lined with skin-colored fabric, that was both sexy and elegant. No one is wearing stuff like that now. You’d look incredible in it, with a little fascinator in your hair and a narrow skirt or wide pants. Something like this.”

  She finished the sketch with a few bold strokes and handed the paper to Julie.

  “Yes!” Julie smacked the paper decisively. “That’s what I want. Can you make it for me in half an hour?”

  “Uh...”

  “Seriously, that would be the perfect look.” Julie gazed rapturously at the drawing, and then lifted her head to glare at Allie, jamming her hands on her hips. “You are an idiot not to be pursuing fashion design as a career.”

  Allie snorted. “Yeah, thanks, but I’d like to make enough to live on.”

  “So...” Julie dragged off the camisole. “Marry Jonas and you won’t have to worry.”

  An undeniable thrill shot through her. Security, safety, for the rest of her life...

  Allie recoiled from the bottom of her soul. What was she thinking? “Come on, that sexist crap is so not me!”

  “Why not? If you’re crazy about him anyway, and he’s crazy about you, which it sounds like he is.” She glanced at her watch, cringed and bent back to her drawer.

  “We just met! I can’t even think—”

  “I know you just met. I’m not suggesting you propose tomorrow. But if things work out, since he’s got craploads of money, he could support you while you—”

  “No.” The word exploded out. “I am not letting any rich guy support me.”

  Julie gave up on the drawer and turned back to her closet, totally unfazed by Allie’s outburst. “Wouldn’t you be happy to support him if your roles were reversed and he wanted to start a new business?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess so. But that’s different.”

  “Now who’s being sexist?” She pulled out a black top that looked as if someone had slashed it into ribbons, and paired it with a red skirt still on the hanger. “And how are you and Jonas so different? It sounded as if you got along great.”

  “He grew up in Old Westbury, and I grew up in Kensington.”

  Julie looked up with an incredulous stare. “Uh, Allie? You need to figure out what the real issue is, because that is just plain stupid.”

  Allie dropped her eyes, calming her temper before she responded. Maybe it was stupid to Julie, and maybe it was true that Jonas wouldn’t care, but Allie did. And her caring this much, right or wrong, meant it was a real issue. “Our lives have been so different, it’s like we can’t connect. We’re fine flirting, fine chatting, but when it comes to real sharing...”

  “Okay.” The black pants were off and flung onto an already-loaded chair. Julie stepped into the red skirt. “So how did he react when you told him how you grew up?”

  “I didn’t tell him.”

  “What? Why not?” She zipped up the skirt. “I forgot about this skirt. I like it.”

  Allie peered over the side of the bed. “Didn’t you wear that on your date with Kendall the night he—”

  “Stop!” Julie held up a hand, turning side to side in front of the mirror. “Not another word about that creep. This skirt is the only one I’ve tried on today that might work, and if I think about him I won’t want to wear it. So why didn’t you tell Jonas?”

  “Because it wasn’t the right time. We were having a great, fun fantasy time together.” Allie sighed. Julie would never understand. “Why bring my ugly reality into it?”

  “You know, the only person who really can’t handle your childhood circumstances is you. I bet Jonas would be fine.” She’d struggled out of the black shirt, having gotten herself hopelessly tangled in the slashed ribbons. “Damn it. Now I remember why I never wear this thing. Can you help?”

  “Sure.” Allie took the top and started following the fabric strips from the side and shoulder seams, trying to figure out what belonged where, and where Julie’s head and arms fit. “I do see your point. But I think I made the right decision.”

  “I think you’re using something that hasn’t been a factor in your life for over ten years to keep people from getting close to you.”

  “I do not mind getting close to people.” Her temper rose again. “Hold your arms still.”

  “To keep men away, then. And don’t bring up that Raymond story. He was a jerk.”

  “He was, but case in point.” Allie had been crazy about Raymond at the time—of course hindsight was twenty-twenty—and things had been going well between them for nearly a year. Then he’d come to her mom’s apartment to meet the family. Her brothers had gotten into a huge argument, her mom drank a whole bottle of wine after three cocktails and insulted Raymond’s taste in food and music, and a cockroach had run across the kitchen floor while they were washing up. Things went from special to splitsville within two weeks.

  “I love your family.”

  “When you come over, my brothers can’t talk because they’re drooling too much.” She moved the last strip of fabric to the right place and pulled the shirt back over Julie’s head. “Ooh, we have a winner!”

  Julie turned to the mirror and smiled. “I’d rather have what you’d designed, but yeah, okay, this will do.”

  “You look fabulous. Have a great time tonight.”

  “Do me a favor.” Julie caught her arm as she passed her. “No, two favors.�
��

  Allie rolled her eyes. “Uh-oh.”

  “One, stop trash-talking your family. The only person who comes out looking trashy is you. Two. Think seriously about taking this job you’re not really excited about. Life is too short to piss it away on things that don’t really matter to you.”

  Allie clenched her teeth. Easy for Trust Fund Julie to say. “I get that, but—”

  “Think about it.” She gave Allie’s arm a shake. “Just think seriously about it.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll think seriously.” She met Julie’s eyes and softened her voice. Her friend was worried about her and trying to help. “I promise.”

  “And two...”

  “No, you already did two. I’m done.”

  “Not done, now there’s three. Three.” She pulled Allie closer. “There is something about the way you react to this guy Jonas that you need to figure out. Because I believe with every fiber of my being that if you do, you will unlock some crap about yourself that you desperately need to be rid of in order to be happy. So my number two is—”

  “Number three.”

  “Number three, then.” She got right in Allie’s face. “Promise me, promise me, you will go back up to Lake George and see Jonas again this weekend.”

  * * *

  JONAS TURNED OFF Lake Shore Drive into Morningside’s driveway. His tires spun briefly, throwing up a shower of gravel. He was going too fast, but he was pissed off and more than ready to be back. The drive had been brutal, the MassPike bumper to bumper with Friday summer traffic, slowed further by not one, but two accidents. Any sane person would have waited to drive up early Saturday morning. But he was apparently not sane.

  Now, instead of arriving in time for a leisurely afternoon with Allie to start their weekend together, he was here at nearly dinnertime, while Allie had apparently tried to rent a truck—why the hell hadn’t Erik made it clear they’d ship the trunks to her at their expense?—and then waited hours at the office only to find the truck had broken down and wasn’t going to be available. Now she was on a bus and had hit Friday traffic, too.

  He pulled in next to Erik’s car, quashing the foolish hope that Allie would miraculously be waiting for him, outfitted in the latest 1920s erotic attire. Or better yet, in nothing.