“I had a wonderful time tonight.” She leaned against him wearing one of his old T-shirts, her breasts pressing into his ribs, her arms locked at the back of his neck. “It was almost like we were dating again—and very romantic. Thank you for the roses.”
“I had a good time, too.” A voice in his head told him to quit kissing her, to let go and step away. But he loved the taste of her mouth. He took her lips with his, let his tongue toy with hers, felt her melt against him—then felt her stiffen. And he knew.
She’d discovered wood.
She stepped back from him, rested her hands on his chest, glanced down at the bulge in his boxer briefs. “I guess we shouldn’t be doing this—or not too much of it, anyway.”
Will felt his mouth move, heard his own voice. “I guess not.”
What do you mean, you frigging idiot! It’s exactly what you should be doing!
A part of him wondered what she would do if he kissed her again. He could tell from the sharp points her nipples made through his T-shirt she was turned on, too. But some part of him—some really stupid, overly chivalrous part of him—thought that might be cheating.
She smiled, looking insufferably sexy and sweet. Then she kissed him—on the cheek. “Good night, Will. I love you.”
“Good night, sugar. Sweet dreams.”
Lissy lay in the small twin bed, her body pleasantly aroused. It - really had been a wonderful evening. She loved Will’s sense of humor and his whip-smart mind and had enjoyed discussing the film with him, even if neither of them had understood it or liked it. She felt she could talk to him about anything and never grow tired of hearing what he had to say. And even though they’d been together for a year and a half now, he still surprised her, as he’d done tonight by bellowing, “I love you!” on the Mall.
All in all, their first day of no sex had been well worth it. Not that it had been easy. Seeing him in the shower today had brought her to the edge of a meltdown. The sight of soap bubbles sliding over the muscles of his chest and abdomen, his dark body hair slicked against his wet skin, bubbles gathered in the wet hair that covered his testicles, had left her sopping in an instant. Clearly, unless she wanted to walk down the aisle in a barely there Badgley Mischka, she was going to have to be more careful.
No, it hadn’t been easy. Not then, and not when she’d been tempted to follow him to their bed so he could rock her world with that hard cock of his. Still, today had proved they didn’t have to have sex to cherish being with one another. Maybe going without sex for a while would deepen their relationship.
She rolled over, ignored the tingle between her legs and was soon fast asleep.
Will fell asleep, too, but a few hours later and only after he’d wrapped his mind around Lissy—and his hand around himself.
Lissy woke early the next morning when she tried to snuggle against Will and found herself pressing into a rough, cold wall. Unable to fall back asleep, she took a shower, brushed her teeth and started a pot of coffee.
They spent the morning doing chores. Lissy did laundry and went shopping for groceries, while Will packed their books, photo albums and his collection of vinyl LPs, carried them through the “Cone Zone” to his truck, and moved them to the new house. They were halfway through the grilled salmon salads Lissy had picked up for lunch when Devon called and asked if Will was in the mood for a little game of touch.
And so Lissy found herself sitting next to a cooler full of Fat Tire in the park down the street from their condo watching Will toss around a football with his groomsmen. There were a thousand other things she could have been doing, but she loved to watch Will play, partly because he enjoyed it so much and partly because—okay, she could be honest with herself—there was something about six-foot-plus of sweaty man in battle against sweaty man that made the secret girly part of her squeal.
She certainly knew more about football than she had when she’d met him, and she knew talent when she saw it. Will had more than his fair share, his movements powerful, focused and graceful. Even with his knee injury, he ran like the wind, though he limped slightly between plays. With hands that had been described as “magic” by sports commentators—and Lissy knew they were magic, only not in the way sports commentators thought—he seemed to lure the ball out of the air and against his chest.
And he looked damned sexy doing it.
Although it was hazardous to her libido—how could she watch him jump and grunt and run and sweat and not get turned on?—she couldn’t make herself walk the hundred steps home.
At least he was having a good time. That was what mattered.
Will caught another pass and ran it out of bounds, enjoying the exertion.
Then Devon called a time-out and pulled everyone, including the three members of the opposing team, into a huddle. “Is she watching? Good. Will, take your shirt off. The way we see it, you need to play some offense here. As long as you’re just playing D, you’re going to lose.”
Nods all around.
“You told everyone?” Will glared at his best friend.
Devon shrugged. “You give in, and we wear pink. It’s our asses on the line.”
More nods.
“Except mine, of course, because I’m only an usher,” Chris grumbled.
“Let’s face it, man. You don’t stand a chance. Lissy is . . . well, Lissy is one fine female.”
“Extremely hot,” Chris added.
“She’s . . . whoa, yeah . . . hot,” stammered Robert.
“A total babe,” Scott agreed.
“I’d do her,” Nick said, acting surprised when Will glared at him. “What?”
“What are you guys suggesting? You want me to cheat?”
“Not cheat,” Devon said, smiling from behind his mirrored sunglasses. “Just turn up the heat on your woman. Play to win.”
The idea had its appeal. Will wasn’t looking forward to two weeks of sleeping alone and solo sex. He glanced at Lissy, caught her smile, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. I agreed to this, and I’m just going to have to ride it out.”
“Just take off your shirt, man, then go fetch a beer.”
Nods.
Hadn’t he had the same thought last night?
Play to win.
“Do you know how weird it feels to hear you say that, Devon? ‘Take off your shirt.’ ” Despite the niggling of his conscience, Will yanked the sweaty T-shirt over his head. “If I catch you eyeing me, dude, I’ll kick your ass.”
He sauntered over to where Lissy sat in the shade, tossed the T-shirt on the ground and reached into the cooler for a cold one. “How you doing, sugar? Hot day.”
“Yeah.” Her gaze was fixed on his pecs.
Lissy dropped the chicken strips into the wok and stirred them, her blood sizzling hotter than the pungent sesame oil. Watching him play a hard game of football, all those delicious muscles shifting and bunching beneath his sweat-slick skin, had left her wishing she’d never suggested this stupid bet. She’d be in the shower with him right now, running her hands over those luscious muscles, washing that spicy man-sweat away, instead of stewing in her own pheromones in the kitchen.
Why had she gotten herself into this?
You wouldn’t be the first woman to confuse a man’s sexual attention with love, Melisande. Just wait till he gets his fill of you and the hormones wear off.
Is that what had happened to her mother? Had she married her father in the afterglow of an orgasm only to regret it later? Lissy had always known her parents’ marriage was an unhappy one, but she’d never understood how unhappy it was until she’d left home, watched other couples and seen her parents from the outside. They were angry, bitter, worn.
Even when she’d been a little girl they’d slept in separate bedrooms, lived separate lives, coming together only when occasion demanded. She knew her father had fooled around with other women, his unfaithfulness seeming to rob her mother of what remained of her youth. No amount of money had been able to fill the void between them.
&
nbsp; But Lissy’s relationship with Will was nothing like theirs. She and Will truly loved each other, loved spending time with each other. They earned about the same amount of money, held similar jobs, had similar interests. She would not wake up one morning to find herself in her mother’s shoes.
Still, a bet was a bet. She had agreed to it. Worse, it had been her idea. And now she was stuck with it.
She dropped chopped veggies into the wok and watched them fry.
“No, sugar, I’ll do it. You made supper. It’s my turn to do dishes.” Will stood, winced.
She looked up at him, concern in her pretty eyes. “Your knee?”
“Yeah.” He picked up their plates and silverware, took another step, allowed a hiss of breath to pass his teeth. His knee did hurt. Not much. But it did hurt. “Damn!”
She stood, took the plates from his hands. “Sit, hon. I’ll get an ice pack.”
“No, let me handle this. It’s not bad.” He was telling the truth.
She gave him a worried frown. “Liar. Sit and elevate it. I’ll be right back.”
He sat and lifted his leg onto a chair, suppressing a satisfied grin. She’d been distracted and grumpy during dinner, and he thought he knew why. He’d followed the football game with a shower and had come to dinner wearing a pair of old jeans and a Calvin Klein shirt—which he’d left unbuttoned. She’d spent the better part of their meal trying not to look at him.
Devon was a genius. Will could win the bet and get Lissy back into his bed, protecting his groomsmen from the Curse of the Pink Cummerbunds while preventing himself from becoming the first man in history to die from a case of blue balls.
He soothed his conscience by telling himself it wasn’t cheating. Nothing in the conditions of their wager prevented them from trying covertly to seduce the other person. And when Lissy gave in to her lust, he’d not only make certain she enjoyed it, but he’d also prove what a great guy he was by letting her wear the Very Wang or whatever gown it was that she liked so much.
When Lissy returned, she had a pillow, a tea towel and an ice pack in her hands. She looked down at his knee. “Oh!”
He pretended not to understand the problem.
“You’re going to have to take off your jeans.”
He nodded, stood, unbuttoned his fly. Then he slipped the worn denim down his hips, letting his cock hang free, and watched her eyes widen. “Sorry, Lissy. You said dinner was ready, so I hurried.”
Lissy drew an I and Will a P, so Lissy went first. Will watched as she calculated the value of her letters, then set five tiles on the board: N-I-G-H-T.
“Double letter score on the T for ten points.” She scribbled her points on paper and drew five more tiles.
It had been decades since Will had played Scrabble. With sex out of the question and nothing decent on television, he’d figured they’d rent a DVD. But Lissy had found the old board game last week while packing the contents of the guest room closet and had wanted to play.
“You can keep your leg elevated, and we can still have some fun,” she’d said, dropping a pair of gym shorts in his naked lap.
He adjusted the ice pack on his knee, looked at the letters on his tray, then bit back a smile and set down his tiles, taking advantage of her T: B-R-E-A-S-T-S.
“Double points for the R for a total of ten. We’re tied.” He pulled six new tiles and sat back to see how she’d react.
“The game has just started.” Her green eyes held defiance. Using the second S from BREASTS, she spelled out S-E-X for eleven points.
Will studied the board and pulled three tiles from his tray; using the B in BREASTS, he spelled B-L-O-W for ten with a double score for the L.
She smiled sweetly, picked up a tile and dropped an N above his O, spelling NO. Four points. “Your turn.”
Will was glad they weren’t playing poker, because once he’d looked the board over and considered his tiles, he was unable to keep himself from smiling. He pulled five tiles from his tray and set them down one by one, using the R from BREASTS: P-E-C-K-E-R.
“Double word score for a hot twenty-eight points. Top that, sugar.”
Lissy squirmed in her seat, considered her options. She would put him in his place. She picked up three tiles, and going down from the P he’d just placed added U-N-Y to spell PUNY. It was only eight points, but sometimes it wasn’t the score that mattered.
She looked up at him, ready to gloat—only to find him watching her through intense blue eyes that told her he knew she knew better. There was nothing puny about Will.
She swallowed, watched him set out his next word for twelve points: L-I-P-S.
She rolled her eyes, used his L to spell L-I-M-P. Eight points.
He gave her a lopsided grin and shook his head, drawing her gaze down to the telltale bulge in his shorts. Then he used the E in SEX to spell E-N-T-E-R. Seven points.
She lifted her chin, used his N and spelled out N-E-V-E-R for ten points.
He narrowed his eyes at her, bit his lower lip. Then a slow smile spread across his face as he moved back up the board and used the A in BREASTS to end the word V-A-G-I-N-A. Twelve points.
And so it went, crossword warfare, neither of them speaking, Lissy barely breathing, until Will passed two hundred points with the fifteen-point word Q-U-I-M.
Lissy stood, glared at him and began tossing the wooden tiles back into the little velvet bag. “So long as you understand, Will Fraser, those four letters are as close as you’re getting to the real thing until you say ‘I do.’ ”
This time, Lissy said good night to Will while he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, then fled to the safe haven of the guest room.
Will heard Lissy open the bedroom door. He opened one eye and glanced at the clock—twelve-oh-five. He pretended to be asleep, certain she was about to crawl beneath the sheets and wake him for a bit of midnight madness. Instead he heard the drawer of her nightstand slide open, then close. And then she was gone.
A few minutes later, he heard a faint buzzing sound.
And then it hit him.
She was having sex with herself! Without him!
He sat up, intensely aroused and irritated. He’d spent the better part of the day trying to get under her skin, and she was taking it out on a sex toy?
He’d set one foot on the floor on his way to replace the stupid bit of vibrating plastic with something real when he caught himself. He forced himself back into bed, flipped onto his side and punched a pillow. And listened.
By the time the buzzing stopped ten minutes later, he was hard as steel. He’d take care of the steel tonight. The vibrator he’d take care of tomorrow.
She wasn’t getting off that easily.
The wall woke Lissy again early Monday morning. She took a shower, slid into her bathrobe and had breakfast ready and coffee brewing when Will emerged from the bedroom, looking tired and surly. She poured him a cup, handed it to him, then kissed him on the stubbly roughness of his cheek. “Morning, babe. How’s your knee?”
He sipped, frowned. “My knee? Oh. Better. Thanks.”
“Should we ride together?”
He looked into his coffee, shook his head. “Take your car. I’ll be at Broncos team camp most of the day. We’re doing a couple of live feeds.”
“A late night?”
He nodded. “How about you?”
“A day of boring meetings. We’ve got to pin down the concept for our fall fashion preview, and I need to finish interviews for the staff writer position. We can’t head into the rest of the summer understaffed.”
He set his coffee down, pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “I miss you, Lissy. I miss having you in our bed. Sex or no sex, it’s not the same without you.”
She pressed her cheek into his chest, sank into the haven of his body. “I miss you, too. But it’s only—”
“—thirteen more days.”
Thirteen more days.
Somehow that had begun to sound like a long time.
That w
as what she thought, but that was not what she said. “Don’t tell me you’re ready to cave so soon.”
“Who said anything about giving up? I was simply stating a fact.” Then he kissed her on the nose. “Have a great day.”
“You, too.” Lissy watched him head back up the hallway toward the shower and wished he’d had the good grace to give up. Although sex with her vibrator relieved some of the tension and helped her sleep, it didn’t come close to the pleasure of sex with Will.
She hurried to the bedroom, got dressed, then grabbed her briefcase and purse and drove through early morning traffic to the five-story office building that housed the Denver Independent. As a senior editor, she got one of the coveted parking places beneath the building—a luxury that saved her countless hours searching for a spot on the streets of downtown Denver, where parking was a blood sport.
She had a meeting with her assistant editors, interviewed two candidates for the staff writer position and then shot down three design concepts for the fall fashion cover. By ten, she was beginning to feel in control again. Not even her mother, who called to demand once again that Will sign a prenup if she wanted her to attend the wedding, ruined her morning.
Because Will was in Englewood watching the Donkeys—she only called them that because it irritated him—she had lunch with Holly. Over a salad so wilted it looked like it had been fished out of the alley garbage can, she found herself telling Holly about the weekend: how she’d woken up ready to jump Will’s bones and had moved into the guest room, how the sight of Will in the shower had driven her out of her mind, how she’d nearly melted watching Will play football without his shirt, how he’d toyed with her over a game of Sex Scrabble.
“Thirteen days sounds like forever!” She leaned forward and whispered, “And there’s not a vibrator in the world that comes anywhere close to him.”
For a moment Holly said nothing but nibbled at her fruit plate. Then she smiled. “He’s doing it on purpose, you know.”
Catch of the Day Page 11