Books by Maggie Shayne (53 page)

He didn’t think she was going to show up. He almost hoped she wouldn’t. Because she’d scared him today with all her talk of stability and permanence. He knew what she meant. One man, one woman, and one whopper of a commitment. He knew himself too well to think he could be happy with that kind of an arrangement. So it was probably just as well that she wasn’t coming tonight. Better not get too used to her.

Then again—when he’d offered to escort her on those ... thrill rides, as she called them ... he’d meant it. The things that had become boring to him had taken on a new allure when he thought of doing them with her. And maybe that was what she’d meant about stability
and
excitement. About being able to have both.

No. No, he knew what he wanted and what he didn’t want, and it would be best for both of them if he made that clear to her before she got any crazy ideas in her head.

He paced away from the park bench. The fountain was behind him, making so much noise with its incessant splashing that he wouldn’t be able to hear her coming if she wore bells on her ankles. Not that she was going to show up, anyway.

“Hello, Richard.”

He spun around so fast he almost tipped over.

She kept her voice low, all rough and soft at once, like velvet on tender skin. He knew she did that just so he wouldn’t recognize her. But it turned him on nevertheless. Now that he knew her
intimately
, Martha Jane Biswell
always
turned him on. Even in her tweed business suits. Even in the full-length houndstooth-check coat and woolen hat she was bundled in now. Even with her shoulders hunched against the cold and her hands stuffed into her pockets.

He narrowed his eyes on her. It was dark, but... oh, God, she was wearing a mask again. A different one this time. Kind of a horn-rimmed number, in black something—velvet, maybe. Another of Kayla’s kinky creations, he thought, aching. So she still wasn’t ready to let him know who she was. Well, fine. Maybe it was better if he kept up the pretense, just a little longer.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” he whispered.

“I didn’t want to come,” she told him. “But I couldn’t seem to help myself.”

He nodded. “We should talk.” He put a hand on her shoulder, walked her back toward the bench, nodded at her to sit down, and she did. He could see her breath, and his own. It was damn cold out here tonight.

She just sat there, waiting.

“I like you,” he finally blurted.

She took one hand out of her pocket. A black glove covered it. Her fingertip touched his lapel, trailed slowly down it. “I like you, too.”

“Last night was ... it was incredible. I never...”

“Me neither,” she whispered.

He closed his hand over hers. Then he stared hard into her eyes. “You aren’t... all that experienced at this sort of thing.”

“So? I thought men liked a bit of innocence in a woman.”

“I just want to make sure you know where we stand. I feel bad that we didn’t talk about any of this the first time.”

She shrugged. “I don’t. In fact, I was hoping the second time could be ... similar.”

He looked at her, stared at her, and couldn’t believe this was the same woman who’d been discussing office decor with him earlier today. But she was the same. “No,” he said. “Look, we’re not going to go any further with this until we talk it through. Now I know you probably want different things in life than I do, and so it’s only fair that you know up front—”

“I do want different things in life,” she said. “But I don’t want them from you, Richard. You don’t need to worry about that.” She smiled at him slowly.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you’re not exactly the kind of boy a girl would bring home to her mother.”

“I’m
not
?”

“Oh, no. But don’t take it too hard, Richard. You have your . . . talents.”

He stood there, staring, not getting it. What the hell was she doing? Using his own words against him like that?

“I— Look, maybe tonight wasn’t such a good idea,” he said suddenly. Why not, his mind wanted to know. This was the way he liked it. Wasn’t it? One-nighters. No commitment. No expectations.

“Really?” she asked in that sexy whisper. “Well, I can go home, then. If... you’re sure that’s what you want.” She got to her feet, and as she did, she let her coat fall open.

He almost fell off the bench onto the ground. She was wearing another of those sinful creations—a tiny scrap of black. He didn’t see detail. Just those legs, encased in dark stockings. Those breasts, swelling over the top of the thing.

She smiled softly at him, pulled the coat around her, and tied the sash. “Good-bye, Richard,” she said, and she turned and started to walk away.

He lunged after her, caught her shoulders in his hands, and spun her around. “Don’t go.” His own voice was hoarse, choked.

“Why not?”

He stared down at her, but no words came. He just couldn’t think of a damned thing to say—or to do—except ...

He tugged her against him and covered her mouth with his. And she parted for him, opened to him, arched against him. Hot. The inside of her mouth, her breath, her cheeks. All of her. He scooped her right up off her feet just the way he had before and carried her to the car with his mouth still clamped to hers. And then somehow he managed to open a door and tumble into the vehicle with her. Backseat. Door still open. He didn’t give a damn. He landed on top of her, her back across the seat, her legs sticking out the open door, spread, and cradling him in between.

He pushed hard against her, arching his hips. She pushed back, and then she said, “No.”

She said it softly, firmly. It hit his brain like ice water. “What?”

“I said no. Not here. Not like this.”

He frowned, not quite understanding the woman. What was she trying to do, drive him insane? She pressed against his chest until he sat up, getting slowly off her. “Drive, Richard. Take me to your house.”

“Jesus, it’s too damn far.”

She shrugged. “Then pick someplace closer.”

He smiled down at her, liking this bossy new mood. Okay, so maybe she thought he needed a lesson. Whatever.

He was going to have her, tonight, soon, wrapped around him hot and tight, and that was really the only thing he could think about right now. He got up and clambered over the front seat, got the car started. He adjusted the mirror so he could see her. Watch her. She sat up and closed the door as he pulled away. She stared back at him in that mirror, never looking away.

He had to look away, of course. He had to watch the traffic or kill them both. But he watched her too. She’d let the coat fall open again... just for his viewing pleasure, he was sure.

God, she was hot.

He pulled into the parking garage of the Gable Brothers Building, got out of the car, and yanked open her door. He took her wrist and tugged her out.

“Your office?” she said, sounding scandalized.

He almost quipped, “Or yours,” but stopped himself just in time. She still didn’t know he knew her. And he had a feeling that was the only reason she felt free enough to play these sexy little games with him. “Yes, baby. My office.” He held her hand and ran for the nearest elevator, took it straight up to the ninth floor, and ran almost all the way to his office. He could barely hold his hand still enough to get the key in the lock.

Then he flung the door open, jerked her through it, slammed it closed, and reached for her.

She took a step backward, smiling slowly. “Sit down,” she told him.

He was shaking all over, burning and sweating and shivering. He went to the. nearest chair, and he sat.

Sweet, innocent little Martha Jane opened the coat and let it fall to the floor. Hell, it was the cat suit. That’s what she had on tonight. She reached behind her, snapped off the whiplike tail, and came toward him, sliding it around his neck. She straddled his lap and used the tail to pull his head to her for a kiss. She opened her mouth. She used her tongue.

He damn near exploded.

When she sat back again, she reached down to undo the snaps that held the little suit together between her legs. Then she unfastened his jeans, and freed him, and then she sat down again. And this time, when she did, she took him inside her. Fully, deeply.

Holding him close, she moved over him. She took her time, moving slow, and he was content to hold on and enjoy the ride. She was the best he’d ever had. The best he ever would have.

He kissed her mouth when he exploded inside her.

She screamed his name, tightened around him, convulsed and shuddered, and gripped and finally, slowly, she relaxed. Then she lifted her head lazily, looked him in the eye, and said, “I’m sorry, Richard, but I can’t see you anymore.”

“What?” He searched her face, panic bubbling up in his chest.

“It’s like you said—we want different things out of life. And if I spend all this time with a ... well, a casual fling, then I’ll never find what I
do
want.”

“How ... how do you know
I’m
not what you want?” he asked, amazed he’d even said the words.

She smiled. “I know I’m not what you want. That’s enough.”

“But what if you are?”

She pressed her lips together, swallowed hard. “You don’t even know me.”

“No? Well let me take a stab at it, hmm?”

She shrugged as if she could care less.

“I know you were fairly inexperienced until the other night with me. I know you’ve never done anything like this before in your life. And I know you wouldn’t have the guts to let go like this now, if you couldn’t hide behind that mask.” He studied her. “Am I close?”

She lowered her eyes. “Without the mask, you wouldn’t even know me. And if you did, you wouldn’t give me a second glance.”

She got to her feet, reached for her coat, pulled it on. “This was the last time. I’m the furthest thing from what you want or need. So—”

“So you’re saying good-bye.”

“I’m afraid so.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, and told himself not to do anything rash. He needed to think. He needed to approach this thing just right. He didn’t want to let her go—but she wouldn’t be gone. Not really. “I’ll find you, you know,” he said.

She shook her head.

“I will. Don’t be surprised if you find out that... that I’m not the man you think I am.”

“Of course you are.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he told her. “Maybe I’m not even the man I think I am.”

“This is—I don’t—I’m stunned.”

Martha Jane stood in the reception area, staring through the open door into her office. She and Kayla had come in early Monday morning, eager to get things up and running. Martha Jane had been secretly glad, thinking there would be less chance of running into Richard this way.

He’d said he wanted to see her again. But it wasn’t
her
he wanted. It was his sex kitten. His fantasy lover. And part of what he liked about her was that she expected nothing from him.

Well, she had let him know that nothing wasn’t quite enough. And she imagined he probably thought he’d had a narrow escape once he’d had time to give it any thought at all.

It had been a mistake to see him again Saturday night, just as she had known it would be. She might have convinced herself that one more night of passion with Richard would be anything less than shattering to her, but she knew better. Had known better all along. It only made her ache more for him than she already had. And as for that mean streak that had driven her to strike back just a little bit— to show him two could play the “let’s-not-get-serious” game—well, that had blown up in her face, hadn’t it? Because she still wanted him. She’d barely slept all weekend, and she’d done some crying too, which was totally unlike her.

Even more unlike her, she’d been thinking maybe she could stand to keep seeing him, knowing he would never commit to more than a sexual relationship. Maybe it would be worth it.

She’d been kidding herself, though. It would kill her, and she knew it. She was in love with the man.

At any rate, there had been a surprise waiting for her in her office this morning. She stood in the open doorway, blinking at the huge hunk of amethyst sitting near the bank of windows on the far side of the room. The early-morning sun slanted in on the concave stone, and its crystals glittered as if they were artificially lit from within. Or filled with captive fireflies.

“I can’t believe this.”

Martha Jane walked closer to the stone. It was waist-high shaped like half an egg split lengthwise and standing on end. The inside of it was a crystal cave of sparkling amethyst. The outside was rough and gray.

“That thing is big enough to crawl inside,” Kayla observed from the doorway. “But where did it come from?”

She didn’t need to, but Martha Jane bent to pick up the folded sheet of notepaper that lay within the amethyst cluster. “It’s beautiful, and it’s exciting—
and
it’s solid. No wonder you liked it so much. It’s just like you.” The note was signed with an elaborate “R.”

“Well?” Kayla asked.

Licking her lips, Martha Jane said, “It’s from Richard.” Then, seeing the gleam in her best friend’s eyes, she rushed on. “But it doesn’t mean anything.”

“If it doesn’t mean anything, then there will be one just like it in my office. But I’m guessing there isn’t.” Kayla bounded across the room, snatched the note from Martha Jane’s hand, and read it. “Well, well, well! Isn’t
that
interesting?”

“He’s just repeating something I said to him yesterday.”

“Sure, and I’m a natural blonde. Honey, are you
sure
he doesn’t know it was you behind that mask?”

Martha Jane’s head came up. “Of course I’m sure. God, I couldn’t look him in the eye if I wasn’t!”

“Sure you could! You’ve obviously got the man tied up in knots, hon. You don’t have a thing to feel self-conscious about.”

Martha Jane shrugged. “Anyway, it’s over. I told him Saturday night—”

“Told who what, Saturday night?” Richard called from behind a huge box in the doorway. Only the bottoms of his legs and the top of his head were visible.

“What in the world? Here, let me help you with that.” Martha Jane rushed forward, grabbed the other end of the box, and together she and Richard lowered it to the floor. Then, straightening, she looked at him, the big box between them. “What are you doing here, Richard?”

“Errands.” He smiled at her, looking less like himself than he ever had. He had circles under his eyes and whiskers shadowing his cheeks. His shirt was wrinkled and looked as if he’d been wearing it all night. “A ton of errands, actually. This was just the most recent one.” He patted the box. “I was hoping to get it all set up before you arrived, but... well, it’s been a busy weekend.”

“It looks it.” She wanted to go to him, smooth his tousled hair, and run her palm over his stubbly cheeks. “Are you all right, Richard?”

His grin was lopsided. “Better than I’ve ever been. You know, I haven’t slept in...” He glanced at his watch. “Shoot, I don’t even remember anymore.”

“Why not?” She was growing more concerned by the minute. What was wrong with him?

“Did you like the rock?” he asked, smiling.

She looked at Kayla, who shrugged and shook her head.

“I love it, Richard. It’s incredible and stunning and so generous, but I... Richard?”

He was bent over now, opening the flaps of the cardboard box and pulling stuff out of it. Long, slender tubing, and a plastic scuba diver, a miniature oyster shell, some plastic seaweed.

“What
is
all that?” Kayla squeaked.

“It’s an aquarium,” Richard said. “A big one, with all the trimmings. Top of the line. And I’ve got a whole boxful of filters and pumps and various other paraphernalia. It’s still in the trunk of my car, but—”

“Richard, you’re not making any sense here. What is this all about?”

He looked up, met Martha Jane’s eyes, and his narrowed as they slid down her, making her feel as if he could see right through her sensible suit. “Kayla,” he said, without looking away. “Would you excuse us for a second?”

“Whooo-boy,” Kayla said, “I’m outta here. In fact, um, I’m going out to breakfast. I’ll be back in ... an hour?”

“Make it two,” Richard said, and his eyes were dark, intense.

Martha Jane shivered when Kayla left and closed the door. He looked dangerous this way. Tired, running on no sleep. Unshaven. His shirt wrinkled. “Richard, what is this all about?”

He shrugged. “You’re so good, you know that?”

“What do you mean?” She took a step backward.

He took a step forward. “I mean, you’ve had me jumping through hoops, you’ve driven me insane, and you stand here pretending to be ... innocent. But the jig is up, Valentine. No more games. No more masks.”

Blinking rapidly, she whispered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?”

She shook her head.

“Prove it, then.”

Her throat went dry. “H-how?”

“Take off the suit, Miss Biswell.”

“What?”

Smiling, he came closer. She backed away until she hit the desk, and still he came on, until his chest was an inch from hers. “Take it off, Martha Jane. I’m curious to know what you’re wearing underneath.”

He lifted a hand to her jacket, undid the button, and slid it down her shoulders. She would have resisted had she been capable of it. Instead she froze, because he bent so clcse that his warm breath fanned her mouth and made her go limp.

Her hands braced on the desk behind her, her blazer pooled around her wrists, she could only stand there as Richard unbuttoned her blouse, one button at a time. “A prim, proper woman like the one you pretend to be would have something boring under here,” he murmured. “But you’re not all that prim and proper, are you, Miss Biswell?”

The blouse unbuttoned, he smiled and pushed it open, staring at the lacy black camisole. “See that?”

“Richard, I—”

“Shhh. I know, you see? I know you didn’t mean what you said. You still want me. Don’t you?”

Holding his gaze, helpless, she nodded.

“So, let’s see what you have on for me today, hmm? What about underneath the skirt? What delicious little fantasy do you have for me down there, Valentine? Hmm?”

She couldn’t speak. Without her mask, her boldness was gone.

It didn’t matter. He closed his hands on her waist, lifted her until she perched on the edge of the desk, and then dropped to his knees. Before she knew what he was doing, he was lifting her skirt, poking his head right up inside it. “Oh, yeah,” he whispered. “No panties at all. You read my mind.” His hands shoved her thighs apart, and then he kissed her. She shivered, and threw her head back. He just shoved the skirt up higher and licked at her until she was biting her lip to keep from screaming out loud.

When he finally got to his feet again, it was only to ease her back onto the desk and climb on top of her. He pressed himself inside her, slid his hands underneath to grasp her buttocks and hold her to him as he rode her hard. She clung to him, too swept up in passion to worry about not having her mask anymore. And when her nails dug into his shoulders, and they both climaxed at once, she whispered, “I love you, Richard,” in a voice gone hoarse with ecstasy.

He held her for a long time. Then slowly, he got off her and gently righted her clothes. “I haven’t slept all weekend. I—you made me crazy, Martha Jane.”

Maybe, she thought, he hadn’t heard that final stupid declaration. If he had, he would be running for the hills by now. “How long have you known?”

He smiled at her, a lopsided, boyish grin. God, he was too damned good-looking to be going around unshaven and sleepy-eyed. It was killing her! “Did I ever tell you?” he asked. “That I always wanted an aquarium?” He finished buttoning her blouse, but left it untucked. The jacket, he tossed aside. Then he took her hand, drew her to her feet, and knelt down to smooth her skirt, sliding both his palms down over her hips, her thighs, until it was just so.

Breathless, she said, “No, I guess you never did.”

“I even bought all the stuff, but I never took the time to set it up or actually start collecting fish.” He shrugged, got to his feet, looked into her eyes again. “I think maybe I liked the
idea
of having one, but I was a little bit shy of all the work involved. Major commitment, keeping fish, you know.“ He shook his head slowly. ”You know how funny that is? It’s like some kind of microcosmic mirror of what’s wrong with me.“

“What?”

“Never mind. Suffice it to say, I figured since you wanted an aquarium too, we could make it a ... joint project.”

“You did, did you?”

“Yeah. Oh, don’t worry. I promise to do my share of the work. I mean, that’s sort of the point.”

“It is?”

He nodded. Then, studying her face, he sighed. “Look, I haven’t lost my mind or had a breakdown, I swear. I’m running on adrenaline and caffeine here. And I’m a little bit worked up.” He slipped his arms around her waist, bent closer to press his lips to the line of her jaw. She wanted to touch him. Hold him. Tell him that whatever had him so worked up, it was going to be okay.

Instead she just nodded slowly. “I don’t think you’re insane or having a breakdown,” she told him.

He nodded at the boxful of fish stuff. “Once we get it set up, maybe we can go shopping for some fish. You know ... together.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You want to take me fish shopping?”

He nodded, his eyes serious. “Among other things.”

She was starting to feel a hint of panic in her chest. He mustn’t go saying things to make her believe he might want her for more than just sex. He mustn’t. She couldn’t stand the disappointment if he did.

“What. . . other things?”

Richard seemed genuinely ... nervous. Rubbing his chin, he walked away from her as if thinking very deeply about his answer. She looked around the office, at the rock, the fish stuff. “Why are you doing all this, Richard?”

He whirled, and came back to her, gripped her shoulders gently. “Because I’m a changed man. Saturday night I learned how it felt to be treated like a piece of meat. How it felt to be told that I was only good for a one-night stand, to be left longing for more from a relationship than I was allowed to want. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it a bit, Martha Jane.”

“I’m ... sorry. I didn’t realize it would upset you this much. I was only trying to show you—”

“How I’d been making you feel. Right, Martha Jane?”

She turned away from him and walked toward the windows. As she did, she saw something she hadn’t noticed before. On the far left wall was a charcoal drawing, framed and hanging in the perfect spot. Only—it was different from the one she’d admired. Same idea, but a whole different style. A different artist. Then it hit her, and her eyes widened.

“Do you like it?” Richard asked, coming up behind her. His hands slid upward, over her shoulders, closing on them, warm and strong.

She stared at the drawing. It was a woman with three faces. And she looked like—she looked like—like
her
. Like Martha Jane. The face shown in right profile wore a mask and her hair was big and fluffy. The one shown in left profile had her hair in a tight bun and wore large glasses. But the one facing front was the most striking, because she was so simply drawn. Hair loose, yes, but hanging gently, not “done.” She stood there, looking out from the wall, her eyes soft but large, and deep, and filled with love. She held out one hand, as if reaching for someone.

“It’s been a long time since I made an attempt at anything artistic,” he said. “But I couldn’t resist.”

“You
...you
did this?”

“Do you hate it?”

“My God, Richard, you made me ... beautiful.”

“You are beautiful,” he said. “You’re beautiful—even when you cover your face with a mask.”

She closed her eyes.

“I knew it was you that first night,” he said softly, his lips near her ear.

“You didn’t!”

“Oh, yes, I did. And now, I think it’s time for you to face me without any masks to hide behind. You said you loved me, Martha Jane. Did you mean it?”

“I—” She turned away, knowing that it had been the worst possible thing to say to a man like Richard. The surest way to make him bolt.

He gently turned her around to face him. “You didn’t think I was going to let you turn my world upside down and then just walk away, did you?”

“Richard—Richard, I didn’t mean—”

He smiled at her. “I hope you did. Because I am in love with you, Martha Jane. Valentine.” He slid his arms around her waist and held her close, so her body was pressed to his. “My brother told me once that every day is Valentine’s Day when you find the right woman. I didn’t believe him then. But I do now.”