Joy Ride (14 page)

She had been so tempted to crawl back into bed with him when he asked her to stay. To cuddle next to him again. Sleeping with Marc was so very different than just being in the same bed with Andrew. Which was what it had been. With Marc it was a sharing of bodies and souls. The emerging Emma was drawn to it like a junkie to a fix.

And the knowledge frightened her more than anything else.

She was really riding a dangerous edge here. She wanted to throw herself fully into this relationship, just as he kept asking her to, but she was finally discovering who she really was. Making a commitment of any kind so soon was scary. What if it turned out to be a hurricane that blew itself out? She’d be left with the wreckage and no idea how to put the pieces back together.

On the other hand, what if it didn’t? What did they possibly have in common to build anything together?

You are such an idiot. You have a guy who treats you like gold when you let him. Who’s accepted the situation on your terms, at least for now. Who obviously wants a solid life and isn’t bringing you to death or just using you for blanket bingo
.

So what was the damn problem?

Lifetime habits didn’t just go away. She might be rebelling now but if her relationship with a rock musician came out of the closet, what would her family say? Her friends? Except, of course, for Annie, who’d be on the sidelines cheering her on.

She could hardly believe she’d driven home wearing nothing but the Lightnin’ T-shirt. And she’d crawled into bed still wearing it for the three hours of sleep she managed before her alarm went off. She was just glad her boss gave her flexibility in her hours. But then, people who edited textbooks and did it well weren’t exactly in plentiful supply so they took good care of her.

Right. No long lines to apply for boring jobs
.

Her job was almost a metaphor for her life until that night at Andrew’s–dull, rigid, manipulated into acceptability. She thought of all the notes she’d jotted down on story ideas, character outlines, little tidbits of ideas. She hadn’t even found the courage yet to start her first story. She shuddered as she imagined the reaction of her parents and all their friends if she managed to write and sell an erotic romance.

Coward.

Oh, yes. Definitely.

She saved the document on her computer and pushed away from her desk, massaging her aching temples. Marc wanted to know when she was coming back to the club. She hadn’t given him an answer because she wasn’t sure herself. She was still straddling the fence, one foot in each of her worlds, the old and the new, wanting to ask him how long he stuck with one woman yet knowing how childish that would sound. How insecure.

Okay, I am insecure. And I’m not asking the question because I don’t want to know the answer
.

No. She wanted to pretend it might go on forever. Of course, that meant she’d have to go back to Aftershock.

Ninny. If you’re going to jump, just do it. You know you want to. Go back. See him. Tell him your name
.

But she couldn’t seem to make the leap. Her anonymity, her lack of commitment was her safety net. She still had a safe place to run back to.

Scaredy cat
.

With a sigh, she told the receptionist she was going to lunch and took the elevator down to the lobby of the building. She started in the direction of the glass exit doors, searching in her purse for her sunglasses and paying no attention to anything around her. She’d almost reached the glass doors to the sidewalk when a hand closed over her elbow.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the male voice said.

Emma stopped, tensed, and turned around. And there was Andrew. “What for?”

“Because we need to talk.” He prodded her toward the exit. “I’m not giving up on us, Emma. I won’t let you chase me away.”

Whoever would have thought plain, old oatmeal Andrew would be this persistent. She was over feeling bad for him, although her conscience did twinge once in a while. Now she was annoyed. She already had enough inner conflicts to deal with. She didn’t need this.

Go away, Andrew
.

But no, he was still attached to her like a barnacle.

“Andrew, we have nothing to talk about. It’s over.
We’re
over. Please. I want to get some lunch.”

“Good,” he said. “So do I. We can have lunch together.” Outside he took a left, urging her with him. “There’s a nice little restaurant a few doors down where we can get a quiet booth and hash this out. I spotted it when I parked the car.”

Oh, great. Right where people I know might see me
.

“There’s nothing to hash out,” she cried, trying to pull away from him, her anger ratcheting up even more. For God’s sake. Why did he have to decide now to be assertive? This was a side of him she’d never seen in the two years they’d been together.

Oh, right, idiot. Because you always went along with everything. Never created a bump in the road. He doesn’t know how to deal with this disruption of his life. And face it, Emma. That’s mostly what this is about.

“I don’t think you want to make a scene out here in public, do you?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Any residual friendly feelings she might have had for him were rapidly dissipating.

“Or you’ll what? Turn me over your knee and spank me? Hardly your style. Especially where people can see you and your perfect image would be stained.” She gritted her teeth. “I don’t want to make a scene anywhere. I just want you to leave me alone. Or are you going to tattle to my parents again if I say no?”

“I thought you had lost your mind and they should know about it.”

“How flattering,” she spat.

“Listen, Emma. You owe me.” He moved them along the sidewalk. “Let’s just have lunch and talk. Okay?”

Emma sighed. He obviously wasn’t going to go away no matter what she said. She hated the thought of making a spectacle of herself out in public this way. She’d just have lunch with him, be firmer than she was the other day, and make him go away.

“All right. Lunch. But then that’s it.”

They were already at the restaurant. Andrew opened the door and stepped back for her to precede him. For one hysterical moment, she thought about turning and racing down the street. What if anyone she knew saw them together? Or worse yet, her parents? They’d definitely assume she and Andrew were getting back together. The thought made her shudder. But she knew, rationally, running wouldn’t solve the problem, and she’d still have this situation to deal with. She’d just have to hold Andrew to his word they’d do this quietly.

She followed the hostess as she led them to a booth in a far corner. Of course. Trust Andrew to ask for something as private as possible.

“Thank you.” He smiled at the hostess as he and Emma slid into the booth opposite each other.

“I’ll send the waiter right over to take your drink orders,” the woman said as she whisked herself away.

“How about a glass of wine?” Andrew asked.

Emma raised an eyebrow. “At noon? You never drink in the middle of the day.”

“I know you enjoy a glass of white. You seem so….” He shrugged. “Uptight. Edgy. I thought perhaps it would relax you.”

She forced a calm she didn’t feel, reminding herself none of this was really Andrew’s fault. He couldn’t help who and what he was. And the plain truth, he was the man she’d chosen. Until last Saturday night.

“Thank you.” She picked up the menu and made a show of studying it. Not that she had any appetite left.

The waiter returned with her wine and a soft drink for Andrew, and took their order. Luncheon steak for Andrew, quiche Lorraine for her.

Emma studied the man across from her. He was so different from Marc, but the very difference described the two parts of her life—the one disciplined and neatly arranged, the other wild and messy but exciting. Like discovering if you ate forbidden chocolate you wouldn’t necessarily get fat.

If she wanted to maintain any semblance of control over this conversation, maybe even part on some sort of friendly basis, she’d have to start the conversation.

“Andrew.” She set her wine goblet down very carefully. “I want to admit, first of all, I probably—no, strike that—did in fact behave with disregard for you, both Saturday night and Sunday. For that I owe you an apology.”

Okay, there it was. Would he be smug about it? Dismissive?

His reaction stunned her instead. He reached across the table and covered one of her hands with his. “We all have bad days, Emma. I’m going to assume we can put this behind us and move on from here.”

She slid her hand out from beneath his as easily as she could, picked up her wine again, and sipped lightly. This was not going to be easy.

“Actually, Andrew, that’s not really how it’s going to happen.” She looked at him with a direct gaze. “I didn’t do this very well so I’m going to try and do it better now. You need to accept the fact we’re not going to be seeing each other any more.”

He took a slow, deliberate swallow of his water, leaned back in the booth, and fiddled with his sport jacket sleeves. “I can’t believe you’re still on the same kick, Emma. You know how good we are together. Everything was settled. In its proper place. The way it should be.”

If she had any sense after that line she’d just get up and leave. Those few words summed it all up, the tenor of their relationship and of her life. And him. But she forced herself to see this through, hoping it would be for the last time.

“And that’s part of the problem.” Another sip of wine. She welcomed the warmth of the liquid, washing away the bitter taste of what she’d allowed her existence to become before the night she ran. She’d thought she wanted what he offered but in reality, it was only what everyone else wanted for her. “It’s my fault, really. I’ll take all the blame for it. But Andrew, I’d be doing us both a big injustice if I married you when I’ve realized this isn’t what I want at all.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with what we’ve got?”

She sighed. “I’m not sure I can even explain it, except to say I’ve always done what others expected me to. Even dating you, Andrew. You’re exactly the type of man my folks have always told me I should marry, and I thought they were right.”

“They are,” he insisted.

She shook her head. At that moment she was actually sorry for Andrew, so satisfied with his monotone life. Unwilling to see if there were colors waiting for him out there. She had the sad feeling he’d never have his own epiphany. “They’re not. Everything we do is safe. Predictable. I might as well be sixty instead of almost thirty for as much excitement as there is in my life.”

“Excitement is highly overrated,” he grumbled.

Emma was silent while the waiter set their orders in front of them then leaned forward again. “Maybe for some people. And maybe for them—and you. What you have is as exciting as you want it to be. But not for me.”

“It used to be,” he said stubbornly.

“No,” she answered in a measured tone. “I only thought it was.” She paused and wet her lips. “I realized I don’t love you, Andrew. Certainly not enough to marry you. I’d be hurting us both if I did.”

With precise movements he cut a bite of his steak, forked it into his mouth and chewed. All the while Emma could almost see his brain working.

“So what
is
enough, Emma? Tell me how I can change?”

Oh God, this was harder than she thought.

“Changing isn’t the answer. I repeat. I don’t love you. I know I behaved badly Saturday night and I was rude on Sunday. I should have taken the time to explain properly what I’m feeling.”

“Right.” He nodded. “And then we could work on it together.”

“No, we can’t.” She put her fork down and drained the rest of her wine. “How can I make you understand I want more than this? More excitement in my life. More fun.”

“Fun?” He sounded puzzled. “We have fun.”

“No. We don’t. We’ve being doing exactly the same thing every week since we started seeing each other.” She waved a hand in exasperation. “We don’t even have any variety in our sex life. No explosions. No fireworks.”

Not like what I have with Marc, a man who pushes all my hot buttons and makes love to me as if I’m the most precious commodity in the world. Who taught me how great erotic is.

But that begged another question. Why was she still holding back with him? For the moment she tamped the thought down hard, stuffing it in a far corner of her mind to concentrate on the present.

Andrew’s face reddened. “Our sex life is very normal, Emma. Or maybe that’s what bothers you. Has someone been putting ideas in your head?”

“Oh, my God.” She flopped against the back of the booth in frustration, thinking,
a stone is a stone is a stone.
“Maybe I just woke up one morning and…never mind. There’s no way I’ll ever make you understand I just want…more.”

“More.” His fingers clenched tightly on his fork.

“You’ll never know how much I regret the way I handled this. You’re a good man and don’t deserve to be hurt this way. But it’s over between us. We’re not getting married. We’re not even going to date. Can you at least accept what I’m saying? Then we can both move ahead with our lives.”

Anger and pain shone in his eyes. “I’m not giving up. Unless you tell me there’s someone else, I’m not letting you walk away.”

She stabbed at a piece of lettuce on her plate.

Someone else? How can I possible tell him about Marc when I won’t face the answers myself?

“The point I’m trying to make is I’ve finally realized I want different things out of life. I want a different
life
. I apologize again for handling this badly but there it is. The truth. You need to let go.” She put down her napkin and slid from the booth. “I don’t seem to have any appetite today.”

He stared at her. “Emma, I—”

“I’m truly sorry, Andrew. I am. But you need to find someone else.”

She practically ran from the restaurant, tearing down the street. Had he followed her? Was he even behind her? She turned the corner and slowed down, pressing a hand to her chest, her heart racing beneath her palm.

Well, this had been a wonderful waste of time
. She wished Andrew hadn’t caught her off guard the way he did. She knew she owed him a better explanation than what she’d thrown in his face Sunday but she’d wanted time to put the right words together.