Long Slow Burn (11 page)

God help him. More torture. He did close his eyes this time, picturing her dressed exactly like that, standing at her bedroom door, beckoning him in, the bra barely containing her beautiful breasts, tiny panties interrupting and accenting the curving flow of her hips.

He groaned, dying to drop his now-tented boxers and jerk off, but even he had his pervert limits. Not in her room. Not around her underwear. Didn't he say he should be ashamed of himself? He wasn't.

No wonder she preferred Dale. Dale romanced her. Dale sent her flowery emails and took her out to expensive dinners, probably wrote her poetry. The only way Nathan knew how to approach women was sexually. He'd been taught nothing else, learned nothing else, and frankly, it had worked for him. But it wouldn't get him what he wanted from Kim.

And then, even in his alcohol and lust-hazed brain, it occurred to him that attraction was only half of what he felt, but it was mostly what he was showing her. He should take a page out of Dale's book instead of strutting around
beating his chest like some prehistoric King Kong. No, he wouldn't write poetry—a man could feminize himself only so much—but he needed to do the obvious: ask the woman out on a date. It was so ludicrously simple, he was embarrassed not to have thought of it before. But his relationship with Kim had been stagnantly one-way for over a decade. And he was feeling his way through brand-new territory.

Excellent. That called for another drink, then back to this difficult work. He drained half of what was left in the bottle, while out in the living room his favorite track, “Butcher's Hook,” blasted into the apartment. Beer set back down, he peered at the label printed in the back of her panties: size five.

Done. He had what he needed: pictures, keepsake and underwear sizes. Starting tomorrow, a new chapter in the seduction of Kim would begin, that had, for once, nothing to do with seducing her body. Okay, less to do with seducing her body.

Satisfied in at least one sense, he went to put the panties back into the drawer, but their perfume called to him, and he gave in, lifted the silken material to his face, breathed in the clean floral perfume, which so reminded him of—

Instinct warned him. Too late.

Leopard bra over his shoulder, leopard panties pressed to his nose and mouth, erection turning his boxers into one of the great pyramids…

And there in the doorway, staring at him in horror, stood Kim.

K
IM WOULD HAVE BEEN
pretty sure time had stopped, except the horrible metal music was still playing. She was standing staring at Nathan, who appeared to be getting himself off over her underwear. She couldn't imagine a single thing worse than—

Well, yes, she could imagine a lot of things worse, but this was—

Well, it was creepy.

And very difficult, with his boyishly handsome familiar face gazing at her with as much horror as she was gazing at him, to imagine that he was really some kind of panty fetishist.

At least he went for the clean ones.

She nearly laughed, and immediately blamed the alcohol and giddiness over a shot at a relationship with Dale. This was not a laughing matter.

The horrible band took a breath between songs, leaving a profound silence. Kim left her room to turn off the CD player. If she and Nathan were going to keep living together, they needed to talk about this panty thing, and she wasn't going to do it shouting over someone with hemorrhaging vocal cords.

The next guitar-torturing track started before she found the right button and replaced it with blissful peace.

Nathan emerged from her bedroom, minus her underwear and with his boxers in their normal shape, looking so painfully mortified her heart went out to him. “Kim.”

“Nathan.” She was calm, facing him, arms crossed over her chest. He met her eyes with an obvious effort. “Do I need to ask what you were doing?”

“Actually there is an explanation. A normal, rational one.”

“Okay.” She sat on the couch, glad to be the one in control for a change. “I'm listening.”

He clenched his fists, stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, clearly in agony. “I can't tell you what it is. Not yet. But it doesn't come from any need to fondle underwear.”

“No?”

“No.” He spoke quietly, looking so bravely miserable that she wanted to put her arms around him and make it all better. But that was always her way, to make other people comfortable before herself.

“Did you try them on?”

“No!” He looked so outraged she had to hold back a giggle. She couldn't help it.

“Were you
about
to try them on?”

“No!”

She stifled another one. Fetish or no fetish, she was about to get her revenge for the way he'd toyed with her earlier. “Because I hear that's normal for some guys, you know. Doesn't mean they're gay. Necessarily. Though bisexuality is a definite possibility.”

“I'm not gay.”

“Okay. Um-hmm. Sure.” She spoke oversoothingly, as if she didn't even begin to believe him. “But I've heard underwear fetishists can sometimes—”

“I do not have an underwear fetish, Kim.”

She could barely hold back. “I read about one woman who resorted to putting mousetraps in her lingerie drawers.”

“This won't happen again. It was a one time…thing.”
He dropped his head in his hand, rubbed his forehead. “A misunderstanding. I don't get off on underwear.”

“Okay.” She nodded rapidly as if she were humoring him. He closed his eyes and dropped into a chair, the picture of despair. “It's just that you looked, Nathan, very much like you were getting off. There was this telltale sign that—”

“It wasn't the underwear.”

“No?”

“No.” He sat forward, rested his forearms on his thighs, hands dangling, and managed to meet her eyes more easily, which all of a sudden for no reason brought to mind the kisses he'd given her and how they'd nearly sent her to the moon. And then she couldn't help thinking of Dale's kisses and how they'd nearly sent her to the tissues in her purse. “I went into your underwear drawer for a practical reason I can't tell you. What you, um, noticed, happened because…I was picturing you wearing them.”

A rush of pleasure ruined her toy-with-Nathan intentions, toppled her from her position of superiority. She could say nothing.

“I'm not gay. I'm not weird. It's not about underwear. It's about you. Okay?” He stood up, jammed his hands on his hips. “Are we clear about this now?”

She nodded, practically unable to breathe.

“Good.” He spun on his heel. “I'm getting a glass of water. You want one?”

“Sure.”

He was back in thirty seconds. She hadn't moved a muscle. He handed her the water, sat back down in the chair opposite the couch, drank a few gulps and passed his hand wearily over his forehead.

“Look. I'm attracted to you. It is what it is. I don't want to do anything that could ruin our friendship. Someday I'll be able to explain what you saw. I hope to God you'll think it's funny. In the meantime…” He blew out a breath. “How was your date?”

The date seemed miles away, some distant fantasy of
courtship, which interaction here with Nathan had taken over to become her evening's reality. Should that happen? “We had a good time.”

“Are you seeing him again?”

“Yes.” She'd been so happy when he'd asked, so full of joy when he said he could fall for her. Now she just felt tired, and wanted to crawl into her room and be by herself.

“You really like him, huh?”

She couldn't answer. She didn't know.

Nathan's expression turned tender, so tender she had to drop her gaze. “You look exhausted, Kim. Go to bed. We'll deal with all this crap tomorrow, okay?”

Oh, gosh. That was so much more threatening to her peace of mind than the grab-and-kiss maneuver. He'd read her face, acted like a protector, watching out for her, wanting her to get what she needed. What was she going to do about this man she'd invited into her life? “I am tired. It's been a long and confusing day.”

“C'mon.” He stood, crossed to her and held out his hand. She took it and let him pull her up.

“Thanks, Nathan.”

He stayed close, not touching her, but it was as if there was a force field around them, keeping either one from moving away. “I'm sorry about my part in wearing you out today. I've had some confusion to deal with, too.”

“It's okay.” She mumbled the words toward his chest, not wanting to meet his gaze. Because this time she definitely could break.

“Good night.” He cupped her cheek briefly and walked to his room, then turned back. “Oh, one more thing.”

God help her. “What is it?”

“Saturday is supposed to be warm. I thought maybe you'd like to come kayaking with me on the Milwaukee River.”

“Are you asking as a friend, or…more?” She found herself holding her breath, waiting for his answer.

“I think we need time to be friends. Time without under-
wear.” His expression changed to startled horror when he realized what he'd said.

Kim giggled helplessly. “Tomorrow I am buying mousetraps.”

“No, no, I'll just keep my mouth shut for the rest of my life.” Nathan rolled his eyes, but his grin was back, and she was very glad to see it. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Nathan.” She watched him disappear into his room, then drifted to the bathroom, brushed, washed and made it back to her bedroom, stupid with exhaustion and…whatever else she was feeling. Something warm and sweet and dangerous. Something she shouldn't be feeling for anyone but the man she was supposedly going to start dating.

She changed into her pajamas, closed her pawed-through underwear drawer, smiling and shaking her head. He could explain? She looked forward to that one.

Sliding into bed felt like the best thing that had ever happened to her. She stretched comfortably on the soft sheets, arranged her down pillows, made sure the blankets were covering both shoulders.

Finally, after this draining and bewildering day, a seesaw of emotions, of crushed and raised hopes, of attraction she'd wanted and attraction she didn't, she was where she'd been craving to be: safe, in bed, alone, free to daydream about Dale, about their next date, as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

But sleep didn't come.

And all she could think about was Nathan.

 

M
ARIE STRODE DOWN THE
aisle at the Pick 'n' Save on Garfield. She'd been home all morning, restless and cranky, and finally decided if she had to stare at the walls of her house another second, she'd go completely mental. She'd been alone at the Roots Cellar Bar the previous evening. Quinn hadn't been able to make their usual Friday night dinner, and though she tried telling herself it was the end-
of-the-week ritual she loved, not just seeing Quinn, being there on her own hadn't been the same. The drinks hadn't been as bracing, the food seemed less tasty. And reading her newspaper hadn't produced the kind of sparks that conversation with Quinn could.

Worse was the assumption, based on absolutely nothing, that in spite of his adorable attempts to make her feel attractive as a woman, Quinn had found female companionship for the evening he preferred. That he was making good on his promise to himself to find a serious girlfriend.

Fine. Marie had decided a while back that friendship with Quinn was better than not knowing him; she'd gone into this with eyes wide open. If she was feeling miserable over him now, it was her own damn fault.

So there. She'd beat herself up for a while. Super.

She was heading for the dairy aisle to get milk, and made the mistake of cutting through the frozen foods section. Namely, the ice cream section. Her steps slowed; her eyes peered through the frosted doorways to heaven. A pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey would make a healthy and sustaining dinner. She'd pair it with a bottle of cheap wine, a tearjerker movie and call it a hot Saturday night.

Her hand reached for the door handle even as the sensible calorie-counting part of her brain cried a slow-motion
noooo!

“Marie.” His deep voice made her snatch her hand back as if she'd been trying to steal the crown jewels.

“Quinn.” She smiled brightly, cursing herself for not showering that morning, for being so down in the dumps that she'd not even bothered with makeup or decent clothes. But then he'd seen her this way before—in fact, the last time she bumped into him here in their shared neighborhood. Maybe she could summon him from nowhere simply by looking like hell?

Not the superpower she'd choose where he was concerned.

“Mmm, Ben and Jerry's.” His eyes had drifted to the forbidden fruit. “I'm a Cherry Garcia addict.”

“I'm a Chunky Monkey.” She cringed.
No kidding.
“Oh,
that
sounded great.”

He was laughing, but not unkindly. Quinn was never unkind. “I'm going to leave that one out there to mortify you.”

“Thanks. Really. Super. Did you have fun last night?” Somehow she kept the edge from her voice.

“Oh, yeah. You can't attend benefit dinners without having a great time. Especially eating badly cooked, tepid food listening to self-congratulatory speeches. Don't know when I've had so much fun.”

“You didn't have a date to liven it up?”
Shut up, Marie.
For God's sake. What a masochist.

“Oh, yeah.” He drew the words out. “One wild, red-hot babe I used to work with.”

Marie nodded stiffly, a smile plastered to her face. She asked for it; she got it. “Not
quite
old enough to be my mother, but close.” He moved his shopping cart to let a young woman and her kids scoot by, while Marie tried not to be knocked over by a tidal wave of relief. Old enough to be his mother. This was happy news. “What are you doing this afternoon, Marie? Somehow it's a beautiful spring day and only the first of April.”

“I was going to…” She searched for something to make her afternoon sound thrilling, but nothing came. “Just…be.”

“How Zen.” He grinned and touched her shoulder. “I was planning to stroll the length of Riverwalk. I've meant to for a while and haven't done it yet.”

“Sounds enterprising.” Riverwalk was an ongoing project by the city to construct three miles of walkway along the Milwaukee River where it flowed through the city. Marie had only explored the part that went through downtown, among bars and cafés, by the performing arts center and the Usinger's Sausage Factory. The many sides of Milwaukee.

“Want to come along? We'll end up in the Third Ward and can find some dinner since we missed our date last night. If you want to.”

If she
wanted to?
She tried to look politely interested, when she wanted to throw her arms around him and scream
yes, yes, yes!
“That sounds like fun.”

“Good. Can you meet in an hour or is later better?”

“An hour is fine.” She could move heaven and earth in that time if it meant spending half a day with him.

And then the little voice inside her piped up, that irritating, sensible one that seemed always to be trying to ruin her good times. It warned that she risked diving into him too deeply. And the deeper she went, the harder it would be to surface again, without getting a serious case of the bends.

“I'll pick you up? I remember where you live.”

“Great, yes.” Marie told the voice to shut up for now. She'd already told Quinn she'd go; she could be sensible later. “See you then.”

He started off, then turned back, with that killer smile lighting his face. “I'm glad I bumped into you, Marie.”

“Same here.” And how.

At the end of the aisle—she passed Chunky Monkey without another glance—she yanked open the door to the milk, hauled out a gallon of skim and practically ran to the front of the store, where she managed not to push people out of line so she could get through faster. One hour until he picked her up—Marie had some serious transforming to do.

Back home she jumped into the shower, allowing the voice to advise her that she was ridiculous, becoming so giddy over a friendly request for company, and that yes, she was asking for nothing but more heartache continuing to see him, especially in situations like this.