Rocky Mountain Hook Up (To Love Again Book 1) (6 page)

“You know that movie?” Isabel asked, surprised.

“One of my favorites - it’s still around,” he teased. “Seeing Dustin Hoffman that young is a kick.”

Isabel pinched him playfully. “It is an old movie. ’68, I think.”

“Sixty-seven. I love it when Benjamin’s rushing to the church, and as he runs out of gas, the music slows down, keeping time with the car as it slows down…”

“I played that soundtrack to death…”

“And he charges into the church and starts banging on the windows and calling her name ‘Elaine! Elaine!’ He’s so driven! And Mrs. Robinson…”

“Anne Bancroft.”

“They do that close up of her face and she is so pissed she looks like she’ll have a heart attack…”

“and then they make their escape on the bus…”

“and they’re in the back seat, with her wedding dress taking up tons of space and everyone staring at them.”

Isabel laughed, and once she started was unable to stop. Tray laughed, rolled on top of her, pinned her arms beneath his knees and tickled her until she was gasping for breath and thought she might pass out. “Tray, I can’t…take ..any more”.

Tray leaned into her, brushed his lips across hers and leaned back. “It really was a great movie,” he said, shifting his weight off her. “And you’re great, too.”

Isabel rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow. “Seems to me that you did all the work.”

“Not so,” said Tray, his eyes avoiding hers. “Would it surprise you to know that I don’t usually have any success with women?”

Isabel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Surprise me? It would shock me,” she laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Innocent boy comes to life under older woman’s tutelage?”

The closed look in Tray’s eyes gave her the answer. She needed to shift gears quickly. “Tray,” she said, stroking his forearm. “It’s just that you’re so confident, so knowledgeable. Given what we’ve just been through, which was pretty darned incredible, it’s a little hard for me to believe you’d have any problems with women..”

“But it’s true.” Tray looked around the room, a hard set to his mouth. “I can’t explain it. I just, well, I’ve never … a woman has never…”

“You’ve never pleasured a woman successfully before?” Isabel asked, keeping her voice soft and steady. “Well, make no mistake, Tray, none of what happened tonight was an act. You pleasured me, to my toes and back again, not once but twice. And that’s something I’ve never experienced.”

Tray turned his head and met her eyes, and Isabel could see some of the doubt melt away. She kissed him lightly and settled herself back on the pillow. That someone so good in bed could be walking around with such self doubt was a real pity.

“Do you want anything?” Tray asked, searching Isabel’s eyes. “Maybe a glass of water?”

“I can get up, Tray,” she replied, starting to roll away.

“Not a chance, Doctor. You relax, and I’ll get us some water. There are only so many ways around a kitchen, you know.”

Yes, Isabel knew. Most women knew. But many men did not. A silly grin spread across her face again as she watched his tight buttocks disappear into the hallway.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tray needed a moment. No, scratch that. He needed several moments. Padding down the hallway toward the kitchen, he felt sated but horribly confused. In the kitchen, he switched on the small light under the stove and opened a cupboard or two until he found the one with the glasses. Opening the fridge, he pulled out a jug and poured the water.

Isabel was fabulous. Compact, toned, an incredible package of soft touchable woman. And so responsive. No wonder she had trouble believing he had never made a woman come. Impossible, but true. To the best of his knowledge, all they had ever done was sigh a little and push against him. He always felt like he was taking something that he wasn’t welcome to.

But Isabel had wanted it as much as he did. He may not know much when it came to lovemaking, but he did know that. And she’d let him know exactly how much she liked what he was doing. That sure made it easier. He didn’t mind doing a little work, but it helped to have some of the guesswork taken care of. Still, Tray couldn’t believe that he’d pleasured a woman as much as Isabel had obviously been pleasured. Unless she was a good liar, and she’d didn’t seem the type, then he had to accept he’d done a pretty good job.

All he wanted to do was return to the bedroom and smother her with tiny kisses. Tickle her neck so he could hear that husky laugh of hers again. Stroke her copper locks and watch her drift into a relaxed sleep. He shook his head. No, he couldn’t fall for this woman.

Anyway, he’d only known her, what, six, seven hours tops, but there was something about her. Beautiful, yes. Able to make his blood boil in zero to 90, hell yes. But more than that, he felt comfortable around her. Her easy acceptance of him was very attractive. But there was no reason for him to go down that sentimental path, as tempting as it was. What he needed was someone to teach him the finer art of love-making, not a woman to fall in love with.

Tray let his mind wander. There were obstacles all along that path. The age difference for one. And tonight was probably just beginner’s luck. Once she knew how clumsy he really was in bed, he would never get out from under her as teacher. She could never see him as stronger, able to sweep her away. One thing he knew about himself, he wanted to be the man. He was attracted to intelligent, independent woman, and he wanted an equal partner, but he also knew he wanted to be able to sweep his woman away in a moment of passion, to take the lead in the bedroom. He knew that could never happen with Isabel – not if she agreed with his plan, not if he depended on her to take the lead.

He was looking for a teacher and she was a natural. As a sex therapist she could teach him a lot. Just being with Isabel had already made him better in bed. She was so relaxed, so accepting. He didn’t feel he had to be or do anything special. No fronts to put up - he could just be himself.

Except Isabel didn’t really know who that self was. She thought he was in his early twenties. He should have told her he was not new to university, but a returning student. Except, maybe once she knew the truth, she wouldn’t want him around. Twenty-eight wasn’t ancient, but it was a long way from twenty-two.

What did Isabel want, he wondered. Why was she looking to hook up with someone in a club? She was pretty hot, she could easily get a date. Although maybe she just wanted some casual sex.

She didn’t seem the type for casual sex, but she
was
a sex therapist. She probably had a pragmatic approach to sex and could just put sex and emotions into separate boxes when need be. If there was one thing he’d learned in his psychology studies it was that there was always more to a person than what could be known in a first meeting - or even several meetings - and trying to guess or assume anything about anyone just made life more difficult. And more often than not, made the person guessing look like a fool.

Returning to the bedroom, he placed the glasses on the night stand. Isabel was sleeping, the look of contentment on her face making her seem like a small child. Tray reached forward, pushed the hair from her face and brushed his lips lightly over her forehead.

Quietly, he gathered his clothes, reaching under the bed to retrieve a stray sock.

“G’night beautiful,” he whispered softly, drinking in one last look at Isabel and blowing out the candle on his way to the door.

CHAPTER NINE

Isabel winced against the too bright sun streaming in her windows. It had been a later night than she was used to, and she was far from ready for the day. The clock on the nightstand read 7:20, but it was Saturday for Pete’s sake. She smiled as she reached for the water that Tray had brought in for her. She must have slipped off to sleep before he came back from the kitchen. Tray would be something to wake up to, she thought, setting the glass back on the table and turning towards him.

But there was no Tray. After years of listening for her children, she was a light sleeper, and she hadn’t heard him go out this morning. So maybe he’d left last night and he hadn’t slept in her bed at all. Lying perfectly still, Isabel listened for noise … nobody in the shower, nobody running water in the bathroom, no sound of life in the kitchen or elsewhere in the little townhouse. She threw back the covers and padded down the hallway to the front door. Tray’s shoes were gone.

Well, that was an unceremonious departure, she thought with a twinge of disappointment. She had been looking forward to a lazy morning together, but maybe this was for the best. She barely knew him; perhaps it would just be uncomfortable having to deal with him in the cold light of day. Opening the front door, she scooped up the weekend paper. On her way back to bed, she swung by the kitchen, grabbed some orange juice and made herself a toasted bagel with cream cheese.

With all the pillows nicely plumped behind her, Isabel settled back into bed with the paper and her morning breakfast tray. And that was the position she found herself in when she woke again a couple of hours later to the shrill ring of the telephone.

Nine o’clock. Too early for good news, she decided, and let the machine pick up. Sure enough, it was a telemarketer. She’d like to have their home phone numbers so she could call them early Saturday morning.

Carefully, she lifted the tray from her lap and set it on the floor. The bagel was cold and no longer looked appealing. The pulp in the juice had settled to the bottom of the glass. Isabel rolled over onto the far side of the bed and gazed at herself in the mirror. She was pretty. She knew that. All her life she’d been told she was cute by her family, by her friends, by the boys in school. Even in grade school she was one of the most popular girls. Always one of the girls that the boys developed crushes on.

She cringed, remembering how her family had tried to push her into social situations. She’d been busy with school work, and not as out-going as her family wanted. She loved to read and spent Saturday afternoons in the library looking for new authors. She moved quickly through the Nancy Drew books and onto the entire series of the Hardy Boys. Then, by grade five, she was reading Agatha Christie, Edgar Allan Poe and biographies of dead politicians. She preferred to study when her friends were going to skating parties.

In junior high, in spite of her teachers insisting she was well adjusted, just studious – in their eyes a perfect student - her family had insisted that she see the school psychologist. Isabel had spent several afternoons in Dr. Grundle’s office playing chess and word puzzles. Who is smarter, the ox or the fox? Who is stronger, the ox or the fox? There was never a right answer, and yet there was never a wrong answer. Isabel’s mind was seduced by the mind games and she quickly realized psychology held the key to understanding other people. She knew, from that time on, that she would grow up to be a psychologist.

Once she had a career goal, her parents were even more frustrated in their attempts to get her to go out more with her friends. She spent hours digging through old text books, reading biographies of Freud and Jung and showing people ink blots so she could ‘diagnose’ their personalities.

It was her grandmother who came to her rescue. Her father’s mother was a cantankerous old bird, known in the family for her quick and dry wit. She could pick the skin off you at twenty yards and have the entire room in stitches while she did it. She was not intentionally unkind, just sharp as a whip and oblivious to society’s dictates for acceptance. She convinced Isabel’s parents that if the girl had a passion, she should be encouraged to follow it. Boys would come, parties would come. Most people, her grandmother had emphasized, looking pointedly at her son, spent their whole lives in dead end jobs trying to figure out what they wanted to be when they grew up. Isabel was lucky to know what she wanted, so they should let her be.

That had been a turning point for Isabel. She wondered if Tray had had a champion in his corner, helping him make the major decisions in his life. She laughed wondering what major decisions he might have made at his tender age. But then she caught herself. She’s made major decisions when she was even younger than Tray; marrying Chet for example.

She’d been barely 18 years old. Yet her family, pleased that she had finally shown interest in a man, offered no objection, and quickly put together a pleasant little ceremony. The rest, as they say, was history.

Isabel groaned into the pillow and rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror. Where was her young, handsome golden boy when she needed him? Her body tingled as she relived memories of the previous night. Tray throwing her ankle up over his shoulder and leaning into her. Tray poised over her, his golden locks framing his sinfully handsome square jaw. Isabel tingled as she remembered moving her hands over his six-pack abdomen, squeezing the bulging biceps beneath his strong shoulders. He’d given her a few new moves she could share with her clients, and more importantly, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that her libido was alive and well again. Screaming with life, in fact.

He’d left before she had a chance to talk with him. She’d wanted to propose a longer-term short-term arrangement. Well, an arrangement. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to propose. She just knew that she might need more than one night to get her practice off the ground again. Maybe the truth was that she just wanted more, now that she’d had one night.