The Collision on Hardwood Drive (5 page)

Rob
kept smoothing oil all over my body, moving from my back to my legs. He rubbed at my calves, running his knuckles from my ankles to the backs of my knees.

“I think I just want
ed to prove to myself that I could make a relationship work—that was most of it, anyway. I—
ohh
, yeah. That feels good. Mmm, right there.” I groaned as his strong hands squeezed my thighs, soothing the muscles that were tight and sore from the day’s rehearsal. I forgot what I was saying, lost in relishing the pleasure his hands brought me.

“Keep going,”
Rob said.

“He never made me ha
ppy,” I continued, “and the worst part was that he didn’t even try. I don’t think he thought much about anyone, except himself. I should never have let the relationship go on for as long as it did, but I felt as if maybe if I kept trying, it would work out in the end—somehow, someway.”

“And before Michael?
” Rob asked. His hands were working at my feet now.

I hesitated.
The truth was that I had been married before Michael. I married young at twenty-one, hopeful and starry-eyed. The reality was that both of us were naïve and inexperienced. We were in love, but we were just kids—and as most premature marriages did, ours ended in divorce when I was twenty-five. I was a divorcée, and I hated the way that sounded.

I remembered my reso
lve—might as well scare Rob off sooner rather than later if he would go, anyway. I told Rob about meeting Sam when I was eighteen. I had decided to pursue a career in dance instead of going for a college degree. My parents supported the decision, something I’d always be grateful for, and so I arrived in Manhattan in July with their blessing. I had finished my senior year of high school only a month before, and I was determined to make it on my own. I found a job in a café in Nolita, a trendy and expensive spot where NYU students spent their afternoons.

Sam was a freshman p
ursuing international studies, and he came in every day to sit at the same corner table. He always ordered a single shot of espresso—I thought he was so
adult
.

I was shocked when h
e came up to me as I wiped a table and asked, shyly, whether I would have dinner with him. We were babies, but we tumbled into an intense and powerful relationship. We married two and a half years later, just a few weeks after my twenty-first birthday. By the time we turned twenty-five, we were completely different people.

After all, who
isn’t
after five years? Instead of growing up together, we had grown apart. I’d spend hours in my dance studio while he spent hours devouring LSAT books, desperate to get into law school. Over time, he became my roommate and a great friend. We no longer fit together after seven years and decided it was over—of course, it had been over for a long while. We decided then to say what we already knew.

“I don’t regret it,”
I told Rob. “You have no idea who you are at twenty or even who you might become, but—when it got serious with Michael, two years later, I didn’t want to lose it. I didn’t want another failed relationship on the record.”

There.
Now I had told him everything. Once I started, it just kept pouring out—the good times and the bad. I even told him about crying for a week after I signed the divorce papers.

If
Rob was looking for a reason to get away from me, I had just given him a huge one. He was silent for a few minutes. “You won’t make that mistake again,” he said, finally. “Being with a man who doesn’t give you what you want—what you need.”

Maybe it was an effe
ct of his hands rubbing at my arms, or maybe it was how his tone reassured me he had listened to every word that came out of my mouth but I felt so comfortable, so natural being open with him. He’d managed to uncover my life’s romantic history within two days of meeting him. He made me feel safe, as if he wanted to know everything about me. I didn’t feel judged or embarrassed, instead, I felt unguarded around him, even though I was naked and defenseless.

“How are
you
still single?” I asked, as much to myself as to him. Of course, I already had my suspicions—he probably doesn’t have any interest in getting into a serious relationship. Why would he settle for one woman when he could sample a new flavor every night?

“I just haven’t foun
d someone worth it,” he answered. “The women who run in my circle are vapid. Boring, materialistic. And not nearly as smart or emotionally intelligent as you.”

His velvety voice re
minded me that no matter what women came before me, I was what he wanted now. I still doubted, however, that he had any trouble in the women department.

“Liar,” I said, tryi
ng not to let him make me shiver too noticeably. “I have trouble believing you can’t find yourself a beautiful woman to bed.” I saw him flashing his perfect white teeth when I looked up again.

“I never said I had
any problem finding a woman to
bed
.” His eyes twinkled mischievously, revealing that he’d had plenty of experience in the bedroom. “I just can’t have a conversation with them afterward.”

I raised a brow, sti
ll skeptical. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never found someone I really connect with—and, frankly, with the time my work takes, it’s never been a priority for me…” He trailed off, then, and I could have sworn I heard an implied
until now
. That was what I wanted him to imply, anyway.

He ran his hands up
my thighs, threatening to slip under the sheet and discover my moist secret—but he never did. He stayed below the sheet, but close enough to let my imagination wander.

He lifted the sheet
after a moment, just enough to allow me to turn over on my back. I opened my eyes to look up at him as he began to rub my shoulders and my chest. He stood behind me, leaning down to reach farther down my arms. With every stroke, his aftershave wafted over me, and his muscles tightened. He smelled so
good
. As he pulled back, his face stopped right above mine.

“God,” he breathed,
low and seductive. “You’re something.”

He began to lower hi
s lips, ever so slightly. I could imagine him against my mouth, and my heart skipped a beat. If he kissed me now, it would all be over. I was
naked,
for God’s sake. I couldn’t go there—not yet. I knew my desire was palpable, and I knew the feeling was mutual, but I couldn’t let myself give in so easily.

“
Rob, I can’t,” I whispered, barely able to force the words out of my mouth. “Besides, you promised to behave.”

He paused, hovering
above my lips. For a moment, he just looked at me and allowed me to breathe him in.

“I understand,” he s
aid, finally, “but don’t make me wait forever.”

He continued to knea
d at my skin, slipping his hands behind my neck and working his knuckles into my aching muscles. He finished the massage by rubbing a warm, damp towel over my skin. He covered my body with the top blanket and stepped outside, allowing me to have complete privacy while I dressed. I slipped back into my clothes slowly, aware of his presence just beyond that door. Every inch of my skin was on fire, but I felt fully relaxed and rejuvenated by his massage.

I met him outside on
ce I dressed. “Incredible massage,” I told him, meaning every word—I had enjoyed every second of it. He had such a powerful effect on my body that, despite my verbal and internal protests, I wished he had been less a gentleman in there.

He walked me to the
front door before turning to me, as though to speak. I interrupted. “The conversation, the food, the massage. It was…” I paused, unable to think of a word that adequately described the experience. I shook my head and smiled. “
Perfect
.”

He returned the smil
e with so much charm that I thought I might crumple right there. He stared at me, deep and intent. “We’re just getting started, Stephanie.”

He brought my hand t
o his lips, grazing my skin lightly with his mouth. Once he let go of me, I walked out front to see my car waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. It looked new. There was no trace of an accident—not a single scratch. I looked back at Rob and waved goodbye.

I turned my key in t
he driver’s door slowly, suddenly reluctant to drive away. I opened my door just as slowly, as though I were waiting for something—but what?

I stopped when I hea
rd my name. “Stephanie,” Rob called, bounding down the stairs. His voice echoed through the dark. “Wait.”

He strode to me with
purpose in his step. My heart pounded in my throat as I imagined him seizing me, kissing me passionately and insistently.

“You forgot this,” h
e said as he stopped in front of me, handing me the thin, soft scarf I had left on the table after my massage.

“Oh.” I couldn’t hel
p the note of disappointment that slipped into my tone—I shouldn’t be disappointed, of course. He was just being considerate. “Thanks.”

“What is it?”
Rob’s eyes probed mine for understanding. “Is something wrong?” He stepped closer, now so close that I could again smell his woodsy cologne—that manly aroma never failed to make me weak. Looking at his full lips and strong jaw, my heartbeat quickened even more.

“Did you forget some
thing else?” he asked.

“
You
did,” I said, so quietly that I’m not even sure he heard me. He must, though, because he seemed to see what I meant in my eyes. I had wanted him from the moment I set my eyes on him, and I couldn’t stop picturing his mouth finding mine. Until this moment, I had forced myself to resist.

Rob
needed no further invitation. He tilted my face up toward him and brought his lips crashing down against mine. The heat of him started a fire that I could already feel begin to work its way through me.

I parted my lips, le
tting his tongue dip into my mouth. The sensation made me feel weak and feverish, and my hands shook as I placed them on his chest. His strong body was firm against mine, pushing me against the car door. He ran his hands down the sides of my dress and slipped one palm around the curve of my ass. I felt the full length of him, hard as iron, pressed against my thigh. I was no size queen, but in that moment, nothing excited me more.

I wanted him to hike
up my skirt and tear off my panties. What little distance remained between us vanished in a second as he put his hand on my lower back and pulled me to him, our kiss remaining unbroken. His mouth never left mine.

He pulled away slowl
y, breathing heavily and focusing his eyes on me once more. “I want to make you mine, Stephanie. I want you to belong to me.”

And I wanted to be h
is.
God,
did I want to be his—but I couldn’t. Not yet, not now. Things were moving far too quickly between us.

“I should go,” I whi
spered. Woozy with desire, I fumbled with my keys and managed to get in the car. He watched me drive away and, even from a distance, I could see the bulge in his pants. I remembered its pressure against me, pressing into me and needing me. My knees weakened.

I was still incredib
ly aroused when I got back to my apartment. I thought that the drive home would be sobering, that perhaps it would help me come to my senses, but I was no more clear-headed than before when I got inside. I could still taste his tongue in my mouth, and my body craved his touch.

I headed to the bath
room where I filled the tub for a hot, soapy bath. I peeled my dress off and slipped out of my wet panties. Lowering myself into the tub, I moaned softly as the warm water engulfed me. My swollen breasts floated in the tub, and I rubbed my hand over one, feeling my stiff nipple.

I imagined how the n
ight would have gone if I hadn’t driven away—if I’d agreed to stay. As I pictured us in his bedroom, exploring each other’s bodies with our hands and mouths, I slipped my hand between my legs and rubbed myself in soft, slow circles. I thought about Rob deliberately pulling my thong down my hips, my legs, and tossing them in a wet pile on the floor.

He’d lay me back on
the bed, slowly moving his mouth from my neck to my nipples. His warm mouth would caress my stomach and my hips as he spread my legs, exposing my arousal. Then, he would push his tongue into my throbbing folds and taste my need for him—I shivered.

In the bath, I felt
myself grow wetter and wetter as I fingered the silken bud. I slipped my middle finger into myself, the warm opening welcoming the penetration. I laid my head back against the edge of the tub, blood rushing to my face. I began to move my hips, meeting the thrusts of my finger. I could feel Rob’s muscular body on top of mine, strong hands massaging my breasts as his tongue flicked my hard nipples. I imagined feeling his firm ass in my hands as I moved two fingers inside my aching desire, harder and more incessantly.

Waves of pleasure be
gan to radiate in my stomach, spreading down to my thighs. My heart pounded in my chest as I allowed myself to envision his hard cock plunging into me.