Wet Part 3 (27 page)

“No! I mean, I know what you say happens when you’re drunk, but, no. Not tonight.”

“I say yes.” He used his all-business voice, trying to sound like Mr. Grumpy-Pants.

She giggled. “You’re too drunk to get a vote. Come on, we need to get you to bed.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” He gave her a quick smooch and picked her up.

“Put me down. You can’t even keep yourself upright.” She fought him.

He ignored her, but when he turned to head toward the mat, he swayed. “Whoa!” He stopped and set her feet back on the deck. “You’re right. You carry
me
.” He laughed and sneaked in another kiss while pretending to try to get her to pick him up.

She laughed too. “You should always be this much fun.”

“I’m
awl-ways
fun,” he sounded offended.

“Lately?” She sighed. “Not so much.”

He took her face in both hands and forced her to look at him. He looked very serious. “I’m fun. Life’s the party pooper.” He rested his forehead on hers and stared downheartedly at her. He gasped and pulled away as if suddenly having an idea.

“I know!” He became animated. “Let’s dance—we
neeed
to dance.” He started toward the media room to turn on some music. “Nooo one dances like my Dani Girrl—believe me. I’ve been on the lookout, haven’t found one girl who can dance like you.”

“All the girls at the bar?” Her voice gave away how jealous his actions had made her feel. He turned back to look at her. 

“Pfft! Hell yeah. Not ee-ven close!”

“It hurts my feelings that you would be looking. Maybe
some
guys can get away with that—but
you
—no.
You
shouldn’t be hanging around bars, asking girls to dance. You’re married and there are too many girls out there who, because of the way you look—Paul, they don’t care that you’re married.”

He raised his hands in the air, showing how bewildered he was that she could doubt him. “That’s another thing Keene warned me about. He said you’d be insecure and never really believe how much I really love you.”

She rolled
her eyes at that.

“Baby!” His smoldering eyes fixed on hers and he sauntered toward her, creeping like a predator stalking its prey, slowly, bit by bit, probably to keep his balance, not an easy feat, given his condition. “Ba-by . . .
Dani Girrl. I
reeally neeed
you to understand.” He took a step, keeping time with each word as he said them, one by one. “Just. How. Much. I.
Love
. You.”

“You have a funny way of showing it—no, it’s not funny at all. You won’t even look at me, let alone touch me.”

He leaned in closely, his eyes hooded with desire. “I’m l-loo-king at you, n-now.” He grabbed her around her waist and pulled her against him with a little too much force, for emphasis. “I’m
tou-ching
you, n-now.”

He locked eyes on her with honed intensity, which rendered her speechless. He had her under his spell, an effect, she thought, he never struggled with. He’d rendered her powerless and all she could do was put her arms around his neck. They held each other that way for a full minute until his countenance distorted from predator to prey.

“I’m scared, Baby. So stinking scared.” She thought he was about to cry. He pulled her in close again. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I won’t.”

“Yes you will.” He sobbed. “You need to get away from me. I’ve been trying to get you to let go, and I don’t do anything halfway, remember? I always get what I want—I don’t really want this—but you need it—I’m doing it for you.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m finally doing the right thing for the right reason. I’m doing something for someone besides myself for a change. That’s how much I love you.”

“Well, just stop it!” Rhees scolded. “What I need, is you.”

“I tried to change for you. I thought I had. You actually had me believing, for a while that I was
redeemable
.” He squeezed her tighter and held on. “But I’m not. I gave it my best shot, for you—I tried. I’m going to ruin your life. You shouldn’t be around me. You need someone else, someone better than I am. You need to go back to Utah and find one of those nice boys. I’m going to hell, and it kills me to think I’m dragging you down with me.”

She pulled away just enough to see him. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” he frowned, and looked so sad, so she put her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest.

He began swaying with her in his arms, and then he started to sing, dancing with her to his own tune. She’d never heard him sing, but like everything else about him, his voice was beautiful. The sound of his voice, his touch, his scent—his stupid plan—she needed a plan of her own. Thank goodness for the alcohol, the ultimate truth serum, it was for him, anyway. Now, at least, she knew what he’d been up to.

He sang quietly, the words to a popular song, just loud enough for the two of them to hear. He sang about regret, and how she was the only thing he’d ever done right, but how he’d ruined everything and didn’t know how he’d go on. She’d never really listened to the lyrics before, but hearing them now, it was the most depressing song she’d ever heard.

She sniffled as her tears began to wet the front of his shirt.

“Shh, don’t cry. Not tonight. Let’s make a deal.” He held her close. He stopped singing but continued to sway. “No party-poopers tonight. It’s happy hour. Let’s not waste my hard-earned buzz.” She sniffed again, but nodded in agreement. She could use a one-night reprieve from the heartache that had been making them both miserable.

“Uh-oh!” He gasped in alarm.

“What now?” She sniffled, wondering how anything could be worse than it was.

“
Shooot
!” He exhaled, long and loud, exaggerating the way she talked. “I just realized!”

She looked up at him, worried.

One side of his mouth quirked up as he devoured her with his eyes.

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I already messed you up.”

He said it as if she didn’t already know. She started to argue with him about his terminology but he didn’t give her the chance.

“If I
m-mess
you up again, it won’t er-really be
m-messing
you up,” he said with his lips against her cheek, drawing out the words, slowly. He leaned back to look at her, his eyes full of lust. “I’ll do it better this time, I promise. The way I
should
have done it the first time.”

“Are you kidding?” He’d just told her he didn’t think they should be together. She knew he would be back to his
drive her away
tactics come morning, and the hangover.

He rubbed himself against her. “Does that feel like I’m
kidding
?”

She gaped at his nerve.

He buried his nose in her hair and sniffed, deliberately. “You smell
so
good.” He took her hands and started pulling her toward the mat, walking backward, coaxing her along the way.

She wished she was drunk too. It would be easier—not that she was afraid, or freaked out about what might happen. She’d been so sure she’d be able to get past all that when she took matters into her own hands—at least she’d hoped she would when she followed through with most of her plan.

She’d wanted Paul for months. He’d stirred feelings in her she’d never experienced before, but her memories, the self-imposed, life-long terror about anything sexual. But she knew what to expect now, and from the man she loved more than life itself.

She wasn’t terrified anymore—maybe a little nervous—maybe a lot nervous. But she wasn’t debilitated by fear anymore . . . except about what Paul would do in the morning if she allowed anything to happen.

She saw the bottle of bourbon on the table and reached for it, thinking it would help, but his arm was longer. He got to it first and took a drink. He made a face as it burned going down. He hissed through his teeth, and then held the bottle up for her to see.

“Bookers. One hundred and thirty proof. Do you know the odds of finding a bottle of this shit, here in this stupid country?” he asked, and swallowed another gulp.  He hissed again before offering her the bottle.

“One thirty?” She thought better of the idea and shook her head.

“Good girl. See, you’re a good girl, too good for me.” He swigged again and headed toward the mat with her still in tow and bottle in hand. The arm with the bourbon wound around her neck, and the next thing she knew, his mouth collided into hers like it was the last kiss he’d ever have. His free hand went directly to her breast.

“Mm!” he grunted, and he squeezed. “Know how long I’ve wanted to do that? Since the night of the dance contest.”

“Ow!” she mouthed breaking contact with his mouth. “A little eager there. You really are too drunk for this.” She tried to move his hand, but he didn’t cooperate. If anything, it made him squeeze her even harder.

“I know. It’s ga-reat, isn’t it?” he said, happy with himself as he came up for air, his hand had gone from the almost painful squeezing to a more tender fondling. “Inebriation makes it so much easier to ignore the conscience, and all the other crap.”

“That’s my point. You won’t think it’s so great tomorrow, when it wears off.” She tried to move his hand again, but he just moved it down to her butt and squeezed again, blowing out a quiet whistle to demonstrate his approval. The bottle in his other hand tipped, sloshing a few drops of the alcohol down her back making her jerk. The movement pushed her breasts against him.

“Mm!” he grunted again, appreciatively. “Screw tomorrow! Ta-rust me, I’m not going to re-memm-ber a thing.” He set the bottle down on the deck next to the mat and almost fell over, laughing at himself. He raised his finger in the air. “Cor-rection! Not, screw tomorrow, screw my
wife!
Now!” He laughed again. “It rhymes.”

“What rhymes?” It was hard to keep up with him once his brain got going. “Correction, erection, Rhees, Paul.”

“Our names don’t rhyme.” She actually giggled at his drunken logic.

“They should,” he whispered in her ear before he stuck his tongue inside.

She winced and tried not to giggle at him again. She didn’t want to encourage him. “You’re cute when you’re drunk.”

“I’m cute e-ven when I’m not da-runk.” He pouted for a second, but immediately snapped out of it and into another mood, or thought, with excitement. “I should write you a poem. I haven’t done that since high school English. I always thought it was a joke, so I only wrote stupid poems, but I don’t want to write you a stupid poem.”

She laughed. “Of course, but that would be romantic, and you don’t do romantic, although you do an excellent job of pretending at it.” She put her arms around his waist to help hold him steady. It felt really good, the way it was supposed to, as she gazed up at him, thinking about how romantic he could be.

He rolled his eyes. “Not romantic, just good at getting into panties. I always get what I want—cuz I’m a selfish prick.”

“Shh.” She put her finger over his mouth. “You’re not. You were romantic for me, many, many times, and you didn’t do it to get into my panties. Even when I wanted you to, you refused to get into my panties.”

“Until I did.” His eyes cooled and grew a shade darker, the pain and regret suddenly apparent in his expression. They stared, holding each other, both regretting their part in the way it had happened. He finally smirked, took her chin in his hand, and squeezed, forcing her lips to pucker up. He gave her pucker a quick smooch and the next thing she knew, they were on the mat, Paul on top of her, gazing in her eyes again.

“I want a do-over. It wouldn’t ree-ally be a do-over—can’t have do-overs—but I can do it better this time. It won’t be as messy this time.” He grinned that crooked grin that she always thought made him look so sexy.

She inhaled sharply when he pressed his erection against her through their clothes.

“You got a problem with that?”

Rhees didn’t respond. All she could do was stare back.

“I
asked
, Do. You. Have. A problem. With that?” His eyes bore into hers. She shook her head, watching him warily.

“But
you
will, in the morning.” It came out as a whisper.

“I
said
, screw tomorrow, screw the morning,” he murmured in her ear. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He set it on the mat at the side of her head, next to the bourbon. “We’re both good at pretending. I
need
to pretend tonight. I
er-really
need to.”

She covered her eyes with her hands.

“Are you fa-reaking out on me, again?” he asked, rejection dripped in his tone.

“No! Not about what you want to do, but yes, what you’re talking about. I’m not sure I’m ready to face you—sober—if we really do this.”

He laughed and then opened his wallet and started fiddling with the contents as if he hadn’t heard her. “I stopped carrying these puppies when I promised to be your boyfriend, as a deterrent because you’re not on the pill, but after our
dee-lightful
con-soo-may-tion episode, I realized I’d better start carrying again—before I got you
pregnant
.” The last word rolled off his tongue like a dirty word.

He turned to look at her, his expression suddenly serious and reflective. “I have had the thought—maybe I should. It would be the purr-fect excuse to
nawt
do the right thing.” He rolled to the side of her and held the two condoms in his fingers, before her face. “That would give me one more reason to jus-ti-fy being selfish enough to try and keep you, even though I know I’d just be screwing up your l-life, because that’s just the kind of guy I am.” He scowled. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re
nawt
keeping up! I’m talking about making you realize what a miss-take you’ve made. You’re sick, and I’m trying to get you help, but once you’re not sick, you won’t need me anymore. ”

She almost laughed, though it wasn’t funny, at all. “I thought you were going to leave me, but you’re trying to get me to leave you?”

“I said that already. Why aren’t you listening to me? You said, I’m only using sending you to Keene’s facility, as an excuse to get er-rid of you. I don’t want to get er-rid of you, I want
you
to get er-rid of
me
—for your own good. When you get your head right, you’ll realize you want a
n-niice
man to take care of you, instead of . . . me.” He nearly cried as he explained it, but he was on his roller coaster again and she could barely keep up.

“In the meantime—” he flashed his eyebrows up and down, “—we should take advantage of these.” He waved the foil packets across her line of vision again. He was animated—crazy. “And our marriage
certifff-i-cate
.”

“Paul, I need you to slow down. I think your brain is processing faster than your mouth.”

“O-kaaay. You asked for it.” He laughed before he planted his lips on hers and kissed her like there was no tomorrow, but Rhees knew there would be. “I am now processing with my mouth,” he said with his lips smooshed against hers.

His tongue tasted like Bookers, enough to almost make her feel drunk too, but it felt too good, she couldn’t help herself. She decided to follow his advice. Screw tomorrow. She returned his kisses with the same enthusiasm he put into his. The sudden cooperation made him pull back to make sure she was all right. He winked; seemingly pleased at the flushed, ready to be sexed-up look she felt herself wearing.