by Nancy Warren
“We can help each other.”
“Okay. I have to shower first and change my clothes. How about I come down and get you in about half an hour?”
“Perfect.”
He waved her off when she tried to clear the table, so she ran back into the bedroom and changed into her frumpy clothes from yesterday. She emerged to find him wiping down the kitchen counter.
She picked up her purse by the couch and then wasn’t sure about whether to kiss him goodbye or not. “Well, thanks for dinner,” she said, and started for the door. She’d made her intentions clear; she was leaving. What he did with that information was up to him.
What he did was dump the cloth in the sink and speed to her side.
She wasn’t sure the kiss could be classified as a goodbye-and-thanks-for-dinner kiss. It wasn’t the sort of kiss you’d lay on your grandmother, for instance, or a casual friend.
She moaned as she clasped him tighter, thrusting her fingers into his messy hair and causing further disarray.
The kiss turned steamier, and suddenly she found herself backed against Luke’s door, his body hard and flush against hers. She was melting faster than ice cream over warmed blueberry pie.
“Oh, that feels good.” She broke contact with his mouth long enough to gasp, “I have to shower.”
Right. Shower.
“You are obsessed with personal hygiene,” he growled, but with a final nibbling trail down her throat that had her reconsidering her obsession, he let her go.
“See you in half an hour.”
13
LEXINGTON GALLERIA was an upmarket shopping center with three levels, wrought-iron railings and a tuxedoed pianist tinkling away on a grand piano on the third floor. The most expensive floor. The one to which Shari dragged Luke.
“Figures this is where she’d have bridal registry.”
“Percy and Fitz,” Luke read the store name aloud. “Should be Pricey and Pretentious.”
“Shh.” She motioned him to pipe down, and they entered the hallowed marble hallways with its snooty staff and fingerprint-free glass cases.
A woman who could have passed for Queen Elizabeth approached them. “May I help you?”
Determined to be gracious at the wedding and not by word or deed to let B.J. and Randy think she so much as remembered having her heart ripped out and spat on, Shari explained to the woman why they were there, and then studied the list she produced of household items the couple wanted.
Discarding things like “Dishwasher, Bosch” as too expensive and any knives as possibly sending messages of suppressed violent feelings, she was still left with plenty of gift choices.
While Luke studied martini glasses carefully—searching for the most breakable, she was certain—she hovered indecisively between a place setting of china and a set of sterling napkin rings. She preferred the napkin rings, but, unless B.J. had changed, she’d be judging her presents by the size of the box they arrived in.
When Luke wandered by while she was in mid-dither, the Queen Elizabeth salesclerk said, “Perhaps your husband might have an opinion?”
At the same moment she said, “Oh, we’re not—”
Luke said, “We’re just—”
She stared at him as his words petered out and she wondered what the end of that sentence was. What were they, exactly? And how did he think of them now that they’d spent the night together?
Not that she had any complaints about last night—far, far from it—she’d sensed a certain holding back and assumed his slight hesitance was based on lack of experience or whatever disastrous fumbles had previously occurred in his sex life. Still, she hoped he didn’t get too serious too fast.
A quick, hot flash of panic seared her belly; perhaps shopping for wedding presents the morning after they’d first slept together wasn’t the brightest idea.
“The place setting,” she decided. “And I’d like it gift-wrapped and delivered.”
“Of course. Have you your own card or would you care to choose from our selection?”
Naturally, Shari hadn’t thought to bring along a wedding card, so she grabbed one with a bland verse and hearts and flowers on the cover, dug a pen out of her bag and signed it, “Love, Shari and Luke.” She may not want Luke thinking they were a couple, but she definitely wanted B.J. thinking it.
Luke loitered a bit over the martini glasses, which were so thin she felt they’d break if she looked at them too closely. But eventually he decided to pass and to see what else they could find.
They wandered out of Percy and Fitz and Shari had the pleasant feeling of having discharged one of her obligations. The outfit was next, and it was by far the bigger job. She really wasn’t certain she wanted Luke around, though, while she tried on clothes. If he was anything like her brother, Luke’s shopping tolerance wouldn’t get him past the first dress, which, as every woman knew, and no man seemed to understand, never fit.
“Do you want to look for something else for your father’s wedding?” she asked brightly.
He turned to gaze down at her, sleepy green eyes wrinkling at the corners. “You wouldn’t be trying to get out of me seeing you in a whole lot of slinky, strapless things would you?”
Absobloodylutely. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. “No. I don’t want to hog your Saturday, that’s all.”
“No problem. I can shop anytime. You’ve only got the weekends, right?”
“Well, yes, but we could split up…?”
With an arm around her shoulders he pulled her close, put his mouth to her ear and spoke softly. “Not before chapter seven.”
How did he do this to her? She immediately felt as shivery as a virgin bride contemplating her wedding night.
Shari had a pretty good idea what was in chapter seven, but somehow he made it sound as if they’d been visiting some exotic foreign land. Heat bubbled through her veins as it occurred to her that he might be a bit of a novice at oral sex and need guidance. Once more she’d be Shari, personal guide to all things sexual.
She could teach him to please her; she could give him pleasure he may never have experienced before. She had to admit, when Luke had gone looking for a teacher, he could have done a lot worse.
Since they happened to be passing a ritzy boutique, she decided to test his mettle as a shopping companion and tugged him through the entrance. He followed her obediently from rack to rack, letting her flip rapidly through outfits, looking for exactly the right thing. She pulled out a pale green sheath dress with matching jacket that begged for a hat and pumps. A possibility. She handed it off to the hovering saleswoman who spirited it away to the discreet dressing cubicles.
There was a lavender pantsuit that appealed to her, but since it was an evening reception with dancing, that seemed too casual. Finally she ended up with a pale yellow dress with a fitted bodice and full skirt, and the green two-piece.
Luke settled into an armchair while she disappeared into the changing room. She’d put on strappy high heels deliberately, knowing she’d be trying on things for the wedding. She also wore pretty lingerie, but if she was honest with herself, that was mostly for later. All this finery she’d hid under a stretchy purple cotton dress that pulled on and off with the ease of a T-shirt. She was doing her best to make this shopping excursion as effortless as possible.
The green two-piece fit nicely. With the jacket it was perfect for the wedding ceremony; she could slip it off when the dancing started. She stepped outside and modeled it for Luke, rather enjoying the way his gaze took a long, lazy tour of her body in the dress.
“Take off the jacket,” he said. Did he have any idea what that intimate tone did to her? Probably, if he was looking in the direction of her chest, he did. If he said “Take off your dress,” in that same sexy drawl, she probably would. Right in front of the sales associates and the other customers.
He didn’t, though, only motioning her to turn around, which she did, hoping the dress didn’t pull at the hips.
“What do you thi
nk?” she asked him, when he’d finished scrutinizing.
“I’m ready for the next choice. Don’t want to make any snap decisions.”
She shook her head at him and slipped back into the dressing room. Her own feeling was that it wasn’t bad as first dresses went, but it hadn’t wowed her, either. However, superstitiously she believed a good first dress could be a sign that success was just around the corner.
Maybe the yellow…
She stepped into it, feeling like a sixties prom queen. The full skirt was fun, the bodice fit perfectly. Out she stepped to stand in front of Luke.
There was something almost erotic about posing and spinning while a man, relaxing in an armchair, stared at you. It felt as though she were being judged or auditioned for something. And the way Luke’s gaze traveled over her, there was no doubt that wedding finery wasn’t on his mind. He licked his lips as he looked at her, and the blatant challenge in his eyes made her heart jump. If he’d whispered, “Chapter seven,” he couldn’t have put her mind more firmly in tune with the promised activities he’d outlined for later.
“Well?” she asked after she’d spun for him again. “What do you think?”
He gave the thumbs-down.
“Why not?” She couldn’t help but wonder. The dress might not be the most fabulous thing she’d ever seen in her life, but it fit and was perfect for a wedding. He couldn’t know she’d sneaked a peek at the price tag and almost fainted. This was a great dress. Of course, she planned to look some more, but so far she thought she had a real contender.
“Too dull for you.”
“Dull? What do you mean?”
He shot a glance at the hovering saleswoman, who was busy giving him the evil eye. “I’ll take you for lunch and we’ll discuss it.”
“Don’t you ever think about anything but food?” she asked him when she’d changed back into her own clothes and they’d left the store.
“Sure. When I finish eating. Then I don’t think about food until I’m hungry again.”
She let him drag her right out of the shopping center to a deli-café across the street. She ordered a salad and he ordered a clubhouse with french fries.
“What did you mean, that dress was dull?”
He sipped iced tea, as though trying to find the right words. “I’ve never met this B.J., but based on all that uptight flowery stuff she wanted for wedding presents, I’d say those dresses would be perfect for her. But they’re not you. You wear bright colors and your clothes have…I don’t know, personality.”
Shari blinked at him. “It’s just a dress.”
“Is it?” He gazed at her across the table, and she felt he was seeing more than she wanted him to see. “I have three sisters, and I swear they used to dress with some kind of code book in hand. Wear black on fat days, stripes one way to make your boobs look bigger, stripes the other way to make you look taller, and they had a whole other wardrobe for church.”
“Of course we wear clothes to flatter us. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Women also send messages with clothes.” He glanced at her, with that telltale eye-crinkling. “Like wearing purple means you want to get laid.”
She glanced at her bright purple dress and choked on a laugh. “Does not.”
He leaned closer. “I bet if I slipped my hand under that dress right now, I’d find you’re wet for me.”
All the air seemed to be squeezing out of her lungs. Five seconds ago, he’d have been dreaming, but all he had to do was look at her in that certain way, and the very idea of him touching her intimately had her squirming on the vinyl bench.
He didn’t have to know that, however, and she wasn’t going anywhere until she had a dress for the wedding. “I dressed like this so it would be easy to try on clothes.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He shrugged. “I just don’t think those dresses are you, that’s all.”
Could he possibly be right? Was she so caught up in proving to B.J. and the rest of them that she’d made out fine in life, thank you very much, that she was choosing clothes that reflected success on their terms rather than her own?
She chomped spinach leaves with fury. Damn. She hated admitting, even to herself, that Luke was right. But, of course, he was.
The diet, the fitness program, the date, the dress.
She groaned and reached over to snag a french fry off Luke’s plate. “That yellow dress was the price of a month’s rent.”
He whistled softly and pushed his plate closer so she could help herself.
In the end, they went to one of her favorite street-front boutiques. Luke walked in, took a look at the mannequin posed near the store entrance, and said, “That one.”
It was her signature purple, in some kind of a brushed-silk fabric that was gorgeous to the touch. It had a tight-fitting bodice, spaghetti straps and a skirt that just begged to twirl on the dance floor. She tried it on and her eyes lit up in the changing room mirror. It was her. It showed her figure off to perfection—including the flat stomach it had taken several thousand sit-ups to produce.
This place didn’t boast armchairs for the gentleman escorts, so Luke was standing outside when she emerged, and it was clear he liked what he saw. He twirled his finger the way a dog trainer would to a poodle, and she obligingly turned around for him. “Yep,” he said. “That’s the one.”
“It’s kind of…not revealing exactly, but…breezy for the wedding ceremony.”
“I’ve got just the thing,” said the salesclerk, Jan, as in “Hi, my name is Jan, if there’s anything you need, give me a shout.” You’d think she was planning to sell Luke dresses the way she hung by his side, Shari thought sourly.
But when the young woman returned with a silky crocheted shawl patterned in the same shade of violet with yellow, red and white accents, Shari knew she’d found her outfit.
She tried on a few more just because she felt she should, but it was the purple dress with which she’d fallen in love.
“Thank you,” she said to Luke, grabbing him on the sidewalk and impulsively kissing him, holding her bags tight in her hands.
“I had fun,” he said. “I don’t get out much.”
She’d laugh, assuming it was a joke, except she had a pretty good idea that it was true. He worked so many hours in his apartment alone he probably needed to get out among people more often. “You must be looking forward to Tuesday, then. When you speak to my class.”
“Not half as much as I’m looking forward to getting you home and naked for—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Chapter seven.” She was deliberately casual, but she had to admit his constant references to the next chapter in his how-to book were starting to arouse her. Most men she knew would be mortified even to admit to owning a sex manual, but Luke seemed to have decided, once she was in on his little secret, to treat each chapter like a new world waiting to be discovered. He made sex seem fresh and exciting.
“Do you have more shopping to do?” he asked. “Or do you want to go straight home?”
Sure, she needed shoes and a new handbag and some sheer hose to go with her new dress. At the moment, though, there was only one item on her agenda: getting to the next lesson.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
They didn’t talk much on the way home. She felt the mounting anticipation of what they were about to do, and she couldn’t wait. She reminded herself that he’d be a bit inept, but that was okay. In fact, it was kind of sweet. Besides, new lovers always needed to learn each other’s bodies. If more men had asked her for help and guidance, she’d have had more winners in her sex life.
With Luke, she wasn’t afraid to take the initiative and to show him how to please her. He’d asked her for guidance, but in truth she was doing this for herself as well as for him. She enjoyed her role as intimate teacher more than she’d dreamed. Who’d have believed helping a man become a terrific lover would be such a turn-on?
Oh, but it was. She was having trouble sitting still o
n the black leather upholstery. She wanted to wiggle. She wanted to grope. Frankly, she wanted to go down on him right here in a speeding vehicle in the middle of the highway. Which struck her as the fastest trip to the morgue, so she kept herself in check. But it wasn’t easy, the heat building inside her body was becoming uncomfortable.
She glanced at Luke and his jaw was fiercely set. In fact, she felt tension coming off him in waves. Her gaze dropped to his lap and, as she suspected, he was harder than the stick shift. She turned away to hide her grin. He was as turned on as she was.
Well, maybe she couldn’t physically grope him in the car, but she could have a little fun, couldn’t she?
“What does it say in chapter seven?” Her voice came out sultry and teasing, and she noticed that he swallowed hard before replying.
“It says that a man can give a woman more pleasure with his tongue than any other part of his body.” He sounded a little put out by that and she imagined he was as penis-centered as every other guy in the universe.
She hid her smile. “Well, I never thought of it like that, although I suppose it’s true. The tongue is very flexible and comes with its own lubrication. But I like the, um, whole package.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Let’s see, what else does it say in chapter seven?” He thought for a moment while traffic hummed outside. Neither of them had put on any music, so it was quiet inside the car but for the purr of the engine.
All of a sudden she wished she hadn’t brought up the subject. Did she really want to know what it said in chapter seven? What if it advocated she do things to Luke she’d never heard of before? She was a reasonably confident woman, comfortable with her own sexuality, but she wasn’t on intimate terms with the Kama Sutra. There were probably dozens, hundreds of sex tricks she didn’t know.
“It says that asking your partner what they like is the best technique there is.”
She nodded. Perhaps the guy who wrote that lame book wasn’t as much of a moron as she’d assumed.
