by BETH KERY
“I hardly think you needed an excuse to cut all ties, in Jamie’s case.”
“Yeah, but Jamie was the exception. Most women aren’t that blatant. Like I said before, maybe I’m the one who is encouraging them to be underhanded, because I’m too distracted by other things. Eleanor? What’s wrong?” he demanded when she made a face he couldn’t quite interpret.
“So you want a woman to be completely honest about her motivations. If she told you up front that she wanted a serious, long-term, monogamous relationship with you, you’d be happy about it?”
“You and my brother should get together. He told me something similar yesterday. No, like I’ve said. I’m willing to take some of the blame. Maybe I should just accept that all I’m interested in is sex when it comes to women.” He paused. “But the thing is,” he added slowly, “I’d be lying.”
“You would be?” she asked in a hushed tone.
He grimaced. “A few months ago, my human resources manager had one of those inspirational speakers come in for a day seminar for the staff. I popped in for a few hours of her talk in the afternoon. For a motivational exercise, she was having people write out two versions of their obituaries.”
“Obituaries?”
“Yeah. One version was supposed to be what it might read like if you died today. The other version is what you hoped it would be ideally.”
“That sounds like it could be pretty interesting.”
“It was pretty enlightening, that’s for sure. For one thing, it annoyed the crap out of me.”
Her eyebrows arched in a question.
“I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking about it. The thing was, in the professional arena, I was right where I wanted to be. No regrets.”
“You’re light-years beyond most people your age in that arena,” she said.
“Thanks. But my point is, in the personal and family categories, I was pretty damn skimpy. It just brought it all home. I do want what my parents have, and what my sister and my brother-in-law have. Someday. Actually, I was relieved as hell when I heard Kevin had fallen hard for someone last night. I was beginning to wonder if the male Riordans in this generation were born with a faulty gene or something.”
She’d set down her fork. She was listening to him with focused intent, her eyes shimmering in the soft lighting. “And that’s definitely what you want too?”
“I’ve started to think so, anyway,” he admitted honestly. “I just don’t know how to go about achieving it. I’m not so sure I get what women want. Or worse, if I’m remotely able to give it. That’s what I was trying to figure out when I went off dating. And yet here we sit.”
She started slightly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “I was just thinking before, this feels an awful lot like a date. Dinner. Wine. Conversation. Candlelight. Is that okay with you?” he asked her, studying her reaction closely.
“Of course.”
“Because . . . that’s not what we specified from the first, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” she agreed, sounding breathless. He’d pushed her too far. She was going along with the conversation, but he was definitely making her nervous.
“Jesus, we’re a pair,” he muttered under his breath.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure if I’ve got what it takes for the long haul and you prefer things at a safe distance. Like—from a building away?”
She dropped her hand on the table with a thump. “Is that what you think? That I enjoy”—she hesitated—“exhibitionism because I’m afraid of being close to someone?”
“The thought has occurred,” he replied bluntly. He felt a little guilty at her stunned—or was it hurt?—expression. “Don’t look like that, Eleanor. So what if we have intimacy issues? They say most of the population does.”
Her lips parted in amazement. “Intimacy issues? Me? I don’t have intimacy issues.”
“Really?” he asked, unable to disguise his disbelief and—face it—a little anger. She turned him into an animal with her sexy dances, but it also drove him crazy that she liked seducing him from a distance. For a few seconds, he thought he’d gone too far with his sarcasm. She looked like someone had just taken a swipe at her.
But then she recovered. She shook her head and laughed raggedly.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s just so weird . . . having this conversation with you, hearing you say that you fantasize about settling down. That you grapple with intimacy issues—”
“Why is it weird? Do you think I’m too stupid to have an existential crisis?”
“No.” She threw him an Eleanor glare. “You’re obviously brilliant. It’s just . . . you’re so different than what I thought you’d be.”
“Am I disappointing you, Eleanor? Because the thing is, it’s pretty hard to actually know someone when your entire idea of them comes from either the Internet or spying on them from the building next door.”
For a few seconds, the silence between them seemed to ring in his ears. Then her eyes flashed fire. She leaned forward.
“Do you think I’m being prejudiced about you? Is that it? Well fine. Because you’ve been doing your fair share of being prejudiced when it comes to me too. I’m not some cold, controlling bitch. I don’t always like things at a distance. I like that you’re struggling with these issues. I mean, I don’t like to see you’re suffering,” she muttered, rolling her eyes in frustration at expressing herself, “but I like you better as a person. You seem more . . . more human.”
“I’m all too human when it comes to you.”
She started, looking as surprised by his comment as he was by saying it. God, she made him nuts sometimes. He reached across the table and snatched her hand. She looked startled at his action. For some reason, all the irritation drained out of him. He shook his head and smiled in disbelief.
“Jesus. When are you going to get used to me holding your hand?”
“I don’t know.” Her annoyance seemed to evaporate as quickly as his had. A smile flickered across her beautiful mouth. “It’s hard to get used to something so . . . so . . . nice.”
He squeezed her hand at that little, potent compliment. She confused the hell out of him. She could be so skittish at times, so bold at others, so edgy, and sometimes . . . so sweet. So giving. “I don’t have all the answers,” he said quietly. “I don’t pretend to. That’s why I was taking this time off and trying to figure things out.”
“That’s why I brought it all up again just now,” she admitted, leaning forward, her expression earnest. “I’m just not saying things right. I want to . . .” She swallowed thickly. “Spend time with you. Very much. But I don’t want to distract you from your mission. I’m starting to feel really selfish, knowing that I am.”
“You’re not. Don’t worry about it. I can take care of myself.”
“Okay,” she said breathlessly.
Their stares held until the waiter arrived, asking if they wanted coffee or dessert. Eleanor shook her head once, never taking her gaze off him. His nerves prickled with awareness of her. Acute anticipation coiled inside him. He handed his credit card to the waiter, eager to be finished with dinner.
Very eager.
“They say fantasy and reality rarely intermingle,” he said gruffly once the waiter was gone.
“What makes you say that?” she asked softly.
“It’s just that in your case, they do. Mingle, I mean.” He saw her pulse leap at her throat and knew she was caught in the same spell as he was. “You’ve basically been a fantasy come to life for me ever since I saw you walk into that coffee house,” he told her bluntly.
“You mean a sexual fantasy?”
He nodded. “When I saw you in that window . . . you made fantasy reality. It was like magic.”
She didn�
�t reply, just stared at him with huge, glistening eyes.
“Is it okay if I’m honest right now?”
She nodded.
“It’s driving me crazy, sitting across this table from you and not being able to touch you more.”
She blinked. “You really do like honesty.”
“Is that okay?”
She nodded. He liked the way she looked a little flummoxed, but pleased. She peered up at him from beneath long lashes. There it was. In that single look was the entire paradox of Eleanor: sweet and curious; delectably, outrageously erotic all at once. He leaned forward and spoke to her quietly.
“I want to get you back home the quickest way possible. I’ve got some plans for you, Eleanor.”
“Like what?” she whispered.
“You’ve shown me how incredible you are in putting on a show for me when I’m in the building next door. How do you think you’d do if I was in the same room with you? How do you think you’ll like it knowing full well what you’re going to get when the performance is finished?”
—
She didn’t really get a chance to respond to his loaded questions. The waiter came, and Trey took care of the bill. Then he stood and extended his hand to her. All the while, his questions kept replaying in her head, mounting her anxiety and excitement.
Because the thing was: she was intimidated by his proposed plan. Very. Despite her earlier denial, she now realized there was something about him being at a distance that gave her courage during her dances. She’d been able to plan everything in the past. Did that mean what he’d said tonight was true? She needed to be in the driver’s seat?
That she had intimacy issues?
She didn’t think she could lose herself to the extent that she did when he was in the building next door, and she could imagine him a hapless near stranger. But that wasn’t fair to Trey anymore, was it? For her to continue envisioning him as a distant, unobtainable object to be manipulated for her sexual fantasies?
Fair or not, her mind went blank with anxiety when she tried to imagine what it’d be like to perform with him right there in front of her.
They got a cab on Monroe Street. Trey held the door open for her and then climbed in after her. Eleanor opened her mouth to tell the cab driver her address, but then Trey gave his address in a brisk tone, overriding her. A hand seemed to seize at her heart. He wanted her to exhibit herself directly in front of him, to titillate him sexually, all within the relatively unfamiliar territory of his home, not hers?
Once he’d settled beside her, he grabbed her hand and placed it on top of his coat-draped thigh, the gesture amplifying her already acute awareness of him and her mounting anxiety. What if she froze with the startling spotlight of his stare directly upon her? She was going to get stage fright, balk and make a fool of herself.
At one point, she noticed he leaned toward her and opened his mouth as if to say something to her, but then glanced uneasily toward the front seat and the cabdriver. There was no separator between the back and front of the cab. He shut his mouth and stared straight ahead.
He didn’t really speak again until they were on the elevator in his building. By that time, she was spinning in a cyclone of anxiety.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She started. “Nothing.”
“You’ve looked skittish ever since I said I had plans for you. Do you not want to fool around?” he asked very quietly.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it? Eleanor?” he added when she glanced everywhere in the elevator car but at his face. The door opened into his penthouse. She got off before him. He caught her arm in the entryway, urging her to turn and face him.
“What is it? Tell me,” he demanded.
Mortification struck her, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say but the truth. “It’s not as easy for me as you’re making it out to be.”
His brow creased in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know! Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do like to be in control of it . . . I choose the music, I pick what I wear, I decide when I begin—”
“Okay, fine. I had no idea it was such a big deal for you. We don’t have to, it was just an idea I had,” he insisted. “I didn’t mean to take away your control.”
“You don’t understand. It’s not that I don’t want to have sex, I do. But I don’t have any clothes here. I don’t have any . . . you know . . .” She was very aware that her cheeks were burning, but there was no help for it. “Props,” she finished.
“Props?” His face went carefully blank. “You mean like the fans?”
She nodded.
“I suppose you have whole closets full of props for your dances?”
“No,” she scolded, hearing the hint of sarcasm in his tone. He was imagining her performing sexually for a long line of men. “I’m not a professional stripper. I’m not a whore either,” she defended heatedly.
He blanched. “Jesus, Eleanor, I know that.”
“Do you?” She’d never wanted to set the record straight more than at that moment. It seemed that every minute she spent with him, she dug herself a deeper hole.
“Yes,” he grated out.
He looked angry. She swallowed thickly, straining to get ahold of herself. “The thing of it is, I have more options than I do over here,” she said in shaky frustration. She glanced down at her jeans and walking boots. “Look what I’m wearing. It’s not sexy.” She stalked through his entryway into his large living room, having difficulty meeting his slightly incredulous expression at the moment.
“You’re wrong. You look fantastic. Look how crazy you’ve been making me all evening,” he said from behind her. She spun around, exasperated.
“You’re missing the point. This isn’t a striptease outfit!”
“Okay,” he said, holding up his hands in a surrender gesture. “We’ll skip it, then. Do you want to watch a movie or something?”
“No,” she growled, frustrated. “I want to . . . you know. Make you feel good like you did me . . . on the water taxi.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, clearly wary about what to say next, worried he’d step on another mine. “Maybe we should go over to your place, where you feel more in control.”
“It’s not just that. I’ve never really done it while someone was in the same room as me,” she said, frustrated by her inability to put concisely into words her dilemma. It wasn’t a topic she was used to discussing. She was a little alarmed at how difficult she was finding it to communicate her discomfort. She did a double take when she saw his speculative, pleased expression and reflected back on what she’d just said. “You like that, don’t you? That I’ve never done a striptease in close proximity to someone?” she asked him in amazement.
He shrugged. “I do like the path not taken. At least with you I do. Or so it would seem,” he added wryly.
She stared for a moment, her attention entirely caught by his small, sexy grin.
“Look, I’m sorry I don’t understand all the details and nuances about your preferences yet. It’s not that I don’t want to learn,” he said quietly, taking a step toward her.
“Thanks for that,” she whispered. She replayed their conversation in her head and winced in regret. “That means a lot to me. Really. I’m sorry for seeming so . . . hysterical about it. I’m not sure how to put how I feel about it into words.”
“You don’t seem hysterical,” he muttered, smoothing back a strand of hair at her temple. Her skin tingled beneath his touch. “I’m not getting you, and it’s making you nervous. Right?”
She nodded. “I told you on the boat: it’s not that I’m a control freak when it comes to sex,” she hastened to say. “I want to turn you on. The control I want is in service. To you.”
His fingers paused just above her ear. There. She’d said it right. H
adn’t she?
His expression went rigid. He suddenly seemed much closer than he had before, his hovering face just inches away from her upturned one. She saw the gleam in his blue eyes.
“That’s one hell of a sweet thing to say.”
She smiled tremulously, warmth rushing through her. He’d understood her. He opened his hand along the side of her head and brushed his lips against hers. She sighed and stepped closer, placing her palms facedown on his chest.
“I tell you what. We could either go over to your place. Or . . .”
“Or?” she wondered breathlessly.
“I could give you complete control over my bedroom. It’ll be your stage to set as you like,” he said quietly, nipping at her lower lip. “I’ll even open up my closets and cupboards for you for props. Anything in them is yours to use.”
“Really? You’d allow that?”
He grabbed her hand and led her in the direction of the hallway. “Sure, I’m willing to sacrifice for the benefit of the arts.”
She laughed. He turned and smiled over his shoulder. Her heart gave a little jump. God, he was sexy.
“I’ll show you around a little, and then leave you to it. How would that be? If you don’t find what you need to inspire you, we could go to your place.” They crossed the threshold into his bedroom suite and he turned on a light. He halted next to the bed and turned toward her. She glanced around the luxurious, masculine bedroom and seating area.
“I’m not sure I’ll find much of use in a man’s room.”
“Maybe not as far as clothes, but you’re welcome to whatever is here.” He led her over to a door. They entered an enormous walk-in closet, including shelving and rows upon rows of hung clothing.
“Jeez, and you called me a fashionista,” she murmured amusedly, running a hand admiringly over the shoulders of a row of neatly hung suits.
“Use what you like. And as far as props, well, I might have some inspiration over here. If you’re feeling particularly bold, that is.” There was something she heard in his voice that made her arch her brows. He walked out of the closet and over to a large armoire in the seating area. He opened the cupboard. “I’ve got a Techilicious in here—”
