by Nancy Warren
“But who was she? I mean, what were you doing having sex if you weren’t that into it?”
“It was my last girlfriend. She was kind of crazy. Hot, but crazy. I think I knew it was already over.” And then she’d thrown the knife and definitely severed the connection.
Her eyes widened. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“As serious as global warming.”
“This is like finding out that the earth revolves around the moon. Or that Santa Claus beats up old ladies when he’s not delivering presents.”
He chuckled. “Life’s full of surprises.”
She shifted again and he couldn’t resist the urge to lean over and run his tongue over her berry-pink nipples. “So,” she said, clearly thinking, “are you the only guy out there doing this?”’
He glanced up. “We don’t boast about it, or talk about faking orgasm over martinis like you girls do, but no, I don’t think I’m the only one.”
“But why?”
He shrugged. “Probably for the same reason you do. We’re tired, don’t want to hurt a woman’s feelings or make her feel bad. Maybe we’ve had a drink or two too many.”
The curiosity in her expression turned to alarm. “So, do you do it a lot?”
“It was the first time for me.” He thought back on the incident. “Honestly, I never should have gone out with her. She was hot and absolutely amazingly gifted in the kitchen—she was a chef—but…” He pointed to his head. “Nothing upstairs.”
“Does that matter to you? If a woman’s not very brainy? If it’s just a hookup?”
He thought about it. “Back when I was twenty-two I wouldn’t have cared. Now?” He reached out and stroked a finger around the globe of her breast. “I think a woman’s brain is the sexiest thing about her.” He circled a finger around the other breast. “And I don’t really do hookups.”
The puzzled look was back on her face. “If you don’t do hookups, what’s this?”
He reached over and cupped her chin, moved closer until he was a whisper away from her passion-swollen lips. “This,” he said, “is a miracle.”
She sighed, kissed him back with enthusiasm. But he wasn’t twenty-two anymore in a lot of ways. He wasn’t quite ready to go again.
“So,” he said, pulling back slightly. “Your turn.”
“My turn what?”
“Oh, come on. Your turn to tell me a secret. I told you one.”
A wrinkle appeared on her forehead as she thought deeply.
“And I don’t want some boring crap about how your uncle Fred was adopted.”
Her mouth fell open. “How did you know my uncle Fred is adopted?”
He tweaked her nipple between his fingers. “Funny girl, huh?”
“Okay. A sex secret.” She pushed a hand through her hair, messing up the already mussed strands adorably.
“And don’t even bother telling me you once faked an orgasm. That’s no secret from anybody.”
She glanced at him under her lashes. “I had sex listening to the Rolling Stones.”
He burst out laughing. “Everybody’s had sex listening to the Stones.”
“No. I mean, at an actual concert.” She blushed and started fussing with the sheet, straightening it as if she was a chambermaid.
“With Jagger?” He had to ask.
She snorted with laughter. “No! With a guy I was seeing. I was eighteen or nineteen, I forget. We were at this concert in Chicago. Huge. Thousands of people. Of course, we couldn’t afford the best seats, we were up in the cheap seats and “Satisfaction” came on. He grabbed my hand and pulled me out into the aisle. You know how it is, people are dancing in the aisles, but he pulled me up higher, to the back, and—” She sucked in a breath. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” He was enjoying her telling of the story more than the story itself. He loved watching the play of emotions over her face. A little embarrassment, remembered excitement.
“I was wearing a jean skirt. He stood behind me. I think he was wearing a big raincoat. Probably he’d planned the whole thing in advance for all I know. Anyhow, the coat sort of fit around both of us and, well, he slipped my panties off and then, you know, standing there, with the bass thumping, he took me from behind.” She gulped. He could feel her skin quiver against him.
But he didn’t interrupt. On some level, she was reliving that moment. He wished that had been him, taking her while the music bounced around them and thousands of fans added to the energy.
“That was the best sex I ever had,” she said softly. “Until—”
“Until?” he prompted softly.
She brought her focus back to the present. Gazed into his eyes. “Until tonight.”
He felt a rush of pure ego. He’d rocked her world. Oh, yeah. Then, as quickly as it came, the emotion fled. And a kind of anger took its place. She was way past eighteen now. “You haven’t had great sex in—what?—ten years?”
“Pathetic, isn’t it?”
“You are so responsive, so exciting.” He reached over and kissed her. “I’m not going to say this is the best sex I’ve had in a decade,” he teased her with his grin, “because I’m not as pathetic as you.”
“Oh.” She smacked his biceps with her closed fist in a punch so girlie he barely felt it.
He grabbed her still-closed fist and brought it to his lips. “But tonight is right up there for me, as well.”
Again she seemed shy, almost embarrassed. Her look was sweet and honest. “Really?”
“Really.”
And then suddenly he was twenty-two again. Full head of steam and ready to go. And so, he discovered, was she.
* * *
“Want to know another secret?” Jessica felt free, weightless, so filled with amazement that this was happening to her that she wanted to tell him, this man who’d made her New Year’s resolution a reality.
He seemed less excited to hear her story than she was to share it. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Will I have to tell you one?”
She scratched her fingertips down his already stubbled cheek—he was so adorable. “No. Only if you want to.”
“Okay then. You can tell me.”
She was having so much fun running her fingertips down his face that she kept going, softly over his jawline, down his neck, hitting his chest. She could sense that he was enjoying the attention. “On New Year’s Eve my friend Morgan challenged me to make a New Year’s resolution that wasn’t about work or personal improvement.” She laughed at the memory, realized she’d had more to drink than she’d thought. “So I told her I was going to have amazing sex before Valentine’s Day.”
He pretended to glance at his watch. “You’ve only got a week,” he said. “You’d better get going.”
She reached over, nipped his shoulder with her teeth. “I’ve accomplished my New Year’s resolution already,” she said, soothing the nip with her tongue. “With a week to spare.”
He turned to her, his eyes so big and dark she thought she could get lost in them. “I don’t think I’ve ever fulfilled anyone’s New Year’s resolution before.” He shook his head. “I’ve sure heard enough, though. Big holidays are hell on wheels when you’re in the food industry. You always have to work, and on New Year’s, if you don’t get some drunk chick sticking her tongue down your throat, you get to hear all the ways people you don’t even know are going to change their lives. Starting, of course, tomorrow.”
She gazed at him in shock. “Women you don’t know kiss you?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Not really. You are very kissable.”
“So are you.”
She yawned.
“You going to kick me out?”
“What?”
“It’s four in the morning. If I stay much longer I’ll fall asleep.”
“Oh.” She looked at him, not sure of the right thing to say. The men she slept with were usually guys she’d been dating for a while. It was understood they’d stay at her place, or s
he at theirs. Usually, an overnight bag was involved. It was all so preplanned and, she realized, unexciting. So, what was the protocol when you hooked up with a waiter? She had no idea. Decided simply to ask him. “Do you want to go?”
“No.” Okay, that seemed clear.
She heaved a sigh of relief. “I want you to stay.”
“Okay, then.” He sounded kind of relieved, too, she thought.
He tucked his body around hers and she turned onto her side, the only way she could ever get to sleep. His body settled behind her, spooning her. His palm settled over her breast as though it belonged there. She liked the feeling of being cocooned in his warmth.
“Good night,” she said softly.
He kissed the nape of her neck. “Night.”
CHAPTER SIX
Jessica woke with an unfamiliar feeling of warmth and the happiness of a woman who’s just had the best dream. As she surfaced to reality she realized that last night hadn’t been a dream and the warmth was coming from the man still snuggled, naked against her body.
As memories flooded back, hot and furious, she felt warmth stir deep within her, even though her body was tired, her muscles well used.
When she stretched, the man at her back woke suddenly. She watched him blink and then turn to her. He looked like a scruffy pirate with his dark-stubbled cheeks and black hair. She watched him go through the same memory process she had only seconds ago. “Good morning,” he said, giving her a sudden grin.
She squinted at the clock. It was ten. She’d slept so solidly for the past six hours that she felt wonderfully refreshed.
Now what?
There was a moment that wasn’t awkward so much as… Breathless, she supposed, best described the feeling she had as she stared across the pillow at a man she hadn’t even known twenty-four hours ago and with whom she’d just spent the night.
“Morning.”
He stretched, yawned and rolled out of bed, totally unselfconscious. His body was so good she couldn’t help but watch him as he headed to the bathroom. Those long, muscular legs had wrapped around her, the hard butt and lean hips, the muscles of his long back fascinated her. When he disappeared into the washroom she missed the view.
Not feeling as confident that she wanted him to see her totally naked in daylight, she hopped out of bed and donned the thick cotton hotel robe hanging in the closet. When he emerged, she was already putting on coffee.
He came up behind her, put one arm around her waist and with the other lifted the mass of her hair and kissed the nape of her neck.
“Is that your way of begging for coffee?” she teased.
“Nope. It’s my way of saying last night was amazing.”
She was glad he couldn’t see her smile. It was a combination of Mona Lisa and the Cheshire cat.
She knew he was leaving; of course, he was leaving. It’s what you did after hooking up with a woman you’d only met the night before. One you believed lived in a different city.
She busied herself taking a couple of white mugs out of the cupboard, finding sugar and the single servings of long-life milk supplied by the hotel. The coffee bubbled and hissed but she could still hear him behind her, the unmistakable sounds of a man dressing.
She turned at last, found him on his hands and knees searching out something—socks? Shoes? He made a sound and reached under the couch. Pulled out a single black sock.
He sat on the floor to pull the sock on, and then he was rising, as smooth as the athlete she knew he was.
“You staying for coffee?” she said, trying to sound cool.
He hesitated and all at once she remembered she hadn’t yet paid him for the dinner last night. As he said “Sure,” she blurted, “I’ll get my purse. I owe you for last night.”
The grin he gave her was so devilish she felt herself blushing. “Normally, I don’t charge.”
“No,” she said, laughing. “Not for the sex. For the dinner.”
He stepped forward, kissed her swiftly, then said, “I bought you dinner last night. We’ll call it our first date.”
“But—but I was with another man.”
He shrugged, still with that teasing light in his eyes. “I’m a pretty liberal guy.”
She poured coffee. “You make it sound like we had a threesome.”
“I’m not that liberal.”
She passed him coffee and he shook his head when she offered him milk and sugar. He drank it black.
And he drank it fast. She supposed it was from working in restaurants. He probably gulped all his meals and drinks between waiting on tables. By the time she’d finished with her milk and sugar, he was already putting down his mug.
And she wasn’t ready for him to go.
He pushed his feet into his shoes, then turned back. “What time’s your flight?”
“My flight?”
Then she realized he thought she was flying out today and decided she wasn’t going to lie. As she opened her mouth, he said, “I was wondering if you’ve got time for Sam’s Special Seattle Tour.”
Oh. He was offering to spend the day with her.
“That sounds—”
“I mean, depending on when you have to leave. I need to get to the restaurant by around three.”
“That works for me. If you can drop me off back here on your way to the restaurant?”
“Perfect. I’ll run back to my place and change. Pick you up in forty minutes?”
“I’ll wait downstairs.”
He eyed the strappy shoes she’d worn last night that were tumbled on the floor beside the couch. “You have walking shoes?”
“Uh-huh.” Sounded like they were going on a walking date.
“Okay. Downstairs. Forty minutes.”
She was showered and dressed in twenty.
The nice thing about being in a hotel with only one suitcase was she didn’t have a lot of time to stand in front of her wardrobe and dither. She had limited choices. She wore the jeans she’d paid way too much for because Morgan insisted they made her ass look great and they’d get her laid. Which might have been true if she was a woman of no discrimination. A pair of flat-heeded ankle boots, a black cami, a casual jacket and a multicolored scarf. Big earrings were her only jewelry.
She brushed her hair until it fell in shiny waves, kept her makeup minimal—her SPF moisturizer, a slick of mascara and a swipe of lip gloss. When she checked herself in the mirror she liked what she saw. There was a sparkle in her eyes and color in her cheeks that had nothing to do with cosmetics. A night of great sex was better than a day at the spa complete with makeover.
Maybe she’d rushed a little so she’d have time to share her big news.
She texted:
Mission accomplished.
She waited for a return text but instead her phone rang.
Morgan. Too impatient to text.
“Are you kidding me?” Morgan said the second she answered, all pumped as if she’d just finished a killer workout and chugged a couple of Red Bulls. Which was probably exactly the situation. “You had great sex with the banker?”
“Not exactly.”
“Lousy sex,” Morgan said in an I-told-you-so tone. “I warned you, didn’t I? Right from his profile you could tell he’d be terrible in bed.”
“I did have great sex,” she almost purred. She was always the good girl to Morgan’s wild woman, so it was nice for a change to be the one with the surprises.
She heard Morgan slug liquid from a can. Maybe not Red Bull. Maybe Diet Coke. “Make up your mind, girl. Which is it? Are you still drunk or something?”
She giggled, delighted with herself. “No. I am not drunk. I did have great sex and I did not have sex with the banker. Who, you were right, was a complete dud from the second I met him.”
Morgan was not going to be so easily distracted. “Holy crap, you had sex with somebody else?”
The nice thing about always being the good girl, the reliable friend, was that when she stepped out of that role the reaction was ou
tstanding.
“Yep.” She zipped up her overnight case, ready to wheel it down to her car.
“Who? Who was it? I mean, you head out for dinner with a guy whose profile was so boring Match.com should have put a warning label on it, and next thing I know you’ve had sex with somebody else? How could you do that? How could you go clubbing without texting me? I’d have come with.”
“Of course I didn’t go clubbing without you. As if.”
“Okay, what am I missing? Who did you sleep with? The cab driver?”
“The waiter.”
There was a moment of stunned silence.
“You mean the guy who was serving you during your lame date?”
“Yep.”
Morgan laughed, one of those laughs so infectious that Jessica couldn’t help but join in. “That’s some cojones. He came onto you while he was waiting on you and the banker?”
“No. Not really.” Then she thought back and supposed Sam had been sending her subtle signals even before her date ended. “I mean, there was definitely chemistry between us, right away. You should see him. You’d understand. And my date being awful, and going off to the bathroom for ages, gave us time to talk. He’s amazing.”
“Look, I was going to do laundry, but I’m thinking brunch. Now.” Morgan was one of the first people Jessica had met when she moved to Seattle. An operating room nurse, Morgan worked long hours under high pressure and could get a little wild when she was off shift. She was also the kind of person who went out of their way to help a friend and never made a big deal about it. The two women were different in lots of ways, but deep down they shared basic values. Morgan was also a person she could be completely honest with and vice versa. She could say, “Do these pants make my hips look big?” and get a real answer, not make-you-feel-good fake flattery. So, she didn’t hesitate.
“Can’t. He’s coming back for me. We’re spending the day together.”
“Oh, wow. Congratulations. You did it.” She laughed again. “Have the best day. Drinks, then. Tonight.”
