by Noelle Adams
He took a few steps over until he was directly above Marissa, who was by now treading water and cursing with obscene creativity.
It didn’t take long for Caleb to realize that most of the curses were directed at him.
“I know, I know,” he said, in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “You can yell at me to your heart’s content later, but let me help you out first. It’s too cold for you to be in the water.”
He extended a hand to help her out. It was only then that Caleb realized he was in very real danger.
Davison was flailing around and wailing about his woeful situation. His initial scream had brought several people out to the patio, and the fascinated audience had grown in the last minute to include at least half of the guests.
A good portion of the orchestra, their dates, and their potential donors were standing around gossiping about the hilarious situation. They were his colleagues, his contacts, his professional circle. They all either hated or admired Caleb Wesley.
Who was about to get pulled into the pool. By a cursing, sopping-wet brunette.
He could see her eyes. Knew how to interpret them. “Please don’t.” He tried to find something to hold onto. “I know I deserve it, but please don’t.”
He could see Marissa hesitate. Then she let him pull her out of the pool.
She was, of course, totally soaked. Her hair had fallen out of the French twist and was now dripping and sticking to her skin in flattened, drenched strands. The thin fabric of her dress clung shamelessly, revealing her body so clearly she might as well be naked.
Without thinking, Caleb took off his jacket and wrapped it around her, as much to hide her body from leering eyes as to keep her warm.
She was shivering so helplessly her teeth chattered. “I hope you appreciate that act of grace. You should be glad I love you too much to humiliate you in public. But, be assured, my revenge will be all the sweeter for the delay.”
“I never doubted it for a moment.”
Caleb kept his arm around her as the watching crowd came over to offer Marissa sympathetic or amused comments and questions. She behaved with typical good-nature and made a witty joke about the situation.
But she was very, very cold. And very, very wet. And the evening was chilly to begin with. Caleb could feel how uncontrollably she was shaking.
Starting to get worried, he interrupted the growing hilarity of the crowd to say briskly, “She needs to get into dry clothes, and someone should make sure Davison doesn’t actually drown.”
The crowd parted at his authoritative words, and he urged Marissa forward. They walked back into the house and—at his request—were shown into a convenient upstairs room.
Marissa immediately collapsed onto the bed and curled up in a little ball.
Truly concerned now, Caleb knelt on the floor beside her. “Are you all right?” he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. He could already feel the moisture seeping through the jacket to his tux that she still had wrapped around her.
“No,” she whimpered.
He moved his hand to her face, stroked her cheek, and pushed her wet hair back from her eyes. “Marissa?” he prompted, feeling uncharacteristically helpless.
He didn’t like the feeling at all.
With a sudden exclamation, she sat up, pushing his hand away as she did. Then she tore off his jacket and got to her feet, staring down at her still clinging dress.
Caleb, who stood up as well, noticed but tried not to focus on her tight nipples, clearly visible through the wet fabric.
“Look at me,” she demanded furiously.
His eyes instinctively shot back to her breasts.
“My beautiful dress is ruined,” she wailed, apparently failing to notice his sudden preoccupation with her chest. “And my shoes!”
Caleb glanced down at her feet. They were bare, her pretty toes neatly painted and the fair skin glistening with moisture.
“My wonderful shoes are still in the pool!” Her voice was almost a sob, but it was broken by her chattering teeth.
He had no idea how to comfort her. His first reaction was to tell her that he’d buy her new ones, but he very wisely resisted that impulse. He gave her a sort-of pat on the back, feeling absolutely stupid and wishing someone would return soon with dry clothes and a towel so she could get out of the wet, revealing dress.
Just then, their hostess did return. She explained apologetically that the only women’s clothes in the household were either hers (she was eight sizes too big for Marissa) or her daughter’s (who, Caleb had good reason to know, was much taller and much less curvy than Marissa). So the woman offered Marissa a skirt and the choice of two shirts—one belonging to the daughter and one belonging to a man.
Then she left the room.
Marissa snatched up one of the towels and started to mop at her body. “You have no idea how much I hate you right now. If you’d been acting like a proper date, this never would have happened.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He spoke reflexively, but he wasn’t thinking about his words.
The sight of her breasts bouncing around as she vigorously dried her legs was making him very uncomfortable.
She was still muttering under her breath, but some of the heat must have worn off because she didn’t snarl at him again. She turned around to pick up the second towel, revealing to him the long stretch of bare skin exposed by her dress.
He stared at her in silence, wondering why everything had suddenly gotten so strange.
Then Marissa, still standing with her back to him, began towel-drying her hair, and her energetic shaking caused the fabric of the dress to shift.
Caleb’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped opened as he caught an unmistakable glimpse of crease and shadow beneath the very low cut of the back—cleavage of a different variety.
He turned on his heel, suddenly feeling as if he’d invaded her privacy. Their relationship had never been like this. He’d never seen her naked. Didn’t want to know what her nipples looked like, what her ass…
This was wrong. She had innocently accepted his presence in this room as a friend and a comfort. Exactly what he’d always been to her. And here he was, eyeing her like Kevin Davison at his leering, groping worst.
The shock of the bizarre situation must have temporarily affected his mind. This was Marissa. His best friend. His only friend. Not some random body for him to lust over.
He didn’t think about Marissa that way.
“Keep your back turned,” she instructed from behind him. “I’m changing clothes.”
Caleb tried not to picture it. Wasn’t about to turn around.
He heard her rustling, breathing, and then grunting in exasperation. “Bitch,” she muttered. “Must not have any boobs at all.”
Caleb tried not to think about boobs. Particularly not Marissa’s. “Shirt doesn’t fit?” he inquired, shocked that his voice sounded normal.
“I can get it on,” she said defensively. “But the damned thing won’t stay buttoned. I’ll have to wear the man’s shirt.” More fabric rustling. “Hopefully, this one will fit, or I’ll start to get self-conscious and have to go on one of those no-carb diets.”
This sounded so much like the Marissa he knew that Caleb immediately relaxed. He chuckled appreciatively.
It had just been a temporary aberration. Nothing that meant anything. Nothing that would change anything. What they had was so good, and he wasn’t going to ruin it with some fleeting horniness.
Marissa was a woman, after all, so obviously she had all of the female apparatus. He’d just never been confronted with it so abruptly before.
It was absolutely nothing to worry about.
“Okay,” she sighed glumly. “I’m decent.”
He turned around and was pleased to see that the man’s shirt completely covered all the relevant parts. “Okay?” he asked carefully, looking at her subdued face.
“Tonight sucked. Can we please go home now?”
It was early, but they
had the perfect excuse to leave. No one could blame them or question the courtesy of their early departure. “Of course,” he responded, reaching out to take her arm, but then stopping himself for some reason. “Let’s go.”
“You better be very nice to me,” she warned, linking a hand around his arm instead. “Not only did you fail me in my time of need, but I’m also still in mourning for my shoes.”
* * *
The trip back to her apartment was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. Caleb missed their casual banter, really needed it now to get back to their comfortable relationship.
He rode up in the elevator with Marissa and then walked into her apartment without thinking. Just like he always did. When the door shut behind him, she immediately started to shimmy out of the skirt.
“What are you doing?” Caleb asked in stunned disbelief. She appeared to be disrobing in front of him.
“Damned skirt is too tight.” She kicked it off her legs. “I couldn’t even button it.”
Caleb hadn’t known this since the shirt almost covered her thighs.
“Here,” she said, bending down to pick up the skirt and then thrusting it at him. “You can give it back when you meet up with her later tonight.”
“What are you talking about?”
She gave him an exasperated look. “The gorgeous daughter,” she explained, speaking to him like he was a child. “I saw you flirting with her. It’s her skirt. You can give it back to her.”
“I’ll do nothing of the kind.” He tried to convey condescending superiority, but he felt too awkward to do it well.
Marissa wasn’t supposed to know whom he had sex with. The thought made him very uncomfortable.
It had ended up being a very uncomfortable night.
And it suddenly got a hundred times worse. Because he took a really good look at her just then. Her long hair was starting to dry in messy, tangled waves. Her skin was flushed with chill and strong emotions. She wore only a man’s shirt—he knew for a fact she didn’t have anything on beneath it.
She was glaring at him with a very familiar impatient scowl.
Something happened that had never happened to him before with Marissa—not in all the years he’d known her. But it was happening now, when she was a bedraggled mess and wearing another man’s shirt.
His body reacted. He twitched and then started to harden.
Damn it. He was actually getting hard.
But this was Marissa. So he couldn’t be. It must just be a temporary aberration. Only not as temporary as he’d thought.
Now she was looking at him strangely. “Are you all right?” she asked, taking a step closer.
He shook his head roughly. Took a step back. “I’m fine. Sorry. Just been a strange night.” He saw the concern on her face, noticed her unconsciously licking her lips. Felt himself grow even harder. “If you’re all right,” he said hurriedly, “I think I’ll go on now.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. And don’t forget that retribution is in the works.”
He turned and walked quickly to the door, wanting only to get away from her so he could regain his senses.
“Caleb,” she called out after him.
He halted, glanced at her over his shoulder. She looked flushed and rumpled and affectionate. He gulped. Felt another tug from his disloyal crotch.
“I don’t really hate you, you know,” she said huskily.
And that completely did him in. He was fully erect and starting to throb. He had to get out of here. Now. Before he did or said something utterly stupid. Something he’d regret for the rest of his life.
“I know,” he mumbled. “Talk to you tomorrow.” And without even giving her a chance to reply, he left the apartment.
He went directly back to his place. Decided maybe he should go to bed early, since he was clearly suffering from some kind of malady.
A malady affecting his brain. And other parts of his body.
The erection hadn’t gone away, but Caleb refused to take care of it. Instead, he sat next to his fireplace, drank two beers in a row, and glared at the bulge in his pants.
It would go away eventually. Just like these crazy reactions to Marissa would go away. He supposed it was too much to expect that they could be friends as long as they had without something like this occurring.
It was nothing to worry about. Because tomorrow these feelings would be gone.
And he could go back to the security and comfort their relationship had always been to him.
Caleb didn’t care if his arousal pulsed insistently. He absolutely refused to jerk off. Because he knew, if he did, he would be thinking about Marissa.
And he just didn’t think about Marissa that way.
Three
As soon as Marissa woke up, she knew something was wrong.
She was too groggy and disoriented to actually remember what happened, but she knew there was some reason to not want to wake up.
Then memory flooded back. The fundraiser. Her new dress and shoes. Kevin Davison and his groping, sweaty hands. The pool. The amused crowd watching her emerge sopping wet from the water like some kind of bedraggled Venus.
It was all just so embarrassing.
She was used to hanging out with grad students and struggling musicians—not the wealthy and elite. She’d actually been a little nervous last night and had worked hard to convey a sophisticated impression.
She hadn’t been at all successful.
No matter how much of a sense of humor Marissa had, her pride would always be just as strong.
She simply didn’t like to be laughed at.
And her annoyance at having ruined her new dress and shoes nearly equaled the mortification.
Then there was something else. Something about last night made her feel…weird.
She reached out and grabbed her phone.
Caleb answered on the second ring. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Shouldn’t you still be asleep?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s seven o’clock on a Sunday morning. Most people are still asleep.”
She felt a flare of anxiety at her thoughtless call. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about the time. Were you asleep?”
“No.”
“What are you doing up so early? Did I interrupt anything?”
“You sound hopeful. Did you expect to distract me from a long night of debauchery?”
“Did I?”
“No. Sorry to disappoint you. No debauchery last night. But tonight’s my night for orgies, so try again tomorrow morning.”
Marissa giggled. Then asked, “Seriously, what were you doing just now?”
“Working out.”
“Why are you working out at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning?”
“I was up.”
“You’re not doing something that might hurt your hands, are you?”
“Don’t even start.”
“But I don’t understand why you’d risk it.”
“I’m not risking anything. I’m running on a treadmill.”
She listened for a moment and could hear the truth of his words for herself. He was breathing heavily, and she could hear a faint thumping from the pounding of his feet.
“Okay. Sorry. Why don’t you come over this afternoon so we can do something?”
“I’ve got to rehearse.”
Marissa felt a hint of unease at his distant tone. “Are you getting all dark and broody on me?”
It was a very real fear. When he got in those moods, sometimes he did very stupid things.
“No. I’m just busy. I’m rehearsing with the others for that trio performance. Plus, my dad’s in town and we’re having lunch. I told you about it.”
“It sounds like you might be going into one of your moods.”
“I’m not in a mood.” Impatience was now clear in his voice. “I told you I’m busy.”
“Okay, okay. You don’t have to come over if you don’t want.” She paused.
Decided to change the subject. “Did I make a fool of myself last night?”
There was an unusually long pause before he replied, “So this is why you called?”
“I called to say hi and see how you were, but, while we’re here, did I?”
“No. It wasn’t your fault. Davison was the ass.”
“I know that, but I’m the one who ended up in the pool. I guess I’ll be the punchline around the symphony circles for the next few days, won’t I?”
“More than likely.”
She made an outraged noise in her throat. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better.”
“Since when have I ever done that?”
Sighing, she admitted, “Never. You’re always brutally honest with me. And I put particular emphasis on the word ‘brutal.’”
“Emphasis noted.” Finally, there seemed to be a smile in his voice.
The sound of Caleb’s smile made Marissa smile too. “You’ve had several failures in the friend-department over the last two days. I expect you to make up for them soon. And don’t forget…”
“Yes?” he prompted, his tone still warm and dear.
“Retribution is still lurking, waiting for the right time to strike.”
He laughed. She loved how it sounded.
Smiling, Marissa said goodbye, hung up the phone, and snuggled back into her bed. It was way too early for sane people to get out of bed on a Sunday morning.
Caleb had sounded basically normal after the first minute of the call, so maybe he wasn’t descending into one of his dark moods after all. She still worried about him, though.
He really needed a wife or committed girlfriend.
Of course, a wife or girlfriend might not understand his friendship with Marissa. Might actually try to come between them.
And that wouldn’t do at all.
* * *
Marissa rubbed her temples as she stared down at the page of Latin that blurred before her eyes.
Translating had always been easy for her. She enjoyed it, and she was good at it. It was one of the few activities that invariably made her feel safe and satisfied.
