Which he did.
“Gone to the great desert in the sky,” I admitted.
He shook his head affectionately. “Oh, Jane,” he said.
“Don’t ‘Oh, Jane’ me.” I laughed. “You can’t even put your oxford on right.”
He looked down. “Oops.”
As James discreetly unbuttoned his shirt in order to fix it, I remembered how I used to watch him undress before getting into bed. How his chest was perfectly smooth and hairless until right above the waist of his boxers. How he’d do a sexy little hip shimmy just to make me laugh.
When we were first married, we did it every night—and half the mornings too.
I crossed my legs under the table, trying to ignore the tingling I felt between them. This is lunch, Jane, not a booty call.
Right?
The waiter glided over and gave us a minuscule bow. “To start, we have the beef carpaccio with a broccoli rabe pesto,” he intoned.
“I ordered the tasting menu—is that okay?” James asked as the platter of thinly sliced meat was set down between us.
“Perfect,” I said, my mouth already watering. “Did you know that carpaccio is named after the Italian painter Vittore Carpaccio? The red-and-white tones of his paintings reminded people of raw meat.”
James shook his head and smiled. “You always know the weirdest stuff,” he said. “I loved that about you.”
The meat was so tender it melted in my mouth. “Thanks,” I said. “And oh my God, this is delicious.”
“I always loved to watch you eat too,” James said, sounding almost shy.
“Now you’re just embarrassing me,” I said, ducking my head. “Also—why?”
He shrugged. “You really appreciate good food, and you look so happy when you eat it. It’s…I don’t know. Charming. And sexy.”
I put my fork down. What was going on here? “James,” I began.
He blushed and looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. I was trying to pay you a compliment. Maybe…maybe now isn’t the time.”
But what was my rule again? If life hands you a compliment, take it.
I said, “If you think I look good eating carpaccio, wait until we get to the chocolate semifreddo with the salted caramel sauce.”
James laughed. “I can’t wait.” His hand crept toward mine across the table.
But we didn’t touch.
As the waiter brought us plate after plate of phenomenal food—ricotta tortellini, roasted duck breast—James hardly ate. He just watched me.
I knew exactly what he was thinking, because I was thinking it too.
His apartment was a five-minute cab ride away. We could race over there, pawing at each other in the backseat, and we could rush upstairs and fall into that king-sized bed of his. And there we could do what we’d done best.
It sounded better than dessert.
“I miss you,” James said softly.
I smiled. “I miss you too,” I said.
I knew that going back to his apartment would be like going back in time. Everything would be just as it had been—except for me.
I was totally different.
He reached farther across the table and finally took my hand. “Do you think…”
I let him hold my hand for a moment, and then I pulled it away. “Missing isn’t a feeling you have to fix,” I said softly. “It’s something we can live with. We had a good thing for a while. We don’t anymore. And I’m finally okay with that.”
Chapter 17
Jane, you idiot, this isn’t how it’s supposed to work!
I paced back and forth across my parquet floor until my downstairs neighbor knocked a broom handle against his ceiling.
“Sorry!” I called down. “Stopping now!” Then I sank down onto the couch and tried to calmly consider my situation.
I had managed to turn down my ex-husband. But I had kept Nick’s number—and, more important, I’d used it. I’d gone so far as to ask him to meet me on the steps of the Met, tonight at 7 p.m.
Yes, the sex had been amazing. But it was the “persimmon consultant” that got me. It was both goofy and sly—a combination I found irresistible.
I imagined us having a glass of champagne on the museum’s balcony bar, high above the Great Hall, laughing, talking, and getting to know each other (with our clothes on). Then we’d stroll through Central Park, dodging Rollerbladers and bikers as we made our way toward the Conservatory Garden to admire the last of the tulips. We’d hold hands. We’d kiss under the wisteria-covered pergola.
It sounded like a perfect date.
The problem was, second dates were absolutely against the rules.
I glanced over at the Dress, tossed carelessly on the back of my reading chair. It was the only witness to the secret life I’d been living, and I desperately wished I could ask it for advice.
I thought of Nick’s gorgeous eyes and his infectious laugh. Because he was funny—I’d learned that later, when we lay curled on the bed, his hand resting tenderly on my hip as he told me stories of his reckless youth.
He could be serious too. I’ve never met anyone like you, he’d said. You thrill me.
He had thrilled me too.
So what was I supposed to do? I looked at the clock; it was 6:50 p.m.
I imagined Nick already waiting for me on the steps, dodging tourists’ feet as they heaved themselves up the stairs, shooing away the pigeons hunting for scraps, and scanning the crowd for a tall brunette in black.
Soon he’d start checking his phone. Start wondering where I was.
His fingers itching to touch me again.
I grabbed my purse and dashed out the door.
But instead of heading east toward the museum, I turned in a different direction.
Chapter 18
“Jane-itsa!” Al said, leaning across the counter to give me a paternal kiss on the cheek. “You hungry?”
“No, thanks, Al,” I said. My heart was pounding. To make it to the Met on time, I’d need a hovercraft to float over the rush-hour traffic. “I just came in for a quick coffee.”
I put two dollars down on the Formica, and almost immediately, Veta appeared with a steaming cup, swirling with cream the way I liked it.
“Here you go, sweetie,” she said, patting my shoulder. “You look extra pretty again. But I’m not going to say anything!” She clapped her hands over her mouth, but I heard muffled words that sounded a lot like “I hope you have a date.”
Yes, Veta, I do have a date, I thought. I have a date with someone I could actually fall for. And that is the problem.
A big clock, the kind they have in every high school classroom, hung above the doorway to the kitchen. As I watched, the minute hand lurched forward with an audible click.
I felt my pulse quicken.
Rule #10. No second dates.
Don’t do this, Jane.
I got up from my stool.
“Where are you going, Janie?” Veta called. “You forgot your change. Do you need a to-go cup?”
I strode out to the sidewalk where I stood, jittery with nerves, under the blue-and-white awning that said AL’S #1 DINER. When Nick answered his phone on the second ring, I said, “I can’t make it tonight. I’m really sorry.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked, sounding worried. “Is everything all right?”
Yes, I thought. No.
“Everything’s fine. I just—I just can’t do it.”
There was a silence on the other end of the line. Then Nick said, “I don’t understand.”
I didn’t want to say it again, but I had to. “I can’t go on a date with you.”
“You mean you don’t want to,” he said.
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” I admitted. “It’s that I can’t.”
“Why not?” he asked. “Are you married or something?”
He couldn’t see my rueful smile or the shake of my head. “Not anymore.”
“Okay, well, have you been kidnapped? Ar
e you tied up in a basement somewhere in Queens? Do you need mad ransom money? Because I’ve got it. Tell me where you are and I’ll be right there with a suitcase full of cash.”
I laughed. “I’m free,” I said.
“Then come be with me,” he said, his voice now low and urgent.
A teenage couple came staggering up the sidewalk toward me, the boy carrying the girl piggyback, both of them laughing hysterically. Behind them, an old man and an old woman walked slowly arm in arm, their heads bent close together.
And then there was me, alone.
And fine with it.
I steeled myself. “For the fifth time—or maybe the millionth, I’ve lost track—I just can’t see you tonight,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Then another night,” Nick said. “Tomorrow or the next night or the next.”
He was starting to sound desperate, which was kind of sweet.
“It doesn’t work that way—” I began. But then I stopped. What was I going to say? I knew I couldn’t explain it to him. I slept with you, and it was fantastic, and I might really like you—but I absolutely won’t have dinner with you.
He just wouldn’t understand.
I didn’t know if I did either.
“Jane, we really had something,” Nick said softly.
“We sure did,” I agreed. “And I’ll never forget it.”
And then I hung up the phone.
Chapter 19
The door to the Red Room was tucked away under scaffolding, not to mention totally unmarked. When I finally spotted it, I took a deep breath.
Am I really about to do this?
A laughing, good-looking couple brushed past me and entered, arms wrapped around each other. I craned my neck but couldn’t see inside. Suddenly uncertain, I paced the sidewalk in my satin shift that put the little in little black dress, and wondered if I had finally and completely lost my mind.
A handful of fun trysts wasn’t such a big deal, not in the grand scheme of things. Tonight, though, was something else entirely.
I, Jane Aline Avery, was about to go into a sex club.
I could feel my pulse pounding all the way down into my fingertips.
I felt exhilarated. And miles beyond nervous.
Maybe, just maybe, things were getting out of control.
A moment later, the unmarked door opened again, and the good-looking couple reappeared, beckoning to me. “Come on in, gorgeous,” the woman said, smiling. “Don’t be scared!”
I blushed, tried to stand still. “Is it that obvious?” I asked.
Her dark-haired date nodded. “You look like a kitten at the door of the dog pound, sweetie. But there’s nothing to worry about. Come in with us! We’ll take care of you.”
I didn’t even have time to answer before the woman reached out and took my hand. Her touch was delicate—and strangely reassuring.
“I’m Sasha,” she said, “and this is David. We’re regulars.” She gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
Surprised, I smiled back at her. She seemed nice, and also perfectly normal—not a scary sex maniac. Maybe the Red Room wasn’t so different from a dance club, I thought. And so, after only a moment’s hesitation, I let her lead me inside.
Yes, I was really going to do this.
Candles flickered in the lobby, their light reflected in gilt-framed mirrors. To my left were a bar and a dance floor; to my right, a big room with an enormous wall-to-wall bed.
“Give it an hour,” Sasha told me, nodding toward the empty mattress. “Then that’ll be writhing with naked flesh.”
I gulped. Maybe, on second thought…
Sasha grinned as she pulled me toward the bar and ordered us Kir Royales. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Everything’s going to be great. And remember: you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
But what did I want to do? That was the million-dollar question.
I watched a half-naked woman spin acrobatically around a pole while Sasha gave me a good-natured mini-lecture about the absurdity of sexual monogamy. David interjected with helpful information about the club, including the location of the locker rooms, the dungeon, and the late-night buffet.
“No sex near the food,” he informed me. “That’s pretty much the only rule.”
I nodded as if none of this were surprising, but my stomach was doing somersaults.
Suddenly an attractive forty-something man was by my side, his hand on my arm. “Smile if you want to make out with me,” he said.
I took a step back in alarm—this was way too soon.
He read my expression immediately, said, “Okay then, have a good night,” and vanished.
“Whoa,” I said, turning back to Sasha. “What just happened?”
“We take no very seriously around here,” she explained. “A girl can’t have fun if she doesn’t feel safe.”
“That’s a relief,” I said. I took a sip of my drink, hoping to calm my nerves. “And I obviously didn’t break his heart.” I pointed to the corner, where he was already making out with a pretty young redhead wearing a vinyl nurse’s outfit and carrying a riding crop.
Sasha laughed and patted my hand. “I’m so glad we found you,” she said. “You’re a unicorn, you know.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means a single girl who wants to swing,” David answered. His arm curled around my shoulders—but it felt friendly, not creepy. “Do you want to go upstairs?”
I was as rare as a mythical beast? Feeling suddenly giddy, I said, “Why not?”
On the second floor, everything was red: red candles, red lightbulbs, red pedestals bearing red bowls of condoms.
Oh—and there was a couple having sex on a red leather couch not five feet away from where I stood.
This is out of control, said the voice in my head. You are out of control.
The couple’s moans of ecstasy carried over the music.
Sasha and David watched them avidly for a moment, and they weren’t the only ones enjoying the show. A topless woman stepped forward and leaned down toward them, and the woman on the couch began to kiss her breasts as the man ran his hand over her black leather skirt.
“What do you think?” Sasha asked, smiling at me.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “It’s a little…overwhelming?”
Sasha linked her fingers through David’s and nodded toward a small room furnished with a normal-sized bed and an armchair. “Want to come play?” she asked me. “Or, if you want to ease into it, you can just watch.”
I was flattered by their attention, and I actually liked them. But I didn’t think I was a voyeur or a two-at-once type. I smiled and shook my head. “Thanks, but you guys go ahead,” I said. “I’m going to, uh, keep looking around.”
“Okay. You know where to find us,” Sasha said. She leaned forward and surprised me with a soft, Kir-flavored kiss. “See you later, I hope.”
I noticed they left the door to their room open.
Alone, still feeling the sweet tingle of Sasha’s kiss, I fidgeted nervously. Was this a huge mistake?
There was really only one way to know. I tossed back the rest of my drink, straightened my shoulders, and scanned the room. I saw a man with his hands down a woman’s tiny disco shorts and two naked girls fondling each other on a table. Low bass thudded in the background, and it seemed like there were more pheromones in the air than there was oxygen.
I caught the eye of a tall, dark-haired man standing near one of the private rooms. I sucked in my breath.
His gaze was so intense it was like a physical touch.
I stared back without smiling, letting the tension between us build. Then, feeling bolder, I beckoned him over.
“You’re new here, aren’t you,” he said, giving me a sexy half-smile.
“How can you tell?” I asked, trying to sound playful. He was so tall that my head didn’t even come up to his shoulders.
“You look as freaked out as I did an hour ago. I’m Dylan.”
When he brought my hand to his lips and kissed it, a tiny jolt of electricity shot through me. “And you are?”
“Jane, and I do not look freaked out,” I insisted.
“Really,” he said, unconvinced. “Then let’s see how you look now.” And, still holding my hand, he pulled me into the dungeon.
It was a large, dark room with dripping candles mounted in iron sconces. I saw paddles, switches, and whips, some resting on hooks and some in use. In the middle of the room hung some kind of elaborate harness, with a pale, naked girl writhing ecstatically in it. Another woman, naked except for her thigh-high boots, cracked a whip near the girl’s legs.
All right, I probably looked freaked out now.
But I was turned on by this man, by his coal-hued eyes and his long-fingered hands. By the animal energy that seemed to shimmer from his smooth skin.
“What do you think?” he asked, giving me a tiny smirk.
I shrugged, all put-on nonchalance. “Whips aren’t really my thing. But whatever anyone else does is their business, right?”
“To each his own,” he agreed. He stepped closer to me. “Or her own.” His fingertip brushed my bottom lip—a touch impossibly light, yet I felt it in every nerve.
The girl in the sling moaned as the woman dragged the whip along her skin. Someone began blowing out candles, and the room grew darker and seemingly hotter.
I told myself that no one here mattered but me and this gorgeous man. I said, “Smile if you want to make out with me.”
He flashed me a beautiful grin, and then he kissed me. Hard. My hands slid around his waist as I pressed my body against his. He broke the kiss before I was ready, taking an ice cube from his drink and putting it in his mouth, then bending down to my neck. The heat and the cold, the tease of his tongue—they made me shiver and gasp.
But when he reached for the zipper on my dress, I put my hand on top of his. “No, no, not here,” I said.
“Then tell me where,” he whispered.
Chapter 20
Kill or Be Killed Page 29
