by Shirley Jump
She let out a shaky laugh. “Got to keep you on your toes.”
“I had no idea you could be so...”
“I'm not all planners and spreadsheets.”
“You most certainly aren't.” He smiled.
Her gaze connected with his cobalt-blue eyes. And Candace realized she hadn't merely had sex. She'd lost control. The one thing she'd vowed never to do again.
Oh, shit. What had she done?
“What's the matter?” he asked when she tensed in his arms.
“Nothing. I... I should go.”
“No. Don't run from me. Not now.”
“I shouldn't have done this.” Shouldn't have shared part of myself. Shouldn't have let go like that. Shouldn't have. . .
“Don't have regrets, Candy. Not for going after what you want.”
“Thinking with my vagina just leads to stupid mistakes.”
His hand traced her cheek. “Sometimes it does. And sometimes it doesn't.”
She turned away, putting her back to him before she could get swept back up in those eyes.
“What stupid mistakes have you made?” He snuggled closer to her. “You're so sensible. I can't imagine you doing anything you haven't planned out.”
She arched a brow and glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Oh, yeah. Except this.” He grinned.
“See, I'm not who you think I am.”
“You're a well-rounded woman. There's nothing wrong with that.”
“I'm insane. The last time I did something like this—” She cut herself off.
“What?” He tucked a tendril of hair back behind her ear. “What happened, Candy?”
What would it hurt to tell him? The basket job was finished. She could, conceivably, never see him again after this. After all, hadn't that been her real plan? Get him out of her system, then be Barry's wife for the next fifty years and never, ever think about this night again?
Regret squeezed at her chest, but she ignored it.
“If you talk about it, maybe it won't seem so bad.”
“I've never told anyone,” she whispered.
“Secrets are heavy weights to carry around.”
She sighed. “Yeah. They are.” Outside the bedroom, the sun was setting, casting the room in dark gold shadows. Michael pressed a kiss to her shoulder and waited, silent. If she didn't want to tell him anything, he wouldn't push her.
But he was right. All those years and that one mistake still felt like she was carrying around thirty extra pounds. She let out a breath, took another in, then figured today was a day of new beginnings. “My last year in college, I spent the summer at my dad's lake house in New Hampshire. I hadn't seen my dad in a long time. He moved to Florida after the divorce and it was hard to travel and get down there to see him.”
“But he kept the lake house?”
“It was his dad's. My grandpa had died that spring and I went up there to help my dad clean it out, get it ready for selling or keeping or whatever he decided to do. It was a chance to kind of reconnect, too, you know?”
“I don't, but I wish I did. My parents aren't the connecting type.”
She filed the information away. Later, she'd ask about that. It explained something about him. But now, she'd begun her story and couldn't seem to stop. “In New Hampshire, I met someone. A guy named Danny. He was there for the summer, too.”
“A summer romance?”
“You could call it that. But I thought it was ... something more.”
“You fell in love.”
“Yeah. I jumped in headfirst, didn't bother to check the depth of the water. And Danny was everything a girl could want. Gorgeous, good with words.”
“But not good with commitment?”
She snorted. “Not at all. I got really wrapped up and...”
“What?” he prodded gently when she didn't finish.
“Nothing.” No, she wasn't going to finish the story. She rolled to face him, slipping her body into the concave of his. “I thought you promised me a bath.”
“You're changing the subject.”
“Yes, I am.” Her hand slipped between them and began stroking him back into an erection. “On purpose.”
“Why not talk about Danny and everything that happened?”
“Because that would be a string. And we agreed not to have any.” She tugged lightly on his penis and his mind went blank for a moment. “Sex only. Nothing more.”
“Hmmm ... seems a pity, though.”
“You going soft on me?”
He chuckled. “Quite the opposite.”
She bit her lip, her smile devilish. “Good. Then get the water running. I have plans for you.”
Candace had been wrong. It wasn't she who had any plans at all. Michael was in control from the minute he touched the tap and then turned to lower her into the deep, inviting whirlpool tub. “This time, I'm calling the shots,” he said, kissing her neck, trailing down to her breasts.
“I'm used to being the one in control.”
“Letting go is very liberating.” His voice was almost a growl. His tongue circled her nipple and that was all the convincing Candace needed to quit trying to be the leader.
And let Michael hold the reins.
The second time was slow and easy. He took his time, lathering her with the soap in his deep whirlpool tub, treating her like a precious gem. Then washing her with the nubby washcloth, awakening every nerve ending, sending her spiraling down the same desire track as before. A thousand times she wanted to beg him to end the teasing and the wait, but he'd catch her with that grin of his, reminding her that he was the one calling all the shots. Oh, and he did it so well. By the time he took her in his arms and kissed her, Candace was nearly panting with want.
“Not so fast,” Michael said. “Take your time and you'll enjoy it even more than you did the first time.”
Damned if he wasn't right. Between the steady thrum of the jets, the slickness of the water and the easy rhythm of Michael on top of her, it felt like one long, sweet orgasm.
She slid her hands along his body when they were done, stroking and holding. Knowing this would be the last time and wishing it wasn't
He pulled her into his lap and placed an easy, slow kiss on her lips.
Precious. Tender.
Almost like he loved her.
She pulled back suddenly. Water sloshed over the side of the tub, puddling with suds on the ceramic tile. “What was that?”
“A kiss. Unless I've flunked Sex Ed 101.”
“That wasn't just a kiss. It was much more than that.”
“Yes, it was.”
“This isn't going any further. It can't.”
“Why not?”
“I'm getting married in two weeks to someone else.” She climbed out of the tub, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself. “Why are you messing with that?”
“Because I'm not happy.”
“Well, go get some Prozac and quit messing with my life.” She dipped her head. “Sorry, that was a little mean.”
Towel in hand, he stepped out of the whirlpool tub and stood before her. His hair was wet and curling a little on the ends, looking both boyish and sexy all at once. She wanted so badly to touch it, to tease at the curls with her fingers, but knew that would only lead her back to the bed.
She couldn't go there again.
Ever.
“What I meant is I'm not happy with just sex,” Michael said.
“I said, no strings. I meant it.”
“Well, I want more.”
“Why? So you can get scared in two weeks or a month and run for the hills? Barry is the kind of guy who stays around. For good. You, on the other hand, don't.” She took a step forward, peering into his eyes. “Why is that?”
“Because fairy tales aren't real. Happy marriages with two-point-five kids and a dog don't exist.”
“Bullshit. That's just something you've told yourself so you don't have to get close to a woman.” A chuff of disgust escaped h
er. “It's like the secret code for entry into the men's club.” She exited the bathroom, heading into the front room. With one hand, she collected her clothes into her arm and dumped them into a pile on the couch.
He followed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. His naked torso only looked more bare and enticing over the loose gray pants hanging low on his hips. Damn. She needed to leave. Or all those reasons she'd come up with for going would get sucked up by her libido.
Michael dropped into a chair to the left of her, turning his head enough so she could get dressed out of his sight. Ever the gentleman. Damn him.
“When I was growing up, my parents were always gone. Parties, openings, trips to Europe. They were always together, but never really together, if that makes sense. It was like they were escorts for each other. I never saw them kiss and never heard anything more than civil 'pass-the-butter-please-darling' conversation around the house.”
Her hands stilled on the buttons of her dress. She crossed to the sofa and perched on the edge, listening.
“My sister and I were raised by a succession of nannies, none of whom had a whole lot of warmth.” He shook his head. “It's not always like The Sound of Music.”
“Didn't you have anyone?”
“I did when I got older. At boarding school, I made friends with a guy who didn't come from much. He'd gotten a scholarship to come to the school. His mother was always sending him goodies in the mail or knitting him something. His parents were always there on the family days. And he always had a place to go during school breaks.”
“And you didn't?”
“I had the nanny. And my sister. But one Christmas, when my parents were in Italy or Greece or wherever, and Rachel had gone to stay with a friend, I went home with Robert to spend the break at his house.” He got up and crossed to the window, stopping to stare at the skyline for a moment. “It was all I'd ever imagined. Simmering wassail. Singing carols. Hugs and fudge and presents all around.”
“It must have been wonderful.”
“It was at first.” He toyed with the windowsill. “And then I was introduced to their daughter. They seated me beside her at the dinner table. It took me a while before I noticed the conversation turning from the new restaurant down the street to my family's net worth.”
“They wanted you to marry their daughter?”
“Yes. And the sooner the better. They were facing bankruptcy and,” Michael pivoted away from the window, “the whole family thing had been a bit of an act. For me. It's a tactic my businessman father would have been proud of. Bait and switch.”
“But you didn't get hooked?”
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. “I did, in a way. But no, I didn't marry her.”
“And that's what has made you so jaded?”
He shook his head. “Not just that, but it's one of those moments that I can point to and see my path going another way. I've never really seen myself as cut out for the white-picket fence life.”
“Why? Because you haven't met anyone who did it successfully? Michael, there are people out there who do live happily ever after.”
“Oh, yeah? Show me one. You said your mother is a serial marrier. Your parents are divorced.”
“I'm getting married, though.”
He took a step toward her. “And how long do you give it?”
She jerked to her feet. “I'm not going to stand at the altar like a gambler placing odds before the seventh race.”
When he rose, his height gave him a several-inch advantage over her. “You think you can love Barry forever?”
“That's the plan.”
“You think you can forget me and what happened here today that easily?” He was closer now, inches from her.
“I will. I have to.”
“And what are you going to do? Lock the other Candace, the one I saw today, away in the closet? Only pull her out for party tricks?”
Before she could think about what she was doing, Candace had raised her hand and slapped Michael across the face. “How dare you?”
He didn't flinch. “I can't bear to see you do this, Candy. You won't be happy with a life of predictability.”
“And what are you going to do? Ride in on your white horse and take me away from it all? Then when we get too close to the castle, start feeling penned in and go off for another princess?”
“That's not what I meant.”
“You read Eliot, but you missed the point in the poem. He's saying it takes courage to make a commitment. Barry has that. You don't.” She spun on her heel, grabbed her tote bag and slipped it on her shoulder. “You want to know why I'm marrying him? Because he isn't like you.”
And then she was gone.
1 cup sugar
l/3 cup cocoa
l/4 cup cornstarch
2-1/2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
l/4 teaspoon salt
2-1/2 cups milk
l egg
2 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 bananas, peeled and sliced
1 ready-made graham cracker crust
frozen whipped topping, nuts and cherries for decoration
For those fence sitters, this is as easy as it gets to cook. Put the first seven ingredients into a bowl and mix well. Microwave on high, covered, for six to eight minutes, stopping every couple of minutes to whisk it. When the mixture begins to boil, microwave for another minute to thicken like the muddled mess your brain is right now. Add the butter and vanilla, then put plastic wrap over the surface and put it in the fridge to cool.
Slice the bananas and arrange them over the bottom of the crust. Pack 'em in tight like the tense muscles in the back of your neck. No need to get fancy, since you can barely make a decision right now. Pour the filling over the bananas, top with plastic wrap and then refrigerate until it's time for dessert
Top with the whipped topping, nuts or cherries. If you can't make a decision, throw all of them on there. It's dessert, not a life-altering choice. Eat enough pie to clear your mind so you can make a good decision.
Not enough pie for that? Then make more.
CHAPTER 20
“Michael, you have to save me.” Rachel stood in his apartment an hour after Candace had left, hands on hips, a demanding glare in her eyes. “If you don't, I'll kill you.”
“No need for death threats,” he said. “I'll talk to Mother and Father. Tell them an all-girls school will turn you into a lesbian.”
She tapped a silver polished fingertip against her lips. “Oh, that’s a good one. I wish I'd thought of that.” Then her gaze narrowed and she took a step closer, zeroing in on him. “Speaking of loving women, have you done anything about your little problem yet?”
“What problem?”
“Oh, don't ‘what problem' me, big brother. You're not that good at lying and I'm not that stupid.” She brushed past him, made herself at home in his kitchen and started rooting around in the refrigerator. “Jesus. Don't you eat?”
“Not at home.”
“What's the point in having your own place if you never spend any time here?” She shoved aside some Heinekens and a moldy block of cheese, then slammed the fridge door shut. She pivoted, spied the paper bag of takeout Chinese on the counter and peeked inside. “So you do eat at home.” She withdrew a couple of boxes and read the labels on the sides. “Moo Shu Pork. Chicken Chow Mein. Pu Pu platter for Two. Hungry ... or otherwise engaged?”
“You are underage.” He took the moo shu away. “I'm not telling you a damn thing.”
“She was here?” Rachel looked at his face, then at his rumpled clothes and beyond him, to the sheets and pillows on the bedroom floor. “Oh my God, you slept with her? And you didn't tell me?” Rachel smacked his arm. Hard. “I'm cutting you out of my will.”
“What will? And what do you own?”
“A hell of a good personality. And you're not getting any of it.” She grinned, then flipped up the lid of the Pu Pu Platter container, grabbed a fork out of the drawe
r and speared up a boneless rib. “So tell me what I missed.”
While Rachel was munching, he put the rest of the takeout into the fridge. After Candace left, the Chinese food had arrived, but Michael's appetite had deserted him. So the food had sat here, waiting for him either to eat it, pitch it... or for Rachel to come along and put two and two together. “You didn't miss anything.”
His little sister let out a gust of disgust. “Did she break it off with her floppy fiancé?”
“Floppy?”
“I figure he must be if she slept with you.”
“Hey, I take offense to that.”
She shrugged and popped a piece of shrimp toast into her mouth. “You should.”
“You really need some feminizing.” He crumpled up the empty paper bag and tossed it into the trash compactor. “I've changed my mind. I'm giving Mother and Father my hearty recommendation for finishing school.”
She gaped at him. “You wouldn't.”
“Only if you promise to find a major and a college and do something with your life after graduation,” he said, emphasizing the point with his index finger.
“Oh, all right.” She sighed. “I was planning on it anyway. After I took a year to see Europe.”
His head was shaking before she even finished the sentence. “Not at your age. Why, you could—”
She cut him off with an exasperated sigh and a roll of her eyes. “And they say you start turning into your parents when you hit your thirties.”
“That was low.”
“I'm better at this game than you.” Rachel smirked, dove into the container again and came up with a second piece of shrimp toast. “So, are you in love with her?”
Michael crossed to the kitchen window and hovered there, staring at the bustling city streets below him. “Yeah. I think I'm starting to feel that way.”
“Are you going to run this time, jackrabbit?”
He let out a breath. “I want to.”
“What the hell is wrong with you? Did you get dropped on your head as a kid?”
He spun around. “What do you mean?”
“I may not be the legal age to drink yet, but that doesn't mean I don't know a thing or two about love. True love doesn't come along twenty-five times in a lifetime, you know.” She jabbed her fork at his chest. “And I see something in your face. You get all goofy when you talk about her. It's sickening.” She withdrew her eating implement from his torso and stirred at the Chinese food. “But it's kind of sweet, too,” she added in a mumble. “You should do something about it.”
