by Jo Leigh
"Didier?"
"Uh-huh."
"What does that make, six?"
"Unless I've miscounted. They're getting hitched next month, here at mom's place, then winging off to his house in France."
"You have to give her some credit," Lee said, as she poured the water into the coffee machine. "At least she picks wealthy men."
He laughed. "She could give lessons."
"Which is not a bad idea," Lee said. "I know they teach flirting at NYU, so why not nabbing a rich husband?"
"I'll mention it to her," he said. "But getting married seems to be a full-time job. I don't think she'll have the time."
Lee smiled, but something about it felt wrong. It didn't get to her eyes. Now that he looked at her, he knew she'd lied when she said she was fine. "You're still sick, aren't you?"
"Me? No, not at all."
But that wasn't the truth because she didn't look at him, and her words were all jumbled together in her rush to spit them out.
"Lee, did you stay home today?"
She shook her head, busying herself with mugs and spoons and artificial sweetener.
He reached over and felt her forehead. No sign of a temperature. But she kind of jerked away from his touch, as if she didn't want him to…
Oh, damn.
His stomach clenched, and all the anxiety he'd left on her doorstep came scrambling back, bringing some friends along for the ride. All of a sudden, he got it. She didn't want him here. She only agreed to see him because he hadn't given her an out.
He knew it, because he recognized the signs. Usually, he was the one going through this little charade—just before he broke it off.
He left the kitchen, and went to her bookshelves, studying the spines blindly as the panic threatened to take the rest of his senses. She didn't want him anymore. No, that wasn't right. She didn't want to be lovers anymore. The friendship was still intact. Of that, he felt sure. Positive. That part wouldn't ever end.
But not sleeping with her? Not feeling that body next to his, naked and warm and beautiful? Not stealing a glance while she slept, so innocent and vulnerable it squeezed his heart until he couldn't breathe?
"Are you going?" she asked.
"I don't want to," he said, before he could stop himself.
"Well, I'm pretty sure your mother will forgive you."
He closed his eyes, realizing his mistake, feeling so stupid. She'd meant the wedding, not her apartment.
Or had she?
He forced himself to look at her again, to watch her as she brought the two steaming mugs to the coffee table. She put them down carefully, then she sat, curling her legs underneath her at the very edge of the couch.
She didn't look at him at all.
She didn't look at him because she didn't know how to tell him, how to break it to him that the experiment had failed. That she wanted them to go back to the way they were.
"Come sit down," she said, patting the seat next to her.
Maybe he’d gotten it wrong. The three Manhattans, his mother. Didier. That was enough to threaten anyone's perception. He headed for the couch, and Lee smiled. Her regular smile. All the way to her eyes.
As soon as he sat, before he got his mug, he turned to her. "I didn't give you much of a choice about my being here," he said, gauging her reaction. "I'll be out of your hair in a minute."
She hesitated. He froze, scared to move a muscle for fear he'd jinx it. Then she shook her head. "Stay," she said, and the welcome in her voice was the best thing he'd ever heard.
He sighed, got his mug, and settled down next to her, banishing his paranoid notions, amazed what three little drinks and a shot of his mother could do.
He'd been worried for nothing. He could pour out his dysfunctional family secrets in complete safety. Lee would listen, then make him feel whole again. Propping his feet on the coffee table, he began to talk.
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
Lee had already planned what she was going to say. Trevor thought she was under the weather, and she'd use that as her excuse. But she needed to say something now, before he assumed he was welcome to spend the night.
It had been the most difficult evening of her life. He'd talked for two hours, telling her all the reasons his mother was nuts, his father was crazy, and that he'd never, under any circumstances, fall into the marriage trap like his parents.
He'd been so worked up, he hadn't noticed how quiet she'd been. He certainly hadn't caught on that he was breaking her heart. It was terribly difficult not to tell him her news. But until she went to the doctor and got a confirmation, she wasn't going to do that to him. Besides, she needed some time to think. The repercussions flowed like a river; with every bend, a new thought occurred to her. Should she raise a child in Manhattan? She didn't want to live anywhere else. But what about schools? Money for schools? Clothes! It wasn't a river; it was white-water rapids, and she had no paddle.
She wanted to believe it wasn't fair, that it was all his fault somehow. But Trevor wasn't to blame.
She'd known his feelings from day one. He wasn't even to blame for the baby. They'd both been diligent in using condoms, and it wasn't his fault that something had gone wrong. She'd also known long before the pink stick that Trevor would take responsibility for the baby. She'd be able to count on him completely to help her financially. Not just that. He'd be a father to his child. A real father.
The only thing that wasn't "fair" was that she wanted more. She wanted to live with him, as husband and wife. She wanted him to believe that she was different. That not only was she worth marrying, but that not marrying her would kill him.
She wanted to go through the pregnancy with him by her side. To raise this child as a couple, and not from two different apartments.
It was clear now that she'd done irreparable damage to their friendship. It simply wasn't enough anymore. Being his friend would never be enough again.
"You okay?"
She looked down. Trevor had laid himself out on the couch, resting his head in her lap. She'd been running her fingers through his hair, just absently petting him, and she realized she'd stopped mid-stroke. Now he looked up at her, his concern visible even though he was upside down.
This was her moment. All she had to do was say no, that she wasn't okay. That she didn't feel well.
But the words were held back by a sudden and incredibly powerful need to be held. All she could manage was a small shake of her head.
He sat up immediately, then moved over so he could take her in his arms. He folded her close and tight, so her head rested on his chest. Now he petted her, stroking her hair, rubbing her back, rocking her like a child.
"What's wrong, honey?" he asked softly.
She couldn't speak. If she did, he'd hear her unshed tears. She shook her head, praying he wouldn't stop giving her the comfort she so desperately needed.
"Is it your stomach?"
She wanted to laugh. Yes, it was her stomach, but no, it wasn't a bug. Everything in her wanted to tell him it was a baby—their baby.
When she didn't answer, he pulled back, lifting her head with a gentle finger under her chin. "Can't you tell me?" he asked.
His gaze captured hers, searching for clues. A foolish part of her hoped he'd guess, hoped he'd see the truth in some magical fashion. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her. So tenderly, she nearly burst into tears.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, concentrating on his lips, on his kiss. She buried herself in the embrace, afraid to let go for fear of falling apart.
His hand moved from her back to her breast. The sensation was so intense, it took her mind off everything. He let go, and the world came back. She didn't know if it was because of her new condition, or because she felt so desperate, but it didn't matter. If he touched her, and kept touching her, she'd be all right. She couldn't face going to her bed alone.
Dammit, she needed her best friend tonight. And if she couldn't pour her heart
out in words, she could do it with her body.
She stood up, taking his hand, and led him past the kitchen, where she shut off the light, then to her bedroom, where she did the same. Normally, they didn't make love in the dark, but tonight, she couldn't let him see. She wasn't a good actress, and he knew her too well.
All she knew was that she needed him next to her, inside her. Now.
She helped him out of his clothes, then as she took her robe and sleep shirt off, he found a condom packet and tore it open. She wanted to tell him not to bother. That it was too late for such things, but she didn't. She climbed into bed, and pulled him down next to her.
"What's going on with you?" he whispered. "What's the rush?"
"Just make love to me," she said. "Now. Right now." She reached down to find him ready, thick and hard and anxious, the thin latex barely a barrier to her inquisitive touch. Her hand moved down his length, and she squeezed him gently, eliciting a moan.
Releasing him, she found his hand and guided his palm down her stomach. He stroked her there, not knowing what was growing inside her, yet exploring as if this part of her was somehow new. His fingers trailed from her belly button to the top of her mons, then back again, caressing her with infinite care and tenderness.
As he dipped lower again, he didn't stop, but let his fingers toy with the soft patch of hair, tugging, but not painfully. Lee closed her eyes, willing herself to focus only on his movements, on the response from her heated body.
When he moved lower still, she stopped trying. She didn't have to. All that existed was the pressure on her swelling flesh, the intimacy of his finger sliding inside her hot folds. She arched her back, spread her legs in invitation, wanting more, wanting them to be as close as two people could possibly be.
Just as she opened her mouth to ask him for what she wanted, he mounted her, holding the bulk of his weight on his strong arms.
She reached down, running her hand quickly over his stomach until she found his erection then guiding him until he touched the outer lips of her sex. She wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him forward.
He wouldn't be rushed.
Slowly, tormenting her with his patience, he entered her, inch by aching inch. Her hands found his back, and she held on as hard as she could. She couldn't stand it. "Please," she begged.
"Please, what?"
"Please, come inside me."
"I am inside," he teased, his voice wicked, his intent clear. He knew what it did to her to have to wait when she was this close, this ready.
"What do you want?" she asked, ready to give him the moon if only he would—
"You," he said. More a growl than a word. Possessive, selfish, demanding. "All of you."
"I'm yours," she whispered back, knowing he didn't understand the depth of her pledge. Suffering because it was so heartbreakingly true.
Finally, he couldn't tease any longer. He thrust inside her, filling her with his flesh, making her whole, making her complete.
It wasn't until she felt the trail of tears on her cheeks that she realized she was crying. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to stop, or at least to wait. She couldn't let him know. Not yet. Not tonight. Tonight, she would be his. Tonight, they would be perfect lovers.
Tomorrow was soon enough to have her world fall apart.
* * *
Trevor left the next morning while Lee was still in the kitchen nursing her coffee. He wasn't happy about leaving, but he had an interview with Francis Ford Coppola about his vineyard. He'd met the director once or twice, but he'd never had a chance to really talk with him, so this opportunity wasn't something he could put off.
But his mind wasn't on wine, or celebrity vintners. Lee hadn't been herself now for two days, and he was very concerned. As he stood on the street corner, lifting his hand to hail a cab, he got out his cellular and hit Katy's speed dial number. She answered on the second ring.
"Have you talked to Lee?" he asked, as soon as the hellos were finished.
"Not today."
"What about yesterday?"
Katy paused. "No, actually, I didn't."
A yellow cab pulled up and Trevor got in. "The Plaza," he said to the cabdriver. Then he settled back on the seat, knowing the ride was going to be a long one in this traffic.
"What's wrong?" Katy asked.
"I don't know. I was hoping you would know. She's just not herself."
"Is she sick?"
"That's what I thought, but she doesn't have a temperature or anything."
"Well, why are you worried then?"
He had to think a minute to put his feelings into words. "She's been really quiet. Moody. And Katy, last night, when we were in bed, she was crying."
"Crying?"
"Not sobbing or anything. But I felt tears."
"Did you ask her why?"
"No. It didn't seem right to ask her." Again, Katy paused. The cab came to a sudden stop, and he lurched forward, bracing himself with his free hand. A cacophony of horns and curses made hearing impossible. When it settled down, he asked Katy if she'd said anything.
"I said, maybe she's having PMS."
"Maybe," he said. "But I don't think so."
"She's not bitchy, eh?"
He smiled, wondering if Katy would have let him get away with saying the same thing. "No, not at all. Just blue."
"So you're thinking it's about you two, huh?"
"Yeah, I'm heading there. But I don't want that to be it."
"Has she said anything about—"
Trevor waited for her to finish the sentence, but she didn't. "About what?"
"Nothing."
"Katy. Come on."
"No, it's not my place. I'm sorry I even brought it up."
"Don't make me come over there."
"Damn," Katy muttered. "She's gonna kill me if she thinks I said anything."
"I won't tell. Scout's honor."
"It's no big deal. She's just been wondering if, you know, if you and she could, uh…"
"Could what?"
"Could be maybe more than, you know, friends."
"You want to say that again in English this time?"
"More," Katy said, "than friends. More than friends with sex. Get it?"
"You mean boyfriend and girlfriend?" he asked, not even trying to hide the surprise in his voice.
"It happens. It's not like she's asking you for a kidney, for God's sake."
"Uh, yeah. Okay. Well. I guess I was pretty much off the mark."
"Why?"
"I thought she wanted to stop being friends with sex," he said. "I didn't know she wanted more."
"I'm not saying for sure that she does. She didn't exactly tell me that. But I know for a fact she's never going to come out and talk to you about it."
"Why not?"
"Hello?" Katy said, exasperation making her voice rise. "Because you're Trevor, that's why."
"Oh, yeah," he said, understanding exactly what Katy was saying. "So you think that's it, huh?"
"I don't know. I probably shouldn't have said a word."
"I'm glad you did. Honest."
"Trevor?"
"Hm?"
"Anyone seeing the two of you together would already think you're a couple. You spend all your free time with her, right?"
"Right, but we've always done that."
"How do you feel when she's not available? Doesn't it make you feel like something important is missing?"
He shoved aside the memory of last night, when he'd thought for a sickening moment Lee wanted him to leave.
"I thought so," Katy said, breaking his silence. "Now do one more thing. Picture Lee back together with Carl. How do you feel?"
Betrayed. Mortally wounded. Ready to punch Carl's lights out. "I get your point."
"Okay, then. And Trevor? Be careful. Don't rush into anything. Everything will turn out fine."
"I want to believe you."
"Then do."
The cab turned the corner, and Trevor saw the fla
gs flying in front of the Plaza Hotel. He didn't want to do this interview now. Not with so much to think about. "Katy. I have to run. But don't worry. You did the right thing by telling me."
"God, I hope so. Keep me posted."
"You got it." The cab pulled up into the circular drive, and a uniformed bellman opened his door. "I'll talk to you later," he said, then clicked off the phone. He gave the driver too much money, but he didn't care. All he could think about was what Katy had said. And how he'd reacted. What scared him most was that he was starting to think like his mother.
He got out of the cab, and went to the entrance, but he didn't go inside just yet. He stood there, staring at a potted plant, wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into. They never should have changed things. As great as it had been to make love to her, and that was an understatement, it wasn't worth what it turned turn into. An irrational, possessive idiot. He couldn't undo what had happened, but he could go back to being her friend, no perks. Lee would understand. She had to. Because the only thing scarier than hurting her was losing her.
* * *
Lee hung up the phone. She'd done something she'd never done before. She'd called in sick. She'd once gone to work while she had walking pneumonia, but today, even though her stomach wasn't giving her much trouble, she couldn't face the phones, or the board or the other brokers. She needed to be alone.
It was almost nine, and she still hadn't gotten out of her sleep shirt. The debate now was whether to crawl back in bed, or take a bath first.
The bath won. She put her empty coffee cup in the kitchen sink, then made her way into the bathroom. It took her a few minutes to decide which of her many scented beads she was in the mood for, but she finally settled on lilac, one of her favorites.
She turned on the faucet, adjusted the temperature and poured in several beads. The scent hit her quickly, seeping into her along with the steam, relaxing her instantly.
She got up and closed the door, deeply insulting George and Ira who would whimper until she came out again. Then she took off her robe and her sleep shirt, letting her gaze move to the mirror. Her stomach was still flat—well, not Cindy Crawford flat, but there was certainly no hint of what was happening inside her.
It was all going to change. Her stomach would grow, her breasts would get big and heavy. She'd get stretch marks, and then after she had the baby, she might lose the weight, but she'd never have this body again. Of course, she planned on taking the pregnant aerobics classes at her gym, but she'd talked to enough people to know that for mortal women like her, some changes were inevitable. Madonna might be able to have a baby and still pose nude, but for Lee, the possibility of a Playboy layout was frankly out the window.
