He was almost at the entrance to the exit stairwell when he saw the woman. At first he just glimpsed a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he frowned into the dark corner he saw it was a woman standing behind her car door—a half-naked woman. She was down to her bra and skirt, and her back was to him as she slid the catch at the back of her bra loose.
He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. He froze, completely captivated by the impromptu strip show. As he watched, the woman turned slightly, offering a glimpse of firm, full breasts and a trim torso. Her face was in shadow, but he could see that her hair was short and spiky, accentuating her long neck. Then she was pulling a black dress over her head, shimmying into it. Once the dress reached her waist, she slid down the zipper on her skirt and he caught his breath as the skirt fell to the ground to reveal lacy black bikini panties, a full peach of a butt and lacy stay-up stockings. He was hard in an instant, and he almost called out an objection as the dress was pulled down, masking all that curvy womanhood from his view.
God, maybe he did need a woman. It had been six months since he’d left Tara, after all. If his little encounter with the lady chauffeur today and his current state of arousal were anything to go by, parts of him were obviously missing the joys of feminine companionship.
The woman was ducking down now, doing something with her shoes. Realizing he was about to get caught ogling like a teenage boy, Marc tore his gaze away and continued crossing to the stairwell.
He took the steps up to ground level two at a time—anything to kill the erection that was straining at his trouser zipper. Stop thinking about her, he ordered himself. He had an important business meeting tonight; he couldn’t afford to be distracted like this.
The smell of the ocean hit him as he stepped out into the night air. Above him, the stylized white sails of the opera house roof curved up into the darkened sky. Marc sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a rush. Slowly the desire bubbling through his blood dissipated, and as his need faded, his sense of humor returned. He grinned. It wasn’t every day that a man got treated to a real live illicit sex fantasy. He should just chalk it up to experience, rather than feel frustrated and vaguely angry that he had so little control over his own desires.
Hell, he could even tell the guys about it over dinner. It’d make a great icebreaker.
The click of high heels on concrete sounded behind him, and he tensed. There was every chance it was the woman from below, coming up the stairs behind him. He couldn’t help himself. Despite his resolve not to be captive to his own desire, he had to look, had to confirm the sensual impression he’d received in the shadows underground.
He swiveled on his heel. And froze.
She stood poised at the top of the stairs, her head angled away from him as she scanned the broad steps to the opera house. Her dress—the dress—dipped low in the front and clung lovingly to the curves of her hips and thighs, the darkness of the fabric a perfect foil for the smooth creaminess of her skin. She wore dainty high heels, with the barest suggestion of a strap around her ankle. And she was unmistakably the woman who had driven him across town that morning—and, incidentally, driven him crazy with a flash of her lacy black stockings. Anna Jackson.
He hadn’t seen her hair before, because she’d been wearing a chauffeur’s cap. The short white-blond spikes were a surprise, not what he’d expected at all. It suited her, however, the severe hairstyle setting off the planes of her face, highlighting her large eyes and wide mouth.
Her head turned, and he locked eyes with her across the ten feet or so that separated them. He was close enough to see her pupils widen minutely as she met his gaze. And to note the pulse point flickering on her long, elegant neck.
He remembered the voluptuous curve of her breast, glimpsed for just the fraction of a second, and the way she’d smoothed the skirt down over her hips and butt.
He wanted her. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in a long time. The realization shook him. Suddenly she’d assumed far too much importance and stature in his world. He didn’t want to feel this way about a woman he’d just met for a brief few seconds. He didn’t want to feel this way about anyone.
“Mr. Lewis,” she said, closing the space between them. The movement caused her breasts to sway subtly. His eyes dropped to follow the movement, then he caught himself and wrenched his attention back to her face.
He clenched his jaw. This is not going to happen, he told himself.
“Ms. Jackson,” he said.
She held his wallet out. “There you go—signed, sealed and delivered,” she said.
He reached for it, determined to avoid the temptation of touching her in any way, no matter how insignificant or incidental. But somehow he overshot the mark, and his fingers brushed hers as he took the wallet from her grasp.
She flinched, almost snatching her hand back. Which meant she’d felt it, too—the unmistakable rush of electricity as desire met desire.
“Thank you. As I said earlier, bill the company for your time,” he said, unable to stop himself from studying the smooth tilt of her cheekbones and the lushness of her mouth.
She shook her head. “It was no bother. I decided to see Carmen,” she explained.
“All the same,” he said.
“It’s fine, Mr. Lewis. I haven’t been inconvenienced. It’s no big deal.” She shrugged.
The movement made her breasts jiggle ever so slightly. When he lifted his eyes back to her face he saw she was blushing, and guessed she’d caught him looking.
“I really have to go,” she said, turning away.
Marc reached out on impulse. His fingers wrapped around the soft skin of her forearm just below her elbow, his thumb grazing the tender flesh of her inner arm.
“Wait,” he heard himself say.
She froze, her body angled slightly away as if she was afraid to look him in the face.
Marc knew what she’d see there—desire.
“I want—” he said before he caught himself. “Perhaps I could take you out for dinner sometime as a thank-you?”
She tugged gently on her arm, and he released her.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Mr. Lewis,” she said.
“Why not?” he asked. His hunting instincts were aroused now. He hated to lose. In anything—business or pleasure. And he didn’t want her to walk away. Suddenly that seemed important.
“Because you’re one of my clients, for starters,” she said.
“Anna! There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.”
Marc glanced up to see a tall, ruggedly handsome man bearing down on them. Dressed in a designer suit, he appeared as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.
“Danny,” she said. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.
Marc took a step back. She had a boyfriend. Or a husband, for all he knew. He felt his lip curl as the old, too familiar bitterness swamped him. He wondered if her husband knew she made a habit of changing in public places. Or that she looked at men with so much heat in her eyes that it was more blatant than any verbal invitation.
“Excuse me. I won’t keep you any longer,” he said crisply.
Abruptly, he turned on his heel and walked away. He should have trusted his instincts where she was concerned. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
2
“HEL-LO! Who on earth is the horn-dog?” Danny asked as Anna watched Marc walk away.
Suddenly she felt as though she could breathe again. She took in a deep, greedy lungful of air, let it out, then turned her attention to her brother.
“Just a client. No one we need to worry about,” she said.
She slipped her arm through his and started walking.
“I’m thinking a glass of champagne in the bar, then the show, and supper afterward. Sound good?” she said breezily.
Her pulse was still pounding in her ears after the look Marc had given her as he asked her out for dinner. Although she’d
gotten the definite sense that he’d wanted to ask for something else. Something a lot more private than a meal.
Just thinking about it made her breathing go crazy again. Anna closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her stomach—although the part of her that was begging for attention was a lot lower than that.
“That dress is fabulous, by the way,” Danny said as they climbed the broad steps to the opera house.
She couldn’t help smiling as her brother automatically slipped into the campy drawl he used with his close friends. In the business world, and when he was visiting their father, Danny came across as the straightest of straight men. He called it his great gift—the ability to glide, chameleonlike, through the heterosexual world, with no one the wiser to his sexual orientation. But in his private life, he allowed his true self to show.
“Do you have any idea how Liberace you sound when you say faaaabulous like that?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s a very deliberate, much-rehearsed affectation that I’ve spent hours perfecting,” Danny quipped. “So, you want to tell me what this impulse trip to the opera is all about? Are we celebrating something?”
Anna shrugged. “Just having fun, that’s all.”
Danny did an exaggerated double take. “Ex-squeeze me? Anna Jackson having fun? Something is definitely up.”
Even though it was true, it made her feel defensive. She stiffened.
“What’s wrong with me having a little bit of fun? Is the world going to stop? You have fun all the time, and no one says anything,” she said.
Danny blinked, and she knew she had overreacted. Or simply reacted, perhaps. Danny was so used to seeing the cool lawyer’s exterior she’d shown the world for so long that any display of feeling was probably a shock. “Sorry. But is it such a big deal that I want to go to the opera? And that I want to wear a nice dress?”
He slid his arm around her shoulder and she felt him press a kiss onto the crown of her head.
“You can take up the bagpipes and run around with your underpants on your head for all I care. You know that.”
As they moved toward the door to the exclusive Opera Bar, she could tell he wanted to ask more questions. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship. She was the one Danny turned to when he was in a fix and needed advice, not the other way around.
That was the way it had always been. She’d long ago settled into the post of replacement mother-figure for her brother. But the whole situation with Marc had really thrown her tonight. That, and the fact that her to-do list was still woefully short on being complete.
Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. “Danny, if someone asked you to describe me, what would you say?” she asked him abruptly.
Danny looked a little taken aback, but he quickly regained his composure.
“I’d say that you’re an attractive, incredibly driven, organized, successful, focused woman,” he said, obviously believing that he was serving up what she wanted to hear.
Anna winced. She knew that what he was saying was true, no matter how much she wanted to rail against it. She had only changed the easy stuff on her list. It was time to get serious if she really wanted to turn her life around.
She stared at her brother. He was gorgeous—tall, handsome, funny and charming. He always seemed happy, and she gathered from hints that he dropped that he had an active, satisfying love life. In short, he seemed to have it all together.
“I think I need your help,” she said decisively, grabbing his arm and dragging him inside the bar.
“Okay,” Danny said, looking completely baffled.
“Sit there. I’ll get the champagne,” she said, indicating a secluded corner where two bar stools were arranged around a high cocktail table.
Danny followed her instructions dutifully while she ordered two flutes of French champagne and quickly joined him.
Sliding onto the stool, Anna bit her lip a little nervously. It wasn’t easy to overcome the habits of a lifetime and suddenly open up about her most personal thoughts.
“Anna—have you had some bad news?” her brother asked, his face carefully blank.
She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “No! No, of course not. All clear on my last scan,” she assured him hastily. “Sorry, I was just trying to get my thoughts together. I guess I don’t really know where to start.”
Danny nodded. “Maybe I can help. Doe this have anything to do with the new hair and the new job and the new clothes?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Well, I might be a raving queer, but I do notice when my sister has had a makeover,” Danny said.
Anna took a big gulp of champagne, then nodded her head firmly. Okay, she was going to do this.
“When I was in hospital, after the operation, I made a list,” she said boldly. “I was still waiting for the test results to come back, to find out if the breast cancer had spread into my lymph nodes, and I started thinking about the things I wanted to change in my life. It was a long list, Danny. Really long. Do you know why?”
She paused to take another big swallow of champagne. Danny was watching her intently, a frown puckering his brow. She answered her own question.
“Because I never do what I want to do. I’m always worrying about the future, and what I should do next to achieve this or get that. I’m always doing the right thing—not the thing that I really want to do. Do you know what I mean?”
Danny slowly nodded. “I think so. It’s something I used to think about, when we were younger. You always put me and Dad first, and I used to worry that you didn’t leave anything for yourself. But then you made partner at the law firm, and everything seemed rosy.”
“It was. Well, to a certain extent it was. But when I made that list and saw how long it was, I realized how much of my life I’d spent doing what I thought other people expected me to do. Being good. And solid. And responsible. It made me sick. It honestly did. I had to call the nurse for a basin.”
Suddenly she suspected that Danny might think she was talking about him, about the way she’d had to step up after their mother had died when Anna was just thirteen.
“I’m not talking about you here, Danny, okay? Or any of that stuff. I did that because I wanted to, because I love you and Dad. Please believe me,” she said earnestly.
“It’s okay. No offense. You had to grow up too fast, Anna Banana. I’ve always thought so.”
Anna shook her head. She couldn’t regret stepping into her mother’s shoes. Someone had had to take care of what was left of their family, and her father had been so grief-stricken….
Still, there was no contesting the fact that it had set the pattern for her adult life. She stared at the straw-colored bubbles beading her glass, trying to pull her thoughts together.
“I knew that if I died, that was it, you know? I’d had my chance—and I’d played it safe. So I made myself a promise that if I got the chance, I was going to work my way down the list and start changing my life around.”
“Ah,” Danny said as though he was suddenly starting to see where she was going with this. “The hair, the job, et cetera, et cetera.”
Anna leaned forward, grabbing one of her brother’s hands.
“I want to have more fun, Danny. I want to laugh more, and worry less, and live my life instead of just watching it slip away while I save for my retirement.”
He gripped her hand tightly. “Love you, Anna Banana.”
“Love you, too,” she said.
They smiled at each other for a long, emotion-filled moment.
“So, which bit do you need my help for?” Danny asked, signaling for the waiter to bring them another round of champagne. “I am totally and completely at your service, your own personal fairy godmother.”
Anna smiled nervously. If she was going to do this, now was the time.
“Well, I’ve been working my way through my list, crossing things off. But I think I’ve stalled,” she admitted. “I think I need some expert guidance.”
“Rig
ht,” Danny said, still looking confused.
“How many people have you slept with?” she asked abruptly.
Danny flinched. “Whoa, that came out of left field,” he said.
“Could you just humor me for a moment? I swear this has a point,” Anna said.
“Hey, I don’t mind sharing. Somewhere between ‘lots’ and ‘heaps’ would be a good estimate.” He shrugged. “Too many to count.”
Anna tried not to stare. Could she and her brother be more different?
“I’ve only slept with three men,” she blurted, getting the foul deed over and done with. “And I’ve never had sex outside of a bedroom.”
It was Danny’s turn to stare. “Anna, you’re thirty-two years old. That’s barely one man per decade of your life. And it’s not like you’ve been married or anything. What have you been doing?” he asked.
She could feel embarrassed heat climbing into her face. “Okay, I’m a freak. I was a late bloomer. I didn’t lose my virginity until I was almost out of law school. And I always used to think that there was plenty of time to catch up. Work seemed more important. And saving for the future. And lots of other stupid, nonfun stuff. That’s why I need your help now,” she said.
“Is this about to get really weird?” Danny joked.
Anna nudged him with her elbow. “Not funny.”
She was beginning to regret having said anything. How pathetic she must look, sitting here asking her gay younger brother for advice on how to get laid. There was something to be said for keeping your own counsel—no one ever had to know how stupid your thoughts and feelings were.
“I’m sorry. It was a bad joke. And I think it’s great that you want to get some more action. I’m all for the pleasures of the flesh. Hedonism is my middle name,” Danny said.
Cruise Control Page 3
