by Foster, Lori
Oh, hell, if he was going that way, he might as well go to the end of the line. He scooped up some lather and took himself in hand with a sigh of surrender. A guy had to do what a guy had to do if he wanted a hope in hell of sleeping tonight.
Forget the top, the jeans, the kinky white dress. He wanted her stark naked, standing in front of him. He would lounge in a chair, throbbing cock in hand, pumping himself slowly as she turned, arching and undulating. Showing him all the dips and curves and sweet mysteries of her body. Plump breasts that would be so soft and heavy in his hands. Nipples puckered and hard, aching for his mouth.
He would tell her to change position. Widen her legs, arch her back, lift her arms, toss her hair. Put her leg up on the chair, bend over and show him that sweet, round ass, all open and ready for him. The shadowy cleft, the crimson lips of her sex. He beckoned her closer, and the fantasy split into Version A and Version B. He couldn’t decide between them. In Version A, she sank to her knees, green-gold eyes glinting flirtatiously up through long dark lashes, and gripped his cock in her strong, slender hands. Then she took him into her mouth, sucking him, taking all of him, deep and hot and wet. Fantastic. The image blurred and segued seamlessly into Version B, seconded by his pumping hand, his ragged breathing. She straddled his legs and very slowly sank down until the head of his cock nudged delicately into her wet, swollen folds, probing deeper and deeper, sinking lower until he was buried inside her. He would grip her hips, right on the lush curve, and cut loose, pounding himself heavily into her moist depths. Deep and hot and faster, faster . . . oh, God. The orgasm pulsed through him. He stood there for a long time, head flung back under the stream of water. Weak-kneed, sucking air, sputtering out water.
He turned off the water, hoping only that this exercise in self-indulgence had cleared his head enough to start coming up with a plan.
Damn. A house party. It was going to be tricky, to make his lie into a truth at such short notice.
To hell with it. A solution would come to him. That was his genius, finding solutions to problems. More important, and more fun, was to plan the menu. He had to schedule a trip to the gourmet grocery. Order the pastry from that kick-ass fabulous bakery next to his office. And he had to give some serious thought to the wines, too.
It all had to be perfect for her.
The sky was streaked with sunset pink when Tess peered for the last time at the directions taped to her dashboard, and made the turnoff into the driveway. She drove down a narrow road through towering pines and firs. She saw the glimmer of lake water, then the house, and was abruptly sure she’d gotten the right place.
It was a simple, angular place that blended harmoniously with its surroundings. Larger than it appeared, a subtle, weathered color like the rocks at the lakeside, it had a deep terrace and picture windows looking out at the lake and Mt. Hood. The only vehicle was a black Ford pickup, which seemed odd. Maybe his guests were late.
She got out and looked around, enchanted. The trees that framed the lake seemed at first glance to be an impenetrable dark wall, but when she looked deeper, she glimpsed vaulted depths, vast inner spaces. A fragrant mystery, redolent with tree resin, wood, and water.
The lake lapped tenderly against pebbles and tree roots that descended right down into the water. She saw no neighbors, no powerboats. The slosh and gurgle of the little waves was sensual, almost hypnotic. She gazed at the perfect reflection of the mountain in the lake water, blazing with wild colors and rippling in the soft breeze.
It was so beautiful, her throat tightened and her eyes stung. Nature beckoned to her with its savage allure. It didn’t pretend to be anything. It had nothing to prove. It had no need to impress or placate or convince. It just was what it was, with serene indifference. Complete unto itself. Dear God, how she wished she could be like that.
The screen door squeaked. Usually when she was awestruck and torn open by the beauty and mystery of the ocean, or a sunset, or the stars, the feeling diminished when another person walked into it.
Jonah didn’t diminish it. He deepened it.
She turned, composing herself. He stood on the porch, dressed in jeans and boots and a dark gray sweatshirt. They stared at each other.
“Hi,” she said.
He nodded. “Glad you made it OK. Any problems?”
She shook her head. Social custom now dictated that she climb the steps, shake his hand, say polite, formulaic things, but the program wouldn’t run. The screen in her mind stayed blank, cursor blinking.
He was so handsome. The sharp, austere planes of his face were warmed by the sunset’s fiery glow. The jutting cheekbones, the shadows beneath his eyes. He looked wary. Apprehensive.
The place was silent but for the immense rustling of wind in the trees. Too silent. No laughter or talking from inside. No music.
“Have the rest of your guests not arrived yet?” she asked.
His eyes flicked away. He looked up at the sky, down at his feet, and came down the porch stairs, seizing her massage table and suitcase. He carried them up to the door, beckoning her to follow with a jerk of his chin. “Come on in. Let me get you something to drink.”
The front room was dominated by picture windows and a flagstone fireplace. It segued into the kitchen at the back, with a rustic table dividing the two spaces. Delicious food smells wafted out of it.
No sign of anyone, no purses, suitcases, coats, voices. Nothing.
“Where are your guests?” she demanded.
His face looked tense with apprehension. “Uh, that’s something I have to discuss with you. They, uh . . . canceled on me.”
“Canceled?” Her jaw sagged.
“Yeah. Something came up.”
She was bewildered. “But you should’ve called me. Obviously you’ll want to reschedule if they couldn’t—”
“No.” He shook his head slowly.
“No?” Her voice rose to a terrified squeak.
“Nothing’s changed. It’s just that instead of giving massages to a whole bunch of people, you’ll give them all to me.”
She backed toward the door, pulling against the palpable tug of his hungry, possessive gaze. “You lied to me,” she accused.
He scooted in front of her, blocking her flight to the door. “No, I didn’t. I just—”
“I can’t possibly stay here alone with you!”
“Don’t worry about the money,” he said. “The deal stands. I prefer not to share you anyway. As far as I’m concerned, it’s for the best.”
“I don’t give a damn about the money. I’m not comfortable with this at all.” She hated the way her voice quivered, the color rising in her face. She yanked open her purse and rummaged for her wallet. “I hate being lied to. Here, take back your goddamn check—”
Condoms exploded out of her purse and scattered across the floor. Over a dozen of them. All different brands and colors.
Jonah stared down at them, back up at her. A grin lit up his face as he crouched down and started gathering them up. “Wow. Talk about high expectations.”
Tess dropped to her knees and wrenched the condoms out of his hands, shoving them into her purse. “These are not mine,” she hissed. “My roommate plays practical jokes. I’m going to kill her, I swear to God.”
Jonah plucked one off the floor and examined it. “This one glows in the dark,” he remarked. “Very cool.”
She snatched it from him. “Trish dies. And I am out of here.”
She lunged for the door, yelping as his arms closed around her from behind in a gentle but implacable embrace. “Wait, Tess. Please.”
“Let go of me.” Her whole body vibrated with the electrical charge of contact with his body. It was such a hot, shivery rush, she almost burst into tears. She fought against a surge of blind panic.
“I will, I swear, in just a second. Calm down and listen. Please.”
She twisted until she could see his eyes. So pale and penetrating. They saw too much. She couldn’t bear it. “Talk fast,” she whispered.
“First, let me apologize. I really wanted this, and I put it together at the last minute. That’s why my guests fell through—”
“So you admit it,” she challenged him. “You lied. When you lured me up here, there was no house party. You made it all up, didn’t you?”
“There was a firm intention to organize one,” he protested. “It just turned out that my friends had plans. I didn’t mean to mislead you. I’m sorry if the situation is other than you anticipated, but I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel comfortable. I swear, I’ll be so good.”
She glanced down at the thick, steely forearms that were wrapped across her chest. “Then why are you manhandling me?”
“To keep you from running, of course,” he said patiently. “At least stay for dinner. I cooked this whole elaborate meal, just for you.”
“You can cook?” She twisted to look at him again, startled.
“Yes. I’m a very good cook. And I’ve got a bottle of Chianti breathing on the table.” His voice was soft with pleading. “Call your roommate, tell her the phone number, give her directions, have her call you every hour on the hour to make sure your virtue’s still intact. Call your mother, call whoever you want. Please, Tess. You’re safe here.”
“You can let go of me now,” she said quietly. “I won’t bolt.”
He released her with obvious reluctance, but he didn’t step back. His body remained in contact, his heat kissing the surface of her body.
“You know, my colleagues warned me about you today,” she said. “They say you’re trouble. Too intense. That you’ve fixated on me.”
“Maybe.” His voice was elaborately light. “But you don’t need them to tell you what to do. You can decide for yourself, right, Tess?”
She couldn’t help but smile at his craftiness. That wily bastard instinctively knew just what buttons to push.
He smiled back, his eyes still wary. “You’ll stay for dinner?”
“Just dinner,” she murmured. “Then I’ll see how I feel.”
His face lit up with relief. He poured her a glass of wine and pressed it into her hand. “I’ll go finish up the food, then. Call your roommate, like I said. It’ll make us both feel better.” He indicated the phone table near the door.
Trish picked up on the first ring. “Chez d’Amour.”
“Trish, I suggest you enjoy your evening, because it’s going to be your last,” she hissed.
“Well, if it isn’t the love goddess herself. How’s it going, chica?”
“There is no house party! It’s just him and me and a bottle of wine! And what on earth possessed you to fill my purse with condoms?”
Trish clucked. “As if! No way would I let my precious Tess go off on a provocative weekend massage-a-thon with a hot sexy love god without stocking you up with latex! I mean, like, duh!”
“Trish, damn it, I—”
“Friends don’t let friends have unsafe sex, Tess,” Trish lectured.
“But I’m not here for sex!” she shouted.
There was a stifled snort of laughter from the kitchen behind her.
She slammed the phone down and marched toward Jonah, her arms folded across her chest. She glared at him until he turned around with a nervous, what-have-I-done-now? look on his face.
“Why is it that every single person in my life assumes that I don’t know what’s best for me?” she demanded.
Jonah stirred something bubbling in a gleaming pot. “I’m not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.”
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said so far,” she observed.
His eyes gleamed with sly humor. “That’s just because I don’t know you well enough yet,” he amended. “As soon as I do, I’ll let you know what’s best for you. In great detail. You can count on it.”
She tried not to smile, but it was a losing battle. “You just had to ruin it, didn’t you? Just couldn’t resist, huh?”
“Nobody’s perfect.” An answering smile spread over his face; something fluttered inside her. His warmth pulled at her.
He felt it, too. His smile faded, and he took a step toward her. Something sizzled and popped in the pan behind him. He spun with a muttered curse and did something with the spatula.
“You’re distracting me,” he said. “Why don’t you take that glass of wine and go out and watch the sunset fade off the mountain? By the time the colors are gone, dinner will be ready.”
She looked out the window. The mountain had faded from pink to orange. She took another sip of wine. “OK,” she murmured.
Jonah stirred the polenta with one hand, and roasted the sweet red pepper over the gas flame with the other. He felt off balance and weird. The only way to keep her here was to assure her that he had no lustful designs on her luscious bod, and lying made him nervous. He wasn’t the devious type. Usually disarming honesty mixed with beguiling charm was his winning formula. But he’d never encountered so much resistance before, and he’d never wanted anything so badly.
How strange, to listen to himself promising so earnestly to be good, while the rest of him stood by laughing its head off at the load of bullshit he was shoveling. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. She was drinking her first glass of wine, at least, the horny bastard inside him noted. A great first step.
The fucking polenta was lumping up because he didn’t have enough hands to stir it constantly. Like an idiot, trying to do three things at once so he could get on with the business of seducing her. He craned his neck as he stirred, struggling to see if she was still on the porch. He wished he could go watch the sunset with her, but this meal was too important. The mushrooms were ready, the parm was under the broiler, the cream for the chocolate soufflé needed whipping.
This grasping intensity wasn’t like him. It dismayed him, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. A beast had reared up out of the black lagoon of his subconscious, puffing out its chest and demanding its way, a thing with no manners, no self-control, no scruples. It wanted what it wanted, and since it wasn’t acquainted with the concept of delayed gratification, it was therefore capable of fucking his chances of getting a massage or getting laid, either one.
He peeled the blackened skin carefully off the peppers, his mind considering and abandoning various half-formed strategies for controlling the situation. A delicious meal was the best he could come up with. He resolved to project an air of total harmlessness. A goofy, sort of feckless vibe. He had to seem awkward, anxious. It shouldn’t be too damn hard. Put her off her guard, make her think, oh, yeah, I can handle this clown with one hand tied behind my back.
The blackened skin peeled smoothly away from the brightly colored flesh of the roasted pepper beneath. It had rendered up its crunchy stiffness to the searing flame, had gone voluptuously soft and lax. He sliced it into strips, dropped them onto the pool of olive oil and slivered garlic waiting on the plate. Swirled them till they were coated with oil, soft and moist and glistening. Some shredded basil on top, and that part of his seduction spell would be good to go.
Tess sipped her wine as she strolled down the twisting path that led into the forest. It was utterly dark. If she ventured inside, she could lose herself. The thought of a forest big enough, wild enough to lose herself in sent a thrill of excitement through her.
It stirred a buried memory. That trip, to see the redwoods with her parents, when she was ten. Long-forgotten details spread out like ripples through her mind. She had stared up at the enormity of those ancient, kingly trees, awestruck, and then tried to slip out of earshot of her mother’s constant, anxious harping. Just far enough so she could hear the huge silence that embraced an infinity of tiny, harmonious sounds; rustling and quivering and chittering. Her ears strained for it.
She’d sneaked almost far enough to hear it when all hell broke loose, and she was hauled back to shrill, hysterical lecturing. Stinging bugs and snakes . . . lost in the woods and wander for days . . . broken leg and starve to death . . . my poor nerves, wh
ere’s my medicine. Look through my purse, my hands are trembling!
Then it was back to the car, to look at the redwoods safely ensconsed behind childproof auto-lock windows. Sit straight in your seat and get your nose off the window, Tessie, there are germs!
But she had never forgotten that moment of almost breaking free. That was how she felt right now. Something inside her was struggling to emerge, gasping for breath, for life. She drifted closer to the darkness of the trees. No one was here to shove her into a car with childproof windows. Nothing could hold her back, no one could save her, no one could stop her. She could do anything. The hugeness of her freedom crashed over her like a wave. Terrifying and wonderful.
Time was measured only by gradations of fiery light on the mountain. It faded slowly to softer and softer shades of mauve, dusty pink, violet. The dream of violet faded. The colorless shadows of twilight embraced her. The screen door squeaked. Tess turned away from the mystery of the trees and watched his dark silhouette move toward her. She sensed that he was nervous. Wary.
As well he should be. He had lied to her and manipulated her, and she did not owe him a damn thing. She could always throw his check back in his face. She didn’t need to worry about pleasing him, or be anxious about offending him. Let him sweat to please her. Let him fret about not offending her.
She couldn’t see his eyes in the dark. He was as impenetrable as the dark trees, yet she knew his beautiful body by heart. Muscle and sinew and bone and skin. She had absorbed him through her hands. In a way, he was already hers, and she wanted what was hers. A longing as sharp and urgent as the cry of an eagle in a vast, empty sky.
“Dinner is, uh, ready,” he said hesitantly.
She took a deep breath of the fragrant evening air. The old Tess would have said something grateful and appreciative about him going to the trouble of cooking just for her.
The new Tess just took a leisurely sip of wine, and smiled.
