by Joan Reeves
When the bell rang again, she quit her primping and hurriedly threw open the mahogany door. "Matt." Her heart pounded in anticipation.
He looked so good that she didn't have to fake the breathlessness in her voice. He wore a black and ivory patterned sport coat and an ivory knit pullover shirt and black slacks. His hair was so perfectly combed that she wanted to run her hands through it, mussing it as she absorbed the silky feel of it.
"Dr. Monroe." His eyes betrayed him as his gaze locked on her chest. He frowned fiercely.
Uh oh. He didn't look like a happy camper. And he was back to the formality of Dr. Monroe. She smiled. "Won't you please come in?"
She led him into her comfortable living room and indicated the plump couch. Matt looked at it and frowned then sat down in the very middle of the scarlet sofa.
Jennifer turned away so he wouldn't see her smirk. He'd obviously thought she'd sit in one of the two club chairs positioned at right angles to the couch. She walked over and sat next to him. Deliberately, she brushed her breasts against his arm as she settled onto the plump cushion.
By the time she'd finished the seductive business of sitting, Jennifer felt curiously breathless. Unexpectedly, her nipples tightened with longing. So rattled by the sensation, she couldn't properly relish the knowledge that Matt had jumped away from her as if jolted by an electrical shock.
Matt slowly let his breath out. Over and over, mentally, he sang the French national anthem La Marseillaise which he'd learned in high school French class in an effort to control his body. Eventually, the muscles in his arm quit jumping. He closed his eyes, glad for the camouflage of the oversized reference book in his lap.
"May I take that?" Jennifer asked.
"No!" His eyes popped open and delighted in what they saw. "That is, I'll hold it for a while," he said, drowning in her beautiful gray eyes. Her messy hair had an odd effect on him. He wanted to muss the short strands even more. He imagined holding her head still as he kissed her.
When she leaned forward, he could see down the neck of the dress she wore. He groaned, unable to help himself. Her breasts were large, perfect spheres, barely covered by black lace cups. Her skirt slid up, and he saw black lace at the top of her stockings peeking out from the hem of the dress. He imagined pressing hot, wet kisses to the skin above the lace band of the stockings. He bit back a groan. Sweat popped out on his forehead again. He wiped it with his sleeve and hoped she didn't notice.
"Would you like something to drink? I opened a really nice white zinfandel. Or I could make some coffee if you prefer."
"No, don't go to any trouble. I'll have whatever you're having." Immediately, he thought of the scene in that Meg Ryan movie When Harry Met Sally where Meg Ryan fakes an orgasm. Then the woman at the table behind her says, "I'll have what she's having." God help him, but it was all too easy for him to imagine Jennifer in the throes of an orgasm.
When she rose to get the wine, Matt leaned his head back and inhaled an agonizing breath. Damn, even with her gone, he could smell that perfume she wore. He'd caught a whiff of it last night too. It was the same perfume she'd worn to his office that day. Against his will, he breathed deeply, tormenting himself with deep lungfuls of the sensuous scent.
He wanted her, he finally admitted to himself. And definitely not as a patient. He hadn't been this bad off since he was a kid. What was it about the woman that affected him so?
"Here we go," Jennifer said. "I also brought in a bowl of strawberries. I love the succulent red fruit with white wine," she said, smiling. "Most people think they only go well with champagne, but I find they're positively scrumptious with any white wine."
She set the oval silver footed tray on the glass-topped table. Matt found himself watching her lips as she formed the words. He'd never realized speech could be so sexy.
"First, you dip the richest," she paused and looked into his eyes, "reddest berry you can find in this little crock of thick," she paused again, "luscious cream."
Matt curled his fists so tightly that the nails left white half moons on the palms of his hands.
Jennifer chose the largest berry in the silver bowl and did as she'd described. With cream dripping from the ripe fruit, she said, "Then you dip it in this brown sugar, and then you devour every last bit of it." Her mouth opened and enclosed the ripe berry.
Matt watched as a bit of juice dribbled over her bottom lip. It was all he could do to keep from licking her lips. Then when the tip of her tongue darted out, he thought he would explode. He imagined that tongue on his body, tracing the delicate designs that her lips would sear into his skin. He'd never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Jennifer. He was royally screwed.
"Next, you sip the wine and let it slowly trickle down your throat." She closed her eyes and tilted her head back while she demonstrated. Then she pressed the chilled glass to the rosy skin of her breasts. As if lost in the sensual experience of drinking the wine, she rolled the glass back and forth across the curves of her breasts.
Lucky glass, he thought, squirming on the couch to ease the pressure in his pants. He'd like to replace the crystal with his face, his mouth, his hands. With her eyes closed, he seized the opportunity to commit her face, the creamy skin of her throat, her slender arms, and her breasts to memory. How could a woman this appreciative of the sensual pleasures of wine and food be sexually repressed? It made no sense.
He looked around and realized that her home expressed a deeply sensuous nature. Rich scarlet and the jewel tones of emerald and sapphire covered the furniture. Lustrous gold fabric draped the windows and pooled on the floor in extravagant folds.
Everywhere he looked in the living room and the adjoining dining room showed rich color and texture. Tapestry fabrics, roughhewn wrought iron bases on the tables, heavy smoky glass on top, elegant fringe on the base of the chairs. Even the antique silver tray and the silver fruit bowl pointed to her appreciation of beautiful things. Her sensuality took flower in her home surroundings obviously.
"Now, it's your turn," Jennifer said, handing him a glass of wine from the silver tray.
"Thanks." Hurriedly he gulped the wine as if he had a fire to quench.
She reached for another strawberry.
"No, I don't think I can handle that." His eyes rounded as she selected an especially plump berry, lifting it by its stem.
"I mean." He swallowed. "Can't handle anything to eat. Had a big lunch." He set his glass down and leaned back, patting his stomach with both hands. "Wow, am I stuffed." His stomach chose that moment to make a sound that contradicted him. He flushed.
Jennifer triumphantly dipped the berry in cream. "Your stomach must have digested that large lunch. Come on, Matt. This is really delightful. I bought these at the farmer's market so they're freshly picked and juicy." She dipped it in sugar as he watched, a look of fascination on his face. "You'll love it," she murmured, carrying the berry to his lips.
She leaned toward him as he leaned away from her. Her breasts pressed against his chest as she pressed the berry to his lips. Her own mouth opened as she coaxed him to taste the fruit she offered. Then, their eyes locked.
Jennifer's smile slipped then faded completely as his strong white teeth bit into the berry. Red juice ran over his lips. She stared, enthralled as his tongue came out to capture the sweet juice. Without thinking, she licked her lips, wishing she could taste the sweetness of the strawberry from his mouth, his tongue.
The blood pounded in her ears the way it did when you held your breath too long under water. She felt dizzy, disoriented. With great effort, she dragged her eyes from his face and pulled back from his body.
The silence lay thick and unbroken between them. Jennifer breathed shallowly, afraid he would realize how excited she was.
"I think I'll get some more wine." She drained her glass in one swallow.
Matt watched her walk away and finally released the breath he'd been holding. He knew he should leave, but he also knew that he wasn't going to do that. He'd rather have w
alked barefoot over a barrel cactus than leave Jennifer's intoxicating presence. Besides, he thought ruefully, lifting the heavy book from his lap for a minute, he had quite a predicament.
When she returned, he hid his predicament again with the book. What sweet torture was she going to subject him to now? He prayed that she would sit in another chair at the same time he hoped she'd reclaim her seat next to him.
"Well, I know you probably have better things to do on your day off than talk to me," Jennifer said. "So I suppose we should get down to business."
"Business?" He asked, taken aback by her brusque attitude.
"Yes, this business of sex." Jennifer settled next to him, thankful that she'd recovered her aplomb. She noticed the sheen of perspiration on his skin and smelled the warm muskiness that rose from his body. She glanced at the book that lay in his lap and smirked. She had a pretty good idea why he refused to move the book.
"I've always believed in a frank discussion of sex. Even though I've never felt the same excitement other people claim to feel about it, I don't have a problem discussing sexual issues with my patients."
"That's, uh, good," Matt said in a strangled voice. "You know, I've been thinking, Jennifer. I've got to insist that you go to a trained therapist. I don't think I'm qualified to deal with this."
"But, Matt, I feel so comfortable with you. As if I've known you for years and years. And as I said, I don't feel that you're betraying some doctor-patient relationship because we're not doctor and patient." She reached over and squeezed his fisted hands. "I feel so much closer to you than that. As if we are friends. Really good friends. Don't you feel the same way?"
"Friends? Right. Sure." Matt felt dazed. He could hardly keep a logical train of thought going. He swore he could feel her body heat through the fabric of her dress. And the smell of the perfume wafting from the expanse of skin exposed by the low-cut dress. He dared not look at her breasts for fear he'd lose it.
"And friends help each other, don't they?"
He nodded, agreeing with anything she said. If she wanted him to run down Central Expressway stark naked, he'd give it his best shot.
"What could be better than being friends?" Jennifer asked, eyes round with wonder.
Lovers. The answer popped into his head instantly. He hadn't realized it was possible to grow even harder. He tried his best to think of the French national anthem or even to count to ten in French, but it was no use. He was lost.
Jennifer had a blinding mental picture of what was better than friends. She could picture she and Matt, entwined in passion. She'd never had the chance to be lovers with Matt. She'd only been fourteen even though she'd felt seared by the emotions she'd felt for him then.
A predatory gleam came into his eyes as he straightened. He tossed the book that lay in his lap to the floor.
Her heart began to hammer, and a languor stole through her limbs. Her breasts ached to be touched.
"The hell with this!" Matt muttered and reached for her. In the next moment, several things happened. He hauled her into his embrace until her breasts were plastered to his shirt front. His arms wrapped around her as if he'd never let her go. Then his mouth found hers, and the heavens opened.
They must have, Jennifer thought, because surely she heard angels singing. She welcomed the invasion of his tongue as he thrust into her mouth. Her body shuddered in desire because she realized that she wanted to feel a similar intimacy with another part of her body.
Oh, but he could kiss, she thought, sucking on his tongue, wanting to be quiescent in his arms so she could just feel, revel in sensation as he did all these marvelous things to her mouth. But she couldn't remain still. She wanted to sample his mouth as he sampled hers, trace the ridges of his teeth, outline his sculpted lips with her tongue.
"Oh, yes," she moaned, unable to hold back.
With an oath, he shoved her away. "This isn't going to work, Jennifer." Matt jumped off the couch as if he'd been stabbed with a hatpin.
"What do you mean?" She asked, trying to catch her breath.
"I can't seem to step back into the role of physician." He shoved his hands through his hair as he began to pace. "I've never had this problem before. Maybe it's because I've seen you in a social setting before I actually knew you as a patient."
Jennifer felt as if she were Eve tempting Adam. "But, Matt, I'm not asking you to be my doctor. I understand doctor-patient boundaries. I'm not asking you to do something that will damage your integrity." She felt ashamed then because she knew that her campaign of retribution was doing exactly that.
"Then what are you asking me for?" The question exploded from him. He sounded frantic, exasperated.
"I don't know," Jennifer whispered, suddenly overcome with doubt. If she hadn't seen him drinking with Lucas Wyman at the bar last night, she'd never have started this vendetta. But she had started it.
She'd teased and tormented him. Deliberately driven him wild. But she'd also been a victim of the passion that she'd aroused. Jennifer wrapped her arms around her body, feeling suddenly cold without his warmth pressed to her. She ached for him. Literally ached. She'd never thought it physically possible to feel this way, but every inch of her body throbbed for his touch. And he'd done nothing but kiss her. Heavens, she didn't know if she could survive if he actually touched her the way she wanted to be touched.
Jennifer took a ragged breath. Sex before had been okay, but just kissing Matt blew her away. For the first time in her life, she trembled on the threshold of finding out how great making love was meant to be. A greedy, sensual part of her wanted that knowledge. And another part of her soul that she refused to dwell on wanted the knowledge to come from him.
Matt came back to her and knelt at her feet. "Hey, you're not crying, are you?" He asked with wonder in his voice.
"No, of course not." Jennifer wiped the corners of her eyes. "Matt, you awakened something in me," she said, not lying now. "Can't we pursue that?"
He looked troubled again. "I don't know. This whole thing smacks of misconduct."
"No, it doesn't," she said quickly. She was always too smart for her own good, she thought. If only she'd told him who she was the first time, she wouldn't be in this ridiculous situation. But she could never reveal her past now. He'd think she'd set him up. Which she had.
"Matt, let's just think of each other as two consenting adults," she said, trying hard to convince him. "Whatever we do is by mutual consent. If I happen to overcome my problems, then that's all to the good, wouldn't you say?"
"Mutual consent, huh?" He sat down next to her. "Quite frankly, Dr. Monroe, I can't tell that you have any problem, sexually speaking."
"Apparently, Dr. Penrose," she said, sliding close to him, "you seem to have a remarkable effect on me." That much was certainly true. Jennifer rubbed her thigh against his but still he hesitated. "Come on, Matt, I can tell by the way you kissed me that you'd like to do it again." Suddenly, she felt shy. Her gaze dropped. "I know I'd like you to kiss me again."
"You're sure this is by mutual consent?" He asked, rationalizing. He lifted a hand and stroked his thumb over her lips.
Jennifer closed her eyes and tried to deal with the feelings rocketing through her body.
"Yes," she whispered. "I'm absolutely sure. If you do something I don't like, I'll tell you to stop." She couldn't hear the voice of her conscience over the pounding in her veins.
"Fair enough." His hand slid down her throat, hesitated, touched the pounding pulse there, and began a slow descent south.
Chapter 6
Jennifer wondered if her heart was about to explode. It pounded so loud that she swore she could hear it.
"Do you hear something?" Matt asked, his stroking index finger hesitating above the shadow of her cleavage.
Could he hear her heart too? Jennifer moistened her lips with the thought of telling him that it was just her rampaging heart, but she couldn't speak. All her concentration focused on willing him to move his hand, to continue his exploration. Pa
rts of her anatomy couldn't wait for his journey of discovery.
"Jennifer? Jennifer?" A woman's voice called.
Then a bell started chiming. How strange! Would she hear birds singing next?
"Jennifer? Jennifer Monroe, open this door." The woman called out, pounding hard enough to break through the door if not through the sensual spell that enveloped Jennifer.
When it dawned on her that the sound she heard was not her heart, but her friend, pounding at her front door, she whispered, "It's Alva."
"Open this door, Jennifer. What's going on?" Alva called.
Desire glazed Matt's eyes. "Maybe she'll leave," he whispered.
"Who?" Jennifer asked, nearly vibrating with the desire to grab his hand and press it to her breast.
"Alva."
"Oh, right." She would throttle Alva if she didn't go away. Immediately.
When the pounding continued, Matt sighed. "I guess you should see what she wants." His finger retraced its journey, stroked slowly upward and then across her swollen lips. His hand curved around behind her neck. He pulled her to him and lightly, teasingly, kissed her. He released her and leaned back against the couch. "Do you think you can get rid of her?" He asked, his voice low, promising of pleasures to come.
"Yes." But she didn't move, still enveloped by the sensuality of the preceding minutes. She shook her head as if coming out from under the effects of anesthesia.
The pounding continued unabated. "Jennifer? Jennifer, are you in there?" Then Jennifer's cell phone began chirping. She ignored it too.
"She sounds rather panicked. Maybe you'd better open the door." Matt suggested with a slight smile.
"Right. Open the door. Okay." Jennifer took a deep breath and blew it out then rose unsteadily. She gripped the back of the couch as she walked around it then headed for the door.
