by Carol Caiton
"Jessica?"
"Yes, I'm here."
"So what do you say to that walk?"
She was drawn to him. How many times had she relived the passion of his mouth on hers? How many times had she remembered the way he'd looked at her, remembered the muscles beneath her fingers as she slid her hands up to his shoulders? And how many times had she forced herself to push the memories aside, telling herself that her instincts weren't to be trusted in these matters, that it was marriage and a husband she needed, not the affections of a temporary infatuation. She would end up hurting them both when she applied for a blue link. And she would have to end their friendship because it would no longer be just a friendship between them.
"Yes, I would like to go for a walk," she said a little breathlessly, and was surprised at herself for agreeing. Nevertheless, she was unwilling to take back the words. "I always feel safe when I'm with you, Kyle."
He didn't answer. Seconds passed and she sat unmoving, the silence charged with something she had no word for. It was as though he knew what she'd been thinking, remembering their last time together, and her heart began to thump in her chest.
When he finally spoke, his words surrounded her like an embrace and his voice, deeper and softer, sent a tremble to her fingertips.
"All right, sweetheart. I'll be at your place in about five minutes. Meet me in the lobby, okay?"
He disconnected without saying goodbye and she stood up, alarm, disbelief, and surging happiness all mixed up together as she stared at the wall behind her television.
Five minutes.
Anticipation rose up inside. It raced right past pleasure and sped all the way to excitement.
"You're a fool, Jessica," she whispered to herself. "You're pitiful and weak and you know nothing can come of this."
But even as she berated herself, Kyle's voice, quiet and so very deep, whisked her straight back to that place of reckless abandon.
She tossed her phone onto the cushion beside her purse and rushed toward the bathroom. Yanking open the top vanity drawer, she reached inside for her makeup case and plucked out the tube of mascara.
"You're as foolish as a blind man riding a blind horse," she whispered, "—approaching a deep pond in the black of night."
It took two tries, breathing in deeply, before she dared to touch her eyelashes with the long wand. She didn't even bother with blusher. Her cheeks were so flushed, she wouldn't be able to judge how much to apply.
Snatching up her brush instead, she swept it through her hair, then dropped both the brush and makeup case back into the drawer with a clatter, bumping it closed with her hip.
Rushing toward her sleeping area, she unbuttoned her blouse along the way. She didn't have many clothes to choose from, having left so much behind, so she slipped into one of the white T-shirts that was part of her uniform at RUSH. Then she paired it with the blue jeans she'd worn the afternoon Kyle had rescued her from Threshold. They sat low on her hips, however, and left three or four inches of bare skin around her middle fully exposed.
She paused.
Stepping back, she looked at herself in the mirror. The outfit wasn't nearly as provocative as her full uniform, especially without the scandalous bra. She brought her eyes to her breasts. A bit of cleavage showed, but she was decently covered. And taken as a whole, she thought she would blend in with every other female.
Slipping on a pair of sandals, she hurried over to her purse again, lifted out a few dollars from her wallet, and pushed them down into the front pocket of her jeans. Then she reached for her keys and pushed them into the other pocket.
He was already there.
Standing across the lobby, he faced the elevators, watching for her, his eyes locking with hers as soon as the doors opened. He wore jeans, blue like hers, and a neatly pressed gray shirt. It buttoned down the front, polished yet casual because he'd rolled up the sleeves and left the top buttons open. His shoulders filled it out, seeming broader, stronger. He appeared taller than before. More handsome. And she felt suddenly, vibrantly full of life.
A thousand tiny chills chased up her arms as she started forward. She told herself to pause, to draw a deep breath and collect herself. But his eyes traveled down the length of her in slow male assessment, pausing to linger on the bare skin at her waist, and her very cells tingled with excitement, urging her on.
When he brought his eyes up again, meeting her gaze, they were darker, appreciative. A hint of pleasure curved his mouth, and she knew he liked what he saw.
Holding her breath, she walked across the polished marble, nervous now as she drew nearer. This was a dangerous game she played, and it was far more real now that he stood before her. He'd been her friend before, but now he was a man whose eyes looked at her with a man's interest.
She stopped a safe distance from him. Her heart fairly hammered in her chest and she wasn't sure what he expected of her. Part of her wanted to continue on, to feel his arms slide around her and be held against his body again. But part of her wanted to flee back to the shelter of her apartment.
He must have sensed her uncertainty. Stepping forward, he held out his hand, palm up, and waited.
It was the patience in that gesture, the unspoken reassurance in his eyes, that overrode her alarm. She didn't need to be afraid. This was Kyle. If he wanted to be her male companion for a time and she wanted the same thing, would it really be so unwise? They both knew the eventual outcome. They both knew she intended to apply for a blue link. As adults they could enjoy this time together. The newness would wear off, the infatuation would fade, and perhaps the hurt wouldn't be so great as she thought.
Lifting her hand, she slid her fingers across his rough palm. The warmth of his skin closed around her hand and he gave a gentle tug. Then both of his arms went around her, bringing her in close, and she shut her eyes. It was just as she knew it would be. It was just as she'd hoped it would be. And she was right where she wanted to be.
To the security guard at the front desk their embrace would appear as little more than a welcome between two people who cared for one another. Jessica, however, trembled with the knowledge that she was fooling herself. She hadn't known Kyle for long, but she knew this was more than infatuation, that she was deceiving herself by thinking it could be less. She knew that what she felt inside was going to grow and deepen and her heart would weep with despair when it came time to tell him goodbye.
"God, you feel good," he murmured beside her ear. Then he glanced over toward the guard and relaxed his hold. "I promised you a walk."
"Yes," she said. But the butterflies whirling so fiercely in her stomach made the word sound wispy and breathless.
Kyle smiled an amused, knowing smile. He kept one arm around her waist, his fingers pressing lightly on her skin, and urged her toward the main entrance.
"Where are we going?" she managed as he released her to hold the door open.
"Just walking."
His arm slid back around her waist and steered her away from the direction of Orange Avenue, which surprised her.
"How would you like to drive over to the beach on Sunday?" he asked. "The weather's supposed to be good. We can stop and have lunch somewhere then park on the sand."
She knew right away she was going to accept. It didn't seem to matter that her mind knew and warned her of the heartache ahead. Pitiful, Jessica.
"I'll have to buy a bathing suit."
"Is that a problem?" He looked down at her.
"What? —Oh. No, I was just speaking my thoughts."
"Are you warm enough?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Jess?"
She looked up.
"Relax, honey."
She stiffened instead. How could she relax when his words, when the affectionate tone of that endearment went straight to her heart? It wasn't because she was cold that she shivered every few seconds. It was something else, something uncontrollable that came from inside.
"I can't relax," she admitted. "I'm full with
anxiety."
His fingers squeezed her side as he turned her off the sidewalk and up three wide shallow steps that led to the equally wide terrace of a high-rise office building. Guiding her behind the fountain at its center, he turned to face her and placed his other hand on her waist as well.
"Why are you full of anxiety?" His right thumb caressed her bare skin.
She took a breath. "You don't feel it, Kyle? This worry?"
One side of his mouth lifted in a smile. "Honey, I feel a lot of things right now, but worry isn't one of them." His thumb paused. "You're worried?"
"Yes, of course I am."
"Tell me why."
"Because you're a man, Kyle."
He stood very still, looking down at her. With quiet patience he said, "Yes, I am. Now tell me why that worries you."
She looked away.
"Jess?"
She knew why. Of course she did. But the thought of telling him brought a flood of heat to her face.
"Jess?" He lifted a hand to cup her jaw, bringing her eyes back to his.
She drew a short, quick breath and blurted out, "You're not a boy, Kyle. I felt it when you embraced me. In the lobby. You . . . have needs."
She saw that she'd surprised him.
"Yes, honey, I do," he said quietly. "But it's not something that should fill you with anxiety."
Exasperated, she said, "Kyle, you make me feel things I don't know how to stop."
A slow smile curved his mouth. "I'm glad to hear that," he said. "Because you do the same thing to me."
"No. You don't understand."
"Jess," he stepped in closer, pressing that intimate part of himself against her, holding her with the hand at her waist. "It's only a natural reaction."
"I know this, but—"
"Honey, I'm not going to start undressing you out here in public."
Already, the sensation from that part of him pressed against her caused an unfamiliar heat that mirrored his need. The urge to answer it, to intensify the discomfort, yet relieve it, confused her.
"Kyle?"
"I'm not going to do anything you don't want," he murmured, bending his head. Then his mouth closed over hers, soft and warm, and she melted against him, that heat inside, the need it brought, growing.
She clutched his forearms. The pressure of his hardness increased with the passion of his kiss. His tongue stroked past her lips and into her mouth and that hardness against her abdomen began moving in a rhythm that turned her blood hot, made her want to be closer, to feel more, to assuage the urges it excited.
Rising up on her toes, she stretched her arms up to his shoulders and held on, meeting his pressured thrusts with her own, feeling the rub of his chest against her nipples with the motion of their bodies. She wanted more. And more still. Mindless sensations rose up inside, building with a need so wanton she whimpered.
His hands traveled down to her hips and squeezed. Then he lifted her higher until his perfect, wonderful hardness met that place between her thighs in a grinding motion that shot a spiral of the purest ecstasy through her in waves and waves of physical bliss.
"Kyle!" she gasped, tearing her mouth from his.
"Jesus!"
She barely heard his harsh whisper before it happened again and she tumbled through pleasure so exquisite, it left her weak and breathless until she sagged in his arms.
Long seconds later she realized he'd stopped moving. His hardness was still pressed against her, his body still taut, and his hot breath stirred the hair on her neck. But his arms slid up to her waist and he lowered her feet back to the ground.
What had they done? What had she done?
Lowering her eyes, resting her forehead against his chest, her face burned with shame.
How could she have done this . . . this making love out on a sidewalk with her self-respect abandoned as though she had none at all?
"Jess?"
Silently she shook her head, unable to meet his eyes.
"Honey, are you okay?" He smoothed his hands over her back in caressing comfort.
But she felt no comfort. How could she?
Taking a deep steadying breath, then another, she nudged herself free. She stepped back and cried inside when his arms fell away.
"Jess?"
"No." She forced herself to look up, to meet his eyes and face as an adult what had happened. "No, I'm not okay. This is not okay." She gestured at the space between them and said, "I shouldn't be here with you like this. Not like this. It's wrong."
She stared into his excellent eyes that brought so much emotion filling her up inside. "I'd like to go back to my apartment now."
"Jess, what happened isn't wrong. I just didn't expect— Things got carried away, that's all."
Shaking her head, she turned away from the fountain, from him, and started toward the steps. Thankfully the sidewalk was deserted. What if other people had been there to witness her behavior? She should never have said yes and come out with him tonight.
He caught her arm and pulled her to a stop. "Talk to me."
She closed her eyes. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to say any of the things that needed to be said. She'd have to tell him goodbye and her throat ached with the tears she held back, no matter that it was much sooner than she expected. He'd been her wonderful friend, her only friend, and now he was more. But the perils of listening to her heart had borne out. He was a danger to her.
Turning to face him, she lifted her eyes to his dark ones. "We can't be friends anymore, Kyle. I want a husband. I told you this."
"I know what you told me. I remember. But that has nothing to do with us."
"How can you say that?"
"Have you applied for a blue link yet?"
"No, not yet."
"Then there's no reason you and I can't be together. Until you do."
"Please let go of me."
"Jessica—"
"No. There's too much emotion, too much everything between us. I told you I feel things when I'm with you. Things I shouldn't feel."
"Jess, I feel those things too." He slid his hand down her arm and linked his fingers with hers. "Let's just enjoy it while we can."
Let's just enjoy it while we can.
They were very nearly the same words she'd thought earlier. But hearing Kyle voice them, as though their togetherness was no more than a minor, temporary indulgence, gave her the strength to separate herself from her emotions. Would he truly be happy with a short-term liaison, as though she meant no more to him than . . . than an amber link at RUSH?
She searched his face. 'Things' had not gotten carried away at the fountain. She, and only she, had. Kyle hadn't been carried away at all. It was she who had soared to heaven on the wings of physical pleasure. She who had lost herself to passion and sexual need.
"I won't go to my husband with memories of another man's touch," she told him boldly. "What happened to me just now should only have happened in the arms of the man I marry."
The smile he gave her was patient, indulgent, as though she was too young and naïve to understand right from wrong.
"Honey, what happened a few minutes ago wasn't immoral or degrading. I don't know a single man who expects the woman he marries to be a virgin."
She snatched her fingers out of his grasp. "I will not be a used bride."
"A used— Christ, what kind of term is that? Jess, if a woman goes to bed with a couple of men before she gets married, it doesn't make her used."
A couple of men? Is that how he viewed her? Did he expect her to welcome sex with another man after him and yet another after that? Did he think so little of her, feel so little, that he'd let her go to someone else without any sense of loss? Like a fan set aside in the autumn?
"I have a mother who shares your view, Kyle. She's had many lovers and this is why my father ended their marriage."
"Jessica—"
"Would you see me differently—right now—if I'd had lovers before meeting you?"
"Jess—"
"Only answer my question, Kyle. Would you see me differently—this very minute—if you knew I had lovers before meeting you?"
A muscle jerked in his jaw. "Yes. But that doesn't mean—"
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would you see me differently?"
"Because you'd be different, Jess. You'd understand things differently."
"What things?"
"Me," he growled. "Us. Men."
"Men?"
"Don't do this, Jess."
"I have just one more question," she told him. She kept her emotions hidden, her voice soft and reasonable. "If I was to be your wife, would you want me as I am now, or would you rather I come to you after I've had a few lovers and a better understanding of men?"
He stared at her. Frustration burned in his eyes. Then a terrible string of words was directed at the tall glass building beside them and he strode across the terrace, raking a hand through his hair.
She had her answer. She didn't need the words.
Standing quietly beside the steps, she watched him and waited for his anger to subside. Her heart ached with grief. She wanted no memories of this night to follow her into the future, but the imprint of his image as he stood staring out at the night, seared itself on her mind.
She waited another minute, then she walked over to where he stood. "Will you take me back to my building?"
He probably wanted to be far, far away from her now, but she asked all the same. The danger that had followed her across Europe was still present, even if Qasim Zafir was no longer alive. And, sadly, it would give her just a few more minutes to be with him.
"Let's go."
He didn't so much as turn to look at her. He didn't touch her in any way, nor did he speak to her. They walked in silence for the couple of blocks it took to reach the building where she lived, then he held the door and walked with her to the elevators.
