The glide of his hands over her skin, the smell of her, the taste of her.
He needed it in a way he’d never needed anything before. Shuddering from the force of this unwanted emotion, he rested his palms against the cold metal table and leaned into it because he didn’t have the energy to hold himself upright and argue with her at the same time.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” she asked.
“Isabella.” Beyond drained, he turned his head to look at her and answered with absolute sincerity. “I don’t have the slightest idea.”
Muttering at his cluelessness, which appeared to be both a tremendous disappointment to her and no less than she’d expected, she told him, “It means we’ve got to have sex with each other and put it behind us. As soon as possible.”
Chapter 6
Eric’s jaw hit the floor and stayed there. He was still gaping and blinking at her—what did she just say?—when the door swung open and a man in a white coat strode in. Eric hastily sat in the nearest chair and vowed to remain there until he got his body under control.
“Ms. Stevens?” The man looked amused as he shook Izzy’s hand. “I’m Dr. Wu. You’ve got yourself a sick little dog there. Any idea what all he ate?”
Worry lines creased Isabella’s forehead and she wrung the bedraggled Fluffles as she thought about her answer. “I’m not sure, but we saw McDonald’s wrappers—I think it was a Filet-O-Fish—and a pizza box, and a few candy wrappers, and…Eric, was that a bag of French onion or barbeque potato chips we saw? Do you remember? The bag was green.”
Eric grunted.
“So I think if it was green then it must have been French onion chips.” Her recitation concluded, Izzy turned her anxious gaze back to the vet. “Is Zeus going to be okay?”
Dr. Wu smiled. “He’ll be fine. But if he ate some rancid fish, well…I don’t need to tell you that’s not so good.”
“It’s my fault for being, ah, distracted.” For emphasis, she shot Eric the kind of icy glance he imagined she’d give Adolf Hitler if he walked into the room. “I turned my back for a minute and Zeus just went wild.”
Dr. Wu consulted his clipboard. “Well, the good news is that the vomiting seems to be tapering off—”
“Thank God for that,” Eric murmured, earning himself another death glare from Isabella.
“—but I’m still debating whether to give him an IV or not. To keep him hydrated.”
“Whatever you think is best,” Isabella said anxiously.
“Let’s give it a few more minutes and see what happens.”
“Can you give him Fluffles?” Isabella handed the stuffed bunny to Dr. Wu, who looked startled but took it anyway. “It’s his transition object.”
“Ah…sure.” Smiling and flashing Eric a discreet but clearly sympathetic look—Poor guy, you have your hands full dealing with these two, don’t you?—Dr. Wu left.
The second the door clicked shut behind him, Izzy rounded on Eric again. Wild-eyed and indignant, she waved her arms and read him the riot act in a fierce whisper.
“If Zeus doesn’t recover, it’ll be your fault for not keeping your hands off me. I never would’ve turned my back on him but for you and your little under-the-tree seduction scene. Why didn’t you keep your hands to yourself? Huh? How was I supposed to think straight and be a responsible pet owner with you climbing all over me?”
“Isabella—”
But she wasn’t finished with him yet. “This is why we need to just go ahead and sleep together, satisfy our curiosity, and get back to the way things were before. It’s the only way. We’ll just do the deed, and then—”
Eric had, obviously, slipped into the nether region between the Twilight Zone and the regular world, a place where down was up and in was out. Holding up a cautious hand, he stopped her, mid-rant.
“Are you telling me,” he said, speaking slowly to ensure that there were no dropped syllables, mangled words or other errors of communication, “that you want to have sex with me so you can satisfy your curiosity—”
“Yes.”
“—get it over with—”
“Yes.”
“—and get on with your life?”
“Yes.”
That’s what he thought she’d said. It wasn’t his imagination making a fool of him. She had, in fact, proposed the kind of exceptionally stupid idea that tended to get a person fired or killed.
Flabbergasted, he stared at her earnest face and wondered what’d happened to the brilliant Izzy he’d always known, the one who’d gotten better grades than him all through their undergraduate careers at Princeton. How could she suggest something this ridiculous? Had she been watching too many I Love Lucy reruns? Was that it?
“Are you insane?” he asked her.
“No.”
In fact, she looked vaguely hurt, as if she couldn’t quite understand why he wasn’t jumping on her offer to have no-questions-asked sex with her. He didn’t understand, either, to tell the truth. All he knew was that a nasty, sickening feeling was growing in his gut and he had the sudden, near-overwhelming urge to take one of those ugly plastic chairs and smash it through the closest window.
“So we’d be…what? Friends with benefits? Sex buddies?”
“Of course not.” Offended now, she drew herself up and crossed her arms over her chest, all wounded dignity and unshakable pride. “I’m not the sex buddy type.”
“I know that.”
“Our friendship is the most important thing. I don’t want to jeopardize it because of our attraction.”
“Neither do I.”
“So we need to address the attraction and get past it.”
Eric was all for addressing the attraction. It was the getting past it part he had problems with. “So…we’d have…what? An affair for a few months and then—”
“Oh, no.” She shuddered at the suggestion. “I’m leaving soon anyway, remember? For South Africa? No. I think a night would do it. Two at the most.”
A black rage descended on him, so dark he could barely see her through his dimming vision. It only got worse as she watched him, her expression chirpy, bright and annoying as hell, and it took him a good ten seconds to force a response up and out of his tight throat.
“A night…or two? That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
This idea was so repugnant…so inconceivable…so unbelievably freaking idiotic, that he would have laughed if he could have unlocked his throbbing jaw long enough to smile. Worse, a vein was now pulsing in his temple—he could feel it—and this…this…woman was about to cause him to stroke out or have a heart attack right here in the middle of an animal hospital where they probably didn’t even have the equipment necessary to revive him. With his luck they’d probably slap him on a gurney and crack his chest open right next to a collie getting his balls clipped.
A night with Isabella would never be enough, not with the way he wanted to gorge on her body and revel in her. He wanted to make love with her…laugh with her…explore her, in a way he’d never done before.
This was the last thing he’d wanted or expected. Life as a player was pretty good, after all—but there was something so right about deepening the relationship with Isabella, so comforting, so logical that he just couldn’t ignore it. He was already emotionally closer to Isabella than he’d ever been to another woman. Why not take it a little further and see what was there?
After several deep breaths he was able to choke out a couple sentences. “How about this.” Something in his voice, which sounded hoarse and dangerous, even to his own ears, seemed to pierce Isabella’s blithe attitude, and she watched him with a new wariness. “How about we have sex, spend a little more time together and see if we can build a relationship?”
She goggled at him for an arrested moment. Her expression, which hovered somewhere between startled amusement and abject horror, did nothing for his ego, which was already critically wounded and on life support. And that was before she emitted a weird hiccupp
ing sound that erupted into full-blown hysterical laughter. Seething, he watched as she clutched her side and doubled over, clinging to one edge of the table for support.
“You?” Gasping, she straightened, wiped her streaming eyes and tried to catch her breath. “In a relationship? The man who gets hives if a woman leaves a toothbrush in his bathroom? The man who’s never, to my knowledge, been with the same woman for longer than a few months? The man who thinks staying all night at a woman’s apartment is a commitment like marriage? You? Why would I pin any girlish hopes on you? Do I look that s-stupid and self-destructive?”
Laughter bubbled up and overcame her again and she bent at the waist. Cursing, he vibrated with righteous anger, but then it occurred to him that it couldn’t really be righteous if her little assessment was correct.
It was worse than that, actually. She had him dead to rights.
He should’ve known all those long talks he’d had with Izzy over the years would one day come back to bite him in the ass. What kind of moron confided relationship details to a woman? How could he have forgotten that she was a them and he was an us? What had he been thinking?
Actually, he knew what he’d been thinking: that it was great to talk to Izzy because she was so earthy. That he could be himself with her. That it was nice to have a female perspective on sex and dating. That she didn’t judge him.
Hah.
Well, she was judging him now, wasn’t she? Served him right for being such a major jackass as to confide secrets that should remain strictly within the Universal Brotherhood of Players. Shit. He should have his membership card revoked.
The funniest thing about this whole discussion, not that any of it was really funny, what with his groin about to explode and all, was the fact that any one of the hundreds of women he’d dated over the years would think that her fairy godmother had granted her fondest wish if Eric indicated just the slightest interest in developing a relationship. Any other woman would have been thrilled with this opportunity to be with a rich, handsome and, let’s face it, fun-to-be-with CEO like him. Thrilled.
And here was Isabella about to wet her pants with laughter.
Ironic. That was the word he was looking for.
Driven to the limits of his endurance and about a hundred miles beyond, he snapped. With no conscious thought whatsoever, he took Isabella by the shoulders and, ignoring her startled squeak, swung her around until he had her backed into the far corner. Once there, he held her hand to his erection, forcing her to stroke him.
“Here’s the thing, Isabella.” Leaning in nice and close, he licked and bit her ear as he spoke. “I don’t really think this is a laughing matter.”
But her amusement had already vanished without a trace, and he found this supremely gratifying. Those dark eyes rolled closed, her head fell back, and she made the most delightful sound of excitement.
Without his encouragement her fingers tightened around him as though she needed this touch between them as much as he did. Even so, he did not let go, but flattened her palm against him, making the caress rougher. Perfect. Shuddering now, drunk on her, he murmured her name again and again.
After moments of this glorious torture, though, she came to her senses, which was more than he could do. Opening her eyes, she tried to pull back her hand, but he held tight.
“Eric, please.” That sexy voice saying his name drove him wild. “We are in a vet’s office.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
Lowering his head, he took her delicious mouth, stroking deep, long and hard, and she answered with a ferocity that matched his. Only the sound of a nearby door slamming—probably from one of the examining rooms down the hall—brought any sanity back to the proceedings.
He broke away and cursed. “I want you,” he panted.
“You can have me.”
Yeah, he could tell. She was soft and pliant and a hot, urgent passion glittered in her eyes. This new thing between them, whatever it was…she wanted it as much as he did.
“I want you for more than one night,” he told her, desperate to reach an accord. “I want to see what’s here.”
Like magic, her body went rigid and the glow in her face died. At the thought of being with him for any extended period of time, she withdrew completely, as though he’d suggested bigamy or murder. When she spoke, her voice was cold, her tone absolute.
“One night is all I’m offering.”
That same black anger came back, making Eric feel wild, desperate and unhinged. So she could make love to him and walk away. She could be clinical and detached about what would be a life-changing event for him. She could slam the door in his face, leaving not the slightest glimmer of hope, when he needed her this badly.
“Screw that, Isabella.”
Touching her now seemed like a punishment rather than the gift he wanted more than any other. Leaving the building was his only option since he couldn’t stay in the room with her and couldn’t go out to the waiting room in this condition. Shoving away, he wheeled around to the glass emergency door that led to the parking lot and pushed it open. He was halfway outside when she called after him.
“Eric—”
He ignored her.
In that dark moment he didn’t want to see her face again.
Once in the parking lot, Eric lingered by the SUV. He’d had the vague idea of sitting inside the vehicle and listening to some calming music, but he was much too upset for that right now. There was no way he could sit still. He was just wondering whether a walk down the sidewalk to the corner would cool him off a little when his cell phone vibrated and played The Imperial March—otherwise known as Darth Vader’s Theme—from Star Wars. This special ringtone was reserved for this caller only, and normally it gave Eric a private chuckle every time he heard it. Not this time. Cursing—just what he needed right now—he snatched the phone off its belt hook and answered.
“Yeah,” he snarled.
“Whoa. What’s wrong with you?”
Only one man on earth had that amused, wry voice and the bad timing to call at a moment like this: his cousin Andrew Warner, the yin to Eric’s yang, the person who could irritate him like no other, except, maybe, Isabella. They usually spoke several times a week, if not daily, about company and family matters, but Andrew wasn’t exactly the guy you wanted around during a moment of vulnerability. Andrew. He did not have the energy for this right now.
“Shit,” Eric said.
“Nice.” Andrew’s laughter came over the line loud and clear. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”
“Nothing,” Eric said quickly, trying to sound more upbeat lest Andrew scent his blood and start circling like the shark that he was. “What’s up?”
“We’re having Andy baptized in Columbus on Sunday. Can you come?”
“Sunday? How about a little more notice? I told you Izzy and I are driving to Jacksonville for a wedding on Saturday.”
“Yeah, well, the boy’s nearly one. If we put it off any longer he’ll be able to drive to his own baptism. So you can come back a little early. Your parents’ll be in town this weekend—”
“God help us,” Eric muttered.
“—and after that they’ll be in Europe until who knows when.”
“Is that right?”
Andrew snorted. “They’re your parents, man. Do you ever talk to them?”
“Not if I have any other option, no.”
“Well, we’ll talk about your family issues later. Can you come?”
Typical Andrew, expecting everyone to drop everything to be at his beck and call at a second’s notice. Jerk. Still, Eric wouldn’t miss any of the events in little Andy’s life if he could help it. At the thought of Andrew’s adorable son who, with his smiling face, masses of curly black hair and fat little legs, was the cutest kid Eric had ever seen, some of Eric’s tension at last began to slip away.
“Well,” he grumbled, thinking of his right-hand man, with whom they could hitch a ride back to Columbus. “Brad’s got the jet
down in Miami to meet with suppliers this week. I’ll have him stop through Jacksonville and pick us up.”
“Great. Appreciate it. By the way, Viveca wants you to be the godfather.”
“What?” Eric came to full attention, his throat unaccountably tight now and his eyes misty. “Godfather? You sure?”
“Yeah,” Andrew said, and Eric could almost see him shrug. “It’s mostly ceremonial, so you can’t screw it up.”
Eric snorted. He knew Andrew was only kidding, but still. Teasing from Andrew, which normally would be only a minor annoyance, like a buzzing fly, had, within the last year or so, taken on an irritating new significance.
Maybe it was the absolute change that had come over Andrew since he met his wife, Viveca. Usually smug, arrogant and obnoxious—Eric’s greatest joys in life had come from needling the brother—Andrew was now insufferably…happy. Always smiling, always laughing, always sharing secret little looks and touches with Viveca, with whom he seemed to be glued at the hip.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Andrew now had a wonderful family, what with Viveca, baby Andy, and their adopted son, Nathan, who was now nine or ten.
The only good thing about the whole sickening scenario was that Andrew and crew lived in New York City, so Eric only had to endure their excruciating joy once a month or so when they came to Columbus to visit his grandmother, Arnetta Warner.
Why Andrew’s newfound happiness felt like such a personal affront to his own life, which was pretty good, all things considered, Eric had no idea. The man deserved it, Eric supposed grudgingly, and he wanted his cousin to be happy. Even so, something about Andrew and Viveca left him vaguely pissed off. Pinpointing a reason seemed to be impossible, so he’d stopped trying months ago. He just knew that Andrew’s great life suddenly made Eric’s life seem…less. Andrew’s happiness underscored Eric’s loneliness. Yeah, he was lonely. May as well admit it. That was the nameless ache he’d been feeling for a while now.
Watching Andrew with Viveca, seeing the way they exuded sex and contentment—there’d been one night when Eric saw them emerge from the pool house at Heather Hill, Arnetta’s estate, with messy wet hair and shifty looks, as though they’d been skinny dipping and making love—put the strangest thoughts into Eric’s head.
Road to Seduction (Kimani Romance) Page 6
