Oh, my God. A pity fuck.
Her face turned fiery. Her stomach twisted into nausea. Tears of humiliation pricked her tired eyes. She couldn’t stand it. The underwear was from Jake.
She’d seduced the wrong man.
4
QUINN WATCHED CATHY’S TAXI zoom down the nearly deserted street in front of his building. He shook his head, laughing a cloud of steam that glowed white-gray under the streetlight. Wow. He thought he’d be spending the evening packing, sorting through his things and deciding what to take to Europe, maybe wrapping presents for his family—expensive cigars and Philharmonic tickets for Dad; a silk scarf and a dessert cookbook for Mom; books, fancy scotch and personalized golf tees for his brothers. They all still lay in a pile in his closet.
He’d been too busy unwrapping a total surprise package.Her taxi turned the corner and he spun around, aware suddenly of the cold penetrating his pants and shoes. Back in his building, he climbed the stairs to the third floor with muscles well aware they’d been used tonight.
Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined Cathy Johnson taking a few conversations at her desk and a wink over a gift of underwear as an invitation to seduction. Yeah, he’d been attracted to her in abstract—who wouldn’t be? She was pretty, funny, smart, did a fabulous job keeping the department running. But he never would have expected her to take that kind of initiative. Not in a million years.
She was a fascinating study in contrasts. At the office Secret Santa party after she’d unwrapped the lingerie, her mortification had been genuine. No one could act that well. Then she’d shown up out of the blue wanting sex—and admitted going after it wasn’t something she did often. Her shyness early in the evening had given way to easy camaraderie and then…well, as he’d said earlier, wow.
In his living room, he shut and bolted the door behind him. He’d rarely had sex that good, that comfortable and fun, the first time with someone. Usually there was pressure to perform acrobatically well and to know intuitively what pleased his partner. Or the women he was with felt they needed to bolster his ego or cover their own nerves by overblown screeching and moaning as if they’d learned about sex from porn movies. Rarely had he experienced this natural a connection on a first…well, he couldn’t really call it a date.
Keyed up, sure he wouldn’t sleep, even at this hour, he went into his bedroom anyway. Busy days ahead. He should try to get some rest. Though, in spite of his fatigued muscles, he felt like working out, jogging, blowing off steam somehow. Maybe he’d call Cathy to see if she’d gotten home okay. Maybe invite her to breakfast later this morning or to dinner tonight.
He passed his hand over his eyes and rubbed his temple. What was the point? It was early Saturday. Tomorrow—Sunday, Christmas Eve—they both had family obligations. Tuesday he was gone. What the hell was the point?
He stood beside his bed, reached out and tweaked the rumpled covers, bent down and tried to capture her scent from the sheets. A glint of unfamiliar metal caught his eye on his nightstand, and he turned to see her earrings, small silver leaves with wire stems, dangling from delicate chains.
When she’d first showed up, he’d thought Cathy was there for a surprise friendly visit. Nothing had prepared him for the sight of her standing in his living room, face set rigidly against fear, lifting her sweater. He’d been stunned into silence, then frantically searched for words that would stop her and get him out of the awkward-as-hell situation without hurting her.
Plenty of women had tried to seduce him during his adult life. Mostly he turned them down. His reputation as a player was unfounded. What was the point collecting women for brief trysts? As far as he was concerned, the longer you knew someone, the deeper the affection and trust, the better the sex. But he found women on the whole more interesting to talk to than men and more satisfying as friends. So rumors flew that weren’t worth his time and energy to argue against. People would think what they thought. Those people who mattered knew the truth.
He turned over the earring in his hand, noting the detail of veins etched into the metal. He’d been about to turn Cathy down, too, flatter her, invent some excuse to stay uninvolved and send her on her way after a drink and a brief chat. And then two things had happened.
One, her incredible breasts, barely encased in red lace, had emerged from under the sweater, exactly as he’d pictured them in the office when she’d held up her gift—maybe even better. Call him shallow, but, um, that caught his attention.
However, he’d like to think he was gentleman enough that he still would have told her to go home—if her sweater hadn’t gotten stuck. If she hadn’t gotten so sweetly and desperately flustered and hadn’t handled it in such an honest and funny way.
The breasts were sensational, his reaction predictable. But her disarming self-deprecation brought out tender protectiveness that mixed with desire to form a much more powerful draw. He’d wanted her then, to make love to her and to make it really good—especially once he’d sensed she might not have had been with the most considerate partners.
More than that, he’d wanted to hang out with her and talk to her, listen to her wise, funny comments and try to figure out where she got the idea she was so average. While the sex was great and would undoubtedly get better if they were given the chance, the banter and conversation and sharing would make Cathy stand out in his memories.
He gave a dry chuckle and shook his head. Listen to him. He needed to focus on the future, give himself a little jolt out of his contemplative mood. Maybe he’d call John, an ex-Connoisseur colleague who’d emigrated to London to teach, and check if there were any last-minute arrangements that needed to be made regarding the studio they’d rented. Or just hear his friend’s voice and remind himself what he was going to accomplish over the next year: hone his skills as a photographer, work on developing his own artistic style.
John picked up on the second ring. “What the hell are you doing up at this hour?”
“Couldn’t sleep. How’s our love nest?”
“Great. Just great. A bit of a dodgy neighborhood, but the studio’s all right. Got painted last week. You’re still coming Tuesday?”
“Yes.” He found himself having to force enthusiasm into the word.
“Excellent.”
They chatted briefly about the pubs they’d visit his first weeks there and the people he’d meet, until conversation ran dry and Quinn ended the call feeling slightly depressed.
Thinking about London hadn’t helped erase Cathy the way it was supposed to. He not only still keenly felt her absence here, where he’d lived for eight years and where she’d been for mere hours, but his departure on Tuesday—long anticipated as the highlight of his new decade into his thirties, the trip that would quell this restless energy, this dissatisfaction with the rote feel of his everyday life in New York—had started to feel like a too-soon, fast-ticking alarm.
How had she done all that to him in such a short time? How much more could she do if he were able to spend every possible second with her before he had to leave? His surprisingly strong feelings could simply be the result of a one-shot fabulous night, where all the stars aligned and their chemistry and moods fell into place. If they met again, the spark between them could be gone, their meeting awkward and jumpy like the strangers they were at the office.
Or not.
Travel for his job made relationships difficult, though he’d tried. Three girlfriends in the last five years, relationships lasting a few months to a year. Nice women, good sex, fun times. But he’d always felt there should be something more, some special click of recognition, some organic connection they’d both feel immediately, and he’d never found that. Not quite. Sometimes he’d thought he was a hopeless romantic doomed to relationship failure by keeping the bar too high.
Tonight he thought there was a chance he’d simply been smart.
He held the silver leaves up, watched them turn and glint in the soft light of his desk lamp. He’d have to call Cathy and let her kno
w her earrings were here, but he’d give her time to sleep for a few hours first. Not a bad idea for him to get some sleep, either. Maybe he’d wake up and find her presence had receded from his bedroom, that his trip abroad would again be the most powerful call to him, and he’d realize he was crazy wanting to pursue a relationship with Cathy for the next two days only to leave the country for a year.
One thing was sure: whoever had given her that lingerie, Quinn was sure as hell grateful. And sure as hell hoping she wasn’t planning to wear it again for anyone else but him.
“SO THEN WE RECOMMENDED firing seven management employees and zero lower-echelon people.”
“Wow.” Cathy put down her fork. She’d made little headway on an asparagus frittata at Sweetwater Restaurant with Jake. Not because the food wasn’t excellent but because, in spite of her severe attempts to banish it, her brain was still filled with an odd combination of sparkling memories of Quinn, lingering mortification that she’d shown up without being invited and terror that Quinn had taken her to bed because he’d felt too sorry for her to kick her out.Useless self-torture. What was done was done, as her mom loved to say. Quinn was leaving, he’d been very sweet, and in the end, he hadn’t exactly suffered from her mistake. She needed to forgive herself and concentrate on poor Jake, who was giving this date his earnest best. “I bet management wasn’t thrilled that you recommended firing a third of them.”
“Nope.” He grinned and took another sip of coffee, then gestured to the waitress for his fourth refill. “They weren’t. But if you hire management consultants, you’re going to get an opinion. We told them what we thought and we were right.”
She wiped her mouth with her napkin, trying to appear fascinated, guilty that she wasn’t. Jake was such a nice man, smart, fun, attractive, the most promising date she’d been on in months, and she wasn’t even here. She was back in Quinn’s apartment, feeling his warm body next to hers, on hers, in hers, behind hers, under hers…oh, my Lord, what they had accomplished in a few hours.
Okay. Enough. Quinn had probably forgotten already. Or, worse, was still chuckling over her initial abject failure at seduction. “So did they end up firing all those management people?”
“Oh, yeah. They followed our recommendations and their profitability soared, just as we predicted.”
“That’s fabulous.” She tried to sound sincere. Quite honestly she didn’t care. And that bothered her, because she was usually a really empathetic listener and managed to be excited for other people’s triumphs even if they weren’t triumphing over anything she could relate to. But talking to Jake was nothing like talking to—
Get over it, Cathy. Quinn was done, gone, finished. If she wanted to cling to the dream of him, fine, but she better prepare herself for a lot of lonely nights ahead.
She refocused on Jake, on his thick, wavy black hair, clear dark eyes and fair, faintly stubbled skin. On the way he used his hands to gesture when he spoke, on the way he exuded energy and confidence and sex appeal.
“So, anyway, enough of boring work talk. Melinda was telling me a little more about you last night.”
“Oh?” She sent him a jokingly suspicious look. “She didn’t mention the bodies in the basement, did she?”
“Um…no.” He grinned. “She didn’t get that far. But I asked what you did in your free time and she said you read a lot? And you like to knit?”
Oh, and didn’t that make her sound like the world’s most fascinating human. The kind of woman men like Quinn would kill themselves to be near. But it was exactly the truth, and could she please stop thinking about Quinn. “Yeah. I used to knit when I was a girl and took it up again a few months ago.”
“What are you making?”
“A sweater. Pretty complicated pattern, so it’s going slowly. But I get too antsy watching TV or listening to music without having something else to do.” She groaned silently. He was being so polite and sweet making himself ask about her knitting, but it couldn’t possibly interest him.
“What kind of music do you listen to? I’m into alternative jazz, some fairly esoteric classical, some hip-hop, some indie rock.”
Of course he was. And she listened to soft rock, like every other average Cathy on the planet. “My tastes are pretty ordinary. Soft rock, oldies…”
“Hey, nothing wrong with ordinary when it’s good.”
“True.” She tried to smile back at him, but it fell flat. Ordinary. Right.
“Have you heard of the Arctic Monkeys? You might like them. They have a pretty appealing sound.”
“Melinda loves them. She plays them all the time.” While Cathy resisted the urge to cover her ears. She took another sip of lukewarm coffee, suddenly exhausted and ready to go home. She’d probably gotten a total of three hours of sleep, and even those hours had been restless and disturbed.
Jake launched into a catalog of favorite songs and performers, then TV shows, movies, all good, fun topics. She managed to chat and laugh for another half hour until she felt she could end the date. It wasn’t Jake’s fault. This wasn’t a good day to try to get to know him. She was too tired, too much in turmoil over what had happened.
By the time they got back to the hall between their apartments, she was forcing energy into a body that was out. Worse, along with the weariness had come depression. A crash after the high of the night before. Of course, her time with Quinn had only been a fantasy. But a wonderful one. Now life would go back to its same old pointless routines….
She sighed. Gee, nothing like exhaustion to give one a healthy perspective.
“Hey, I’ll get that CD I was talking about. I don’t think Melinda has this one.”
“Oh, okay.” She nodded, lifting her eyebrows because she couldn’t even summon the energy to smile. “I’ll leave the door open.”
Inside, she glanced at the machine in spite of herself. Zero messages. Of course. He wouldn’t call. She didn’t expect him to. He wouldn’t know that she desperately needed him to say, “Hey, just wanted to let you know last night wasn’t a horrible mistake I regret with every fiber of my being.”
She needed to push him out of her mind. A good night’s sleep and a merry Christmas would do it.
She hoped.
Jake’s tap-tap-boom knock came at the open door and he pushed his way in, holding out a CD. “Here you go. Hot off the shelves.”
She took the CD and thanked him, willing to give the Arctic Monkeys a try. It would be nice if she and Jake could like the same type of music. A small thing, of course, but…
A particularly pregnant silence fell between them, the kind that falls when one person has something uncomfortable to say. Since Cathy had nothing uncomfortable to say except maybe Please go away, I’m really tired and will have to try to fall in love with you another day, she looked expectantly at Jake.
Who was coming toward her. Saying her name. Thanking her for the date, reaching for her shoulders and kissing her.
Kissing Jake felt as wrong as being with Quinn had felt right.
Darn it. How was that possible? She didn’t belong with Quinn, no matter how she thought she felt about him. Even Melinda’s stupid horoscope would have to predict true love with Jake now. But last night she sure as hell hadn’t been thinking about Jake while Quinn was kissing her. She hadn’t been thinking about anything, only feeling. And here she was kissing Jake—or rather being kissed by him—while conducting an impromptu analysis of her romantic situation.
She drew back, and that most horrible of horrible moments resulted—when there’s nothing to say after a first kiss.
Cathy gave a nervous giggle and instantly hated herself. Jake leaned in again. Oh, no. I don’t want to deal with this. Not now.
The phone rang.
“I…better get that.” She moved to answer, thinking that if Quinn had been about to kiss her and the phone interrupted, she’d let it ring until it couldn’t anymore.
The number was unfamiliar, so it wasn’t Mom calling with a change of plans or her brother, Br
ad, calling with last-minute present questions. She should let the machine pick up. But she needed this break to figure out what to do with Jake.
“Hello?”
“Cathy.” The voice was deep and rich and instantly recognizable. Blood rushed into her cheeks and her head started feeling dizzy and light.
“Hi…hi.” Oh, my God. Oh, how incredible. Oh…crap.
There was no way she could sound or act remotely normal on the phone with Quinn if poor Jake was standing behind her listening. “Can I call you back?”
“Soon?”
“Does it need to be soon?”
“It does, yeah.” His low, sexy voice started her heating up. Her tiredness vanished. She could run a marathon. Twice. He sounded as if everything was as intimate between them this morning as it had been last night. As if he hadn’t been appalled by her showing up with no invite and really wanted to—
Okay, she couldn’t let her fantasies run away with her.
“I’ll call in a few minutes.” She hung up and took a deep breath before she turned and smiled apologetically at Jake, sure her face was still flaming. “Sorry about that.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I guess you need to call back?”
“Um…yeah.” She kept the smile going, feeling like the world’s biggest jerk. She owed him some explanation, but what the hell could she say? “I’m sorry. It’s…I—”
He held up a hand. “Not a problem.”
“It was just…someone I—”
“It’s okay, Cathy. You don’t have to tell me.” He smiled, but his eyes remained wary. “I really enjoyed our date.”
Her breath came out in a rush. “Oh, I did, too, thank you.”
“Sure.” He backed toward her door, his normally exuberant face still stiff. “We’ll do it again sometime?”
“I’d like that. I’m sorry about this…call, but I would like to see you again.” She would. Quinn was her best ever fantasy, but Jake was real. And with Christmas Eve tomorrow, she’d have a break from both of them, be with her wonderful, loving family, get spoiled by her parents and teased by her older brother, and get her head back down from the clouds. Then she could come to a date with Jake and really be there, instead of being back in Quinn’s arms as she was now, mentally speaking, with even his scent still fresh in her memory.
Secret Santa Page 14
