Nothing Personal (The Kincaids)

by James, Rosalind

  “Or her red Tupperware Jell-O salad bowl,” he agreed with a grin. “Because I know you’ve been coveting that.”

  She smiled again, and he put his arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed the top of her head. “I’m not trying to make light of how you feel,” he tried to explain. “But you’re so tired, and that makes everything look so much worse. Get some sleep, and I’ll come back and take you to the hospital again in the morning. I’ll bet she’ll be feeling a whole lot perkier by then, and you will too.”

  “OK,” she sighed. She straightened, and he let his arm fall. “But . . .” She looked at him again. “Would you mind staying with me? I can sleep in my grandma’s room,” she hurried to explain. “And you could sleep in mine. The sheets are clean, and there are a couple new toothbrushes in the bottom drawer in the bathroom, even. I mean, if you can. If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I wouldn’t mind. Of course I wouldn’t mind.” Sleeping in her bed? Again, not the way he’d imagined it, and this clearly wasn’t the time, but still. “And you have extra toothbrushes up here?” A little more teasing might be just what the doctor ordered. “Let me guess. There’s an extra razor too, and not because of all the guys you’ve brought back here. Are your grandmother’s spices in alphabetical order now, because you got bored over Christmas?”

  “No.” She was smiling back at him, because he’d got it right, had known what she needed. “They already were. And you’re right. You’re Guy Number One.”

  “Alec.”

  He struggled out of the depths of sleep, wondered for a moment where he was. And then he saw the shape of her, pale against the darkness, standing beside the bed, and remembered. Desiree.

  “What?” He pushed himself up on an elbow, blinked a couple times. “Can’t sleep? Bad dream?”

  “Can I . . .” Her voice was hesitant again, husky and low. “Can I get in bed with you? Would you . . . could you just hold me?”

  Was this some kind of horrible nightmare? One of those ones where you were trying and trying to get to the airport, but you could never quite make it?

  “Uh . . . “ He cast his mind around wildly, but couldn’t find any answers. “Sure.” He scooted over, flipped the covers back. And saw her, felt her sliding in beside him. Coming closer, and he felt the touch of her feet on his calves, and flinched.

  “Sorry,” she said, pulling back. “Cold feet.” Which was nothing to how he was feeling right now.

  You can do this, he told himself desperately. Man up. She needed him to hold her, and that was all, and that was exactly what he was going to do. Right the hell now.

  “It’s OK.” He rolled onto his back, pulled her close. “Come here.”

  She nestled into him. Her feet were still cold, and the long, slim arms and legs felt cool against his skin too. He shifted to his side, ran his hand down the narrow surface of her back, felt the rib of the skinny undershirt under his fingers, and was reminded of that first day he’d seen her, in the Snack Shack. And felt a rush of tenderness that almost overrode the heat that was consuming him now. A heat that she had to be aware of, because she was pressed close, and she was killing him.

  “Could you . . .” Her breath was soft on his cheek. “Could you kiss me?”

  He could, and he did. Pressed his lips gently to hers in the dark, to that full, soft, sweet mouth. Felt the shock of it, like the touch of a live wire, all the way through his body.

  She sighed, and her mouth opened a little, and the kiss was heating, his tongue touching her upper lip, tracing the fullness of her lower one, and he could sense her tightening against him, her body as sensitized as his own. He could swear that he could feel what she was feeling, his tongue slipping into her mouth, tasting her, his mouth moving over her own. His hand drifting down her back, coming to rest on one firm, round cheek, sliding over the cotton underwear. His fingers touching the soft skin of the crease at the back of her thigh, rubbing over the edge of the fabric, tracing its contours. All the way down to the silk of her inner thigh, then back up, again and again.

  He had her leg pulled over his hip now, and she was pressed tight against him, and he was still kissing her, more and more deeply, wanting every bit of her. Wanting to be inside her with a desperation he’d hadn’t felt since he was sixteen.

  And then it hit him, like a bucket of cold water right to the chest. His hand froze, his mouth lifted from her own.

  “Shit.”

  She didn’t respond for a moment, frozen too. Then scooted back from him in a hurried motion. “What?”

  “I don’t have a condom.”

  “Oh.” She sat up. “Oh,” she said again, and she sounded so lost. “Anyway, we shouldn’t . . . This is such a bad idea. What am I doing?” She was working herself up again, he could tell.

  He reached for her. “Desiree. Wait.” Pulled her down next to him, leaned over to kiss her, gently this time. Soft on her mouth, then her cheek. He brushed her hair back, kissed her temple. “Baby, no. It isn’t. It isn’t a bad idea. Not if you want to do it, it isn’t. It’s a good idea, you and me. I promise.”

  “Oh.” She sighed. “I do. I do want to do it.” She had her arm around him, her hand stroking his upper back as if she couldn’t resist, any more than he could resist touching her. He’d been sleeping in nothing but a pair of briefs, and he could almost picture the trail of sparks she left behind as her hand moved over his shoulder blade, down the length of his spine, back up again to trace the curve of muscle at his shoulder. “Could we . . . anyway?”

  “No.” He wished the answer could have been anything else. “Even though it’s been months for me, and I’ve been tested. And I’ll bet it’s been a while for you too, hasn’t it?”

  He heard the little hitch of her laughter. “Months would be a safe bet.” And he was glad.

  Why the hell didn’t he have a condom? He was always prepared. But he hadn’t been, not since . . . when? Not since well before Christmas, anyway. Since he’d finally realized, on some level, that he wasn’t going to be taking advantage of anything that came his way, so there was no point.

  “But I’ll bet you’re not on birth control, are you?” This was the un-sexiest conversation he’d had in bed in years, but it mattered.

  “No,” she said softly, and he could hear the regret, and what sounded like . . . shame?

  “Baby. It’s all right.” He kissed her again, took her lower lip between both of his own, pulled it into his mouth, and felt what it did to her.

  “It’s all right,” he told her again between kisses, his hand moving over her back again, reaching to pull up the undershirt, tracing the top edge of her underwear now, low on her hips, around to the front, stroking over velvet skin, feeling her tremble at his touch. “I can still make you feel good. Lie back, now, and let me do it.”

  She didn’t answer, but she had shifted onto her back, and he could sense that her thighs had parted, that she had abandoned her qualms, surrendered to this. Had surrendered to him, and he felt another surge of excitement, hot and dark, somehow existing right alongside his concern for her.

  If she wanted it, he vowed, he was going to make it good for her. He moved onto one elbow, kept his fingers tracing over her abdomen. Leaned over to kiss her again, and he could finally do it exactly the way he needed to. With her underneath him. On and on, taking her little noises of surprise and pleasure into himself, feeling the faint shudders running through her, the urgency in the mouth that opened under his own.

  He went slowly, and he was gentle for just as long as he could be. And he was as thorough as he knew how to be, because he wanted to touch every inch of her, and he wanted to kiss her everywhere, and he wanted to make it the best she’d ever had.

  He lingered at her neck, just as he’d thought about doing so many times. And he’d been right, the spot above her collarbone, that hollow where her neck met her shoulder was her favorite. Just kissing her there, using his tongue and his teeth on her, had her shifting beneath him. Especially when he reached under t
he undershirt, sent his hand slowly up, stroking closer and closer, felt her moving harder, squirming now, until he was at her breast.

  When he finally had his hand there, his thumb stroking over the nipple that pebbled under his touch, combined it with the stronger pressure of his teeth closing on her throat, she arched her back and cried out. And by the time he’d pushed the fabric up under her arms and had his mouth on her, his tongue busy, his teeth grazing her tender flesh, he found that her sensitive neck had only given him an inkling. Because with every place he touched her, every inch his mouth covered, he pushed her higher.

  Finally, he got both hands under the undershirt, pulled it over her head.

  “I’m going to take off your underwear now,” he told her, reaching for that final strip of cotton. “Because I need you to be naked. And I need to touch you. I need every part of you to be mine.”

  Her only answer was to lift her hips, to help him. He moved down the bed as he pulled the things down her long, slim legs, dropped them on the floor. He started at the bottom, ran his hands up her calves, then up higher, his thumbs on the soft, delicate, secret skin of her inner thighs, the place he’d always wanted to touch. And he’d been right to want it. In fact, it felt so good, he did it again. Down, and then back up. Going more slowly with every inch he covered.

  And then he touched her. So warm. So wet. So open, wanting it so much. So he gave it to her, and she writhed and cried out and lifted into his hand.

  And after a while, that wasn’t enough either, and he had to put his mouth on her.

  He pushed her legs further apart with a hand on each thigh, held them there as he began. Carefully. Slowly, because he wanted this to last. Wanted every moment of it to feel even better than the moment before, until the fire took her, and consumed her. Until she burned.

  And if she’d been responsive before, she was wild now. He was holding her down, spreading her wide, moving faster, harder, past the time for gentleness, and her hands were stroking frantically over his shoulders, in his hair, and she was calling out.

  And then, all too soon, long before he was ready for it to be over, her cries reached a crescendo, and the spasms had begun, so strong that he could barely hold her.

  He kept his mouth hard on her, increased the stimulation, and he thought she was going to levitate right off the bed, her back arching, her shoulders rising until she was nearly sitting up, her thighs straining against the firm restraint of his hands. On and on for what felt like minutes, until she subsided with a few final shudders, her cries turning to moans, then sobbing little breaths.

  He moved up her body, took her mouth again, thrust his tongue deep, and kissed her the way he wanted to be inside her, invading every silken space. He knew that she could taste herself on him, and he wanted her to. To know where he’d been, and what he’d done.

  He lifted a hand to her face, stroked a thumb over her cheek, felt the wetness there, and came back to himself fast. Rolled off her, onto his side.

  “Desiree.” His voice sounded strained, and no wonder. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” It was a sigh. Her hand came up to touch his chest lightly, and he could feel the languor of it, the fatigue. She stroked him once more, then her hand fell away. He heard her breath deepening, and knew that she was asleep.

  The Morning After

  Desiree came out of the bathroom, not sure what she’d find. She’d woken to the soft sound of rain on the roof, a gentle drumming that had almost lulled her back into sleep, until she’d remembered. Her grandmother, the hospital. And Alec.

  He was sitting at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him. He looked at her as she hesitated in the entrance to the living room, and smiled. Not a grin, just the very sweetest smile.

  “Hi,” he said.

  She pulled the sash of her robe tight with both hands. “Umm . . . hi.” Well, this was awkward.

  “Want some coffee? I hope you don’t mind, I went ahead and poked around until I found it.”

  “Sure.” But she wasn’t really paying attention. Her purse wasn’t on the end table next to the door where she always put it. Had she left it at the hospital somehow? When had she last had it? She couldn’t remember, and felt a hot flash of panic.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked with his hand on the refrigerator door, watching her wandering around the living room.

  “Did you see my purse? I need my phone. Did I leave it? Do you remember if I had it?” The panic was taking full hold now.

  “It’s right by your bed.”

  “Oh.” She realized why he knew. That he’d have seen it, because he’d slept there. But that didn’t matter right now. She needed to call.

  “But your grandma’s doing fine,” he said before she’d even made it to the hallway again.

  She stopped, turned. “She is? How do you know?”

  “Called to check, soon as I got up. She had a good night, and everything’s looking good. Still asleep, though.”

  She sagged with relief. Meanwhile, he pulled the mug from the microwave, filled it from the coffeemaker, waved it enticingly in her direction. “Coffee right here,” he coaxed. “You have to come sit with me to get it, though.”

  She had to smile. She couldn’t help it. She sat down opposite him at the dinette, picked up the cup he set before her. “You heated my milk first,” she realized.

  He looked confused. “Wasn’t that right?”

  “How did you know I like it that way?”

  That sweet smile again. “I’ve been watching you heat up your milk for months now, remember? I know what you like.”

  She took a sip of the pale brown stuff. No sugar, and nearly as much milk as coffee, exactly right. He really did know what she liked, in more ways than one. But then, she’d liked everything.

  She sneaked another peek over the rim of her cup. Same soft flannel shirt in a deep blue plaid he’d been wearing the day before, the neck of the white T-shirt showing underneath, but the shadow of dark beard above was gone. He’d found the pack of disposable razors too, then. She remembered the scrape of whiskers against tender skin in the dark, and shivered a little.

  Another determined sip of coffee. No choice. They had to talk about this.

  “About last night,” she said as briskly as she could. “I put you on the spot, I realize that. I know you wanted to comfort me, and I appreciate it.”

  He wasn’t smiling now. “You didn’t put me on the spot. You gave me the chance I’ve been wanting for months.”

  “You didn’t even get anything out of it, though.” Direct was always the best way. “I fell asleep. So if you want me to . . . reciprocate.”

  He stared at her with what looked like anger. “What are you saying? That I did you a favor, and you’re willing to pay me back? Is that it?”

  She could feel the color rising in her cheeks. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant . . .” She reached for her coffee cup again to give herself time to think, but something went wrong, and it tipped. She grabbed for it, but not before some of the hot liquid had spilled.

  “Shit.” He jumped up, came back with the sponge and mopped up, then tossed the pink rectangle back into the sink. And then sat down across from her again and faced her squarely.

  “Desiree.” His eyes forced her to hold his gaze. “I wanted to make love to you. And for the record, yes, I got something out of it. I enjoyed the hell out of it. And if you want to do it all again, and add a little bit more in there too, I’m more than up for that. In fact, you can bet that the first store we pass on our way to the hospital, I’m going to be pulling into that parking lot and visiting the Family Planning aisle so I’m ready if you do. And if you don’t . . .” He stopped and took a breath. “I’m going to be pretty damn disappointed.”

  “I need to . . . We need to think about that, and talk about it.” His words had filled her with a rush of heat, but she set them aside for later, because something else was nagging at her. “But I don’t understand how I could have done that when my g
randmother was in the hospital. How could I have even wanted to?”

  “Because you needed somebody to hold you.” He reached for her hand, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles, and she felt the pleasure of even that simple touch. “Seems fairly natural to me.”

  “That’s what I told myself.” She couldn’t meet his gaze anymore, looked down at the wet spot that remained on the table, rubbed at it with the side of her fist. “When I asked you. But when you did, I wanted more. I wanted to have sex with you.”

  He laughed. “Well, I wanted to have sex with you too, so that makes us even, I guess.”

  “But when I’d been so upset,” she insisted. “So sad. It seems wrong.”

  He paused a moment at that. “This is when I wish my dad were here,” he muttered. Then hurried on at her obvious shock, “Not to discuss this exact topic, just to know the answers. I’m not sure, but it still seems normal to me. Maybe you wanted to feel connected. Maybe you wanted to feel alive. Any of that sounding good?”

  “Yeah,” she said with a sigh.

  “Or maybe,” he said, still holding her hand, a coaxing smile starting to grow, “maybe you’re as hot for me as I am for you. No, on second thought, not possible.”

  “That one. That could be it.” She could feel her own foolish smile beginning. “Or all of the above.”

  “Then,” he said with a little upward tug on her hand, “come on over here and kiss me good morning.”

  Sitting in a man’s lap, she discovered, felt even better than she’d imagined it could. His thighs made a warm, deliciously firm seat, and it was a satisfyingly long way around those shoulders. The nape of his neck felt pretty good under her fingertips, although it had to compete with his back, and his arms too, because she wanted to touch him everywhere. And holy habanero, but the man could kiss. Long, slow, and everlastingly patient, no rush to move on to anything else. Like he could sit here and do it all day.

  “What time is it?” she sighed against him at last.

  “Mmm,” he said, his mouth at the corner of hers, licking into her dimple, which felt just absolutely delicious, and her mind drifted again. “Eight, maybe. Around there.”