by Megan Hart
bars, anyway. I'd rather have a real sundae."
He folowed me into the elevator and watched me push the
button for his floor. The elevator could hold and had held
ten people at a time. We had plenty of room but he stood
next to and slightly behind me, so I was aware of his body
heat and the soft sound of his breath.
We barely had time to talk on the short ride to his floor
and down the hal to his apartment, and I didn't bother
with smal talk. Eric, to my relief, didn't try to force the
chatter, either. In five minutes he was unlocking his door
and ushering me inside by stepping back to alow me to go
through first.
"Such a gentleman," I said.
He paused after he shut the door. "I try."
Again, we stared at each other. I was used to men who
made the first move. Eric didn't move, so we stayed stil,
both of us looking.
"Ice cream?" I prompted over my urge to taste his mouth.
"In the kitchen."
He puled out a chair for me and settled me in it like a
queen before bustling around to pul out a couple cartons
of ice cream from the freezer. He set them on the counter,
then grabbed a jar of fudge from the cupboard and put it in
the microwave. From another cupboard he puled real ice-
cream-sundae glasses, and from the drawer two long-
handled spoons.
"I had no idea," I said as he turned. I waved at his
preparations, searching for the words that would keep me
on top, but found none.
He grinned. "I like ice cream. What can I get for you?
Chocolate, vanila or mint chip?"
"A scoop of each?" It had been ages since I'd eaten ice
cream. "Extra hot fudge."
"Whatever you want." Eric's simple words felt anything but simple.
He brought two sundaes, heaped high with ice cream and
oozing with hot fudge, to the table. True to what I'd come
to expect from him, he served me first before taking the
to expect from him, he served me first before taking the
chair across from mine. He waited until I'd tasted my ice
cream before he even lifted his spoon.
"Good?" he asked.
I could only make a murmuring happy noise as my taste
buds, so long denied, practicaly sang. When I scooped a
mouthful of hot fudge, my low, throaty moan was louder
than I'd intended. Eric stopped with his spoon halfway to
his mouth.
I swalowed sweetness. "It's good."
He finished his bite, and I watched his lips close over the
spoon. I watched, too, as his tongue came out to lick
away the drops of ice cream that had dripped onto his
hand. Caught up in my lustful fantasy of what he could do
to me with that tongue, I dropped my spoon.
Both of us looked to where it had clattered to the floor. I
didn't move. Eric looked at the spoon on the floor, then up
at me. And then slowly, carefuly, he slid from his chair to
his knees in front of me. The spoon clicked on the tile
when he reached for it, and I saw his hand was shaking,
just barely.
just barely.
He looked up at me. "Let me get that for you."
This was the second time since we'd met he'd been at my
feet. This time he was there because I'd put him there,
though he didn't know it was me. My heart leaped, the
thudding almost painful under my ribs. My breath lodged in
my throat, and though a thousand words swirled around in
my brain, not one of them would come out of my mouth.
When the heat of his hands cuffed my ankles, I drew in
another breath on top of the one I hadn't yet released. I'd
changed into a summer-weight black skirt, the cut loose
and fabric soft on my bare legs. It hung just past my knees,
but sitting had puled the cloth tighter and higher on my
thighs. The pressure of Eric's breath shouldn't have been
strong enough to move the fabric of my skirt, but I felt it
move on my shins as he exhaled.
He didn't look at me as he slid his long fingers slowly up
my calves. They reached the soft skin behind my knees
and I let out another slow sigh. When he reached the hem
of my skirt I thought he'd stop, but Eric, head stil bent, his
eyes on only he knew what, pushed the material up and
over my knees. He leaned forward to press his cheek to
the inside of my knee. I froze. Our breathing sounded very
the inside of my knee. I froze. Our breathing sounded very
loud in the silence.
When I didn't move or protest, Eric gave his head a half
turn. His breath blew hot on my skin. I tensed, my hands
clutching the arms of the chair, but my knees opened for
him and my head tipped back just a little.
He kissed the inside of my knee with parted lips, and the
brief wet press of his tongue teased my flesh. I looked
down at his thick dark hair and wanted to sink my fingers
into it. Instead, I clutched the chair arms tighter as Eric
nuzzled higher onto my thigh.
He would be able to smel my arousal, I knew it, could feel
my panties getting damp. His mouth moved higher as his
hands moved up over my knees and rested there. My next
breath turned to syrup in my lungs and gave me no air.
I could see his eyes, closed, the dark lashes so long they
cast shadows on his cheeks. Each feathery kiss folowed
the next, a micron's distance apart. He would never reach
my pussy at that pace.
The only sounds had been our breathing and the squeak of
the chair as his movements rocked me gently in it. Now I
the chair as his movements rocked me gently in it. Now I
heard the low but unmistakable sound of Eric's groan. I felt
it, too, in a puff of hotter air and the wetness of his kiss
higher stil but not high enough.
I looked down at his hunched shoulders and the big hands
pushing up my skirt. At his dark hair, the fringes tickling
my thighs. At the sweep of his lashes and slope of his
forehead, al I could glimpse of his face.
What the fuck was I doing?
One hand found its way to his hair and I lost my fingers in
it, relishing the springy coarseness for only a moment
before I tightened my grasp and puled his head up. His
eyes opened, blurred with lust. His lips, moist, parted as
he focused on my face.
I could not do this. Not like this. Not because I didn't love
him, or because he wasn't my boyfriend, not even because
we hadn't even had an official date. I'd done more with
men I'd never even seen again. And not because I didn't
want his face between my thighs, making me come on his
tongue, because I wanted it so much desire left me light-
headed.
"No," I said in a grinding voice, because this wasn't fair.
Not to him, and not to me.
Eric pushed away from me at once and I released my grip
on his hair. He didn't get to his feet but rocked back on his
heels, his expression stricken. "I'm sorry. Paige. I don't
know what made me think that was okay. I'm sorry."
With shaking hands,
I pushed my skirt to cover my knees.
I swalowed against the lump in my throat and tried to
breathe slow and easy so I wouldn't embarrass myself by
fainting or something stupid. I couldn't meet his eyes.
"Paige, I'm so sorry." Eric's voice broke on my name and
he cleared his throat but didn't say anything else.
Would he have gone to his knees for me had he not been
doing as I'd ordered?
The chair screeched on the tiles as I pushed to my feet.
None of my muscles wanted to cooperate. They wanted
me back in that chair, my legs spread wide with Eric's face
between them. I shook my head at myself, but Eric
misunderstood.
"Please…I'm realy not a jerk." He stood but didn't reach
for me. "I shouldn't have done it. But I was…" I found my
voice. "You were what?"
"I was taken by you." His curiously old-fashioned phrasing sounded just right. "I like you, and I thought…I was
stupid. I'm sorry."
I could have said it was okay, but it wasn't, and not for the
reasons he'd have assumed. "I'm going to go now."
He nodded and went at once through the living room to
the front door, which he didn't open. By the time I got to
him I was able to breathe, though my muscles stil felt
loose. Eric stepped aside, giving me plenty of room. We
didn't look at each other.
"Thank you for the ice cream," I said formaly. Stiffly.
"You're welcome."
He held the door open for me, but I didn't look at him as I
went out.
I left no note, no list the next morning. Courtesy of the
schedule he'd sent me, I knew Eric would be off to work
schedule he'd sent me, I knew Eric would be off to work
before I roused myself from bed, but that was just an
excuse. I was awake and could have run down to make
sure he had something to keep him smiling al day.
I hadn't slept much, just tossed and turned, so when the
phone rang I picked it up on the first ring. "Hmm?"
"Paige?"
"Arthur." I sighed. "What did I tel you about caling me so early?"
"But I'm hungry," he whispered. "And Mama won't wake
up."
I yawned. "You know what you can have. You don't need
to wake her up."
"When are you coming over again?"
I hadn't realy thought about it. "I don't know, buddy.
How's school?"
"My teacher says I shouldn't talk so much in class."
"Your teacher is probably right."
"Your teacher is probably right."
A shuffling squawk came through the phone, then a voice.
"Who is this?"
"Mom. It's me."
"Oh. Paige. Hi, honey." Her relief seemed way out of
proportion to Arty's early morning dialing. "What's
wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Arty caled me."
"What's wrong with him?"
"Nothing that I know of. He cals me a lot on Sunday
mornings."
"He does?" She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'l remind him he's not to use the phone without permission. He's been…wel,
he's been caling Leo."
I yawned again, blinking. "So?"
"Leo doesn't live here anymore," my mom said flatly.
"But he was like a dad to Arthur." I got on one elbow to
"But he was like a dad to Arthur." I got on one elbow to
look at the clock. Gad-awful early. Silence told me I'd
said the wrong thing. "I'm sorry, Mom, but it's true."
"Arthur is not Leo's son," she said after another half
minute. "I haven't said Leo couldn't see him, but he can't
go caling whenever he wants to. He's not my boyfriend.
And he's not Arty's dad."
My mom had had a lot of boyfriends. She hadn't bothered
to tel me al the reasons why she'd broken up with each of
them, though I had been subjected to the ranting and
raving on occasion when one had realy pissed her off.
When I got older, she'd shared more, though I'd never
asked her to. Now I waited for some revelation about
Leo, some reason that had turned her against him, but she
didn't give me one.
"Arty! Get out of the snack drawer! Have some cereal!"
She sounded tired and cranky.
I knew how that felt. "I'm going back to sleep, okay?"
"When are you coming down?"
I told her what I'd told Arty, adding, "I've got stuff going
on."
on."
"We'd like to see you. Me and Arty. You could come for
the weekend, Paige. We could make fudge."
"Mom…"
"Don't say no. Just think about it, okay? We miss you. I
miss you."
There wasn't anything to say that wouldn't hurt her feelings,
so I sighed. "Okay. I'l check my calendar."
"I have to go. Arty just spiled the milk."
"You know what they say," I tried to joke. "Don't cry over it."
"I'm not crying," my mother said in a stone-edged voice I
never heard from her.
Then she hung up.
Chapter 26
The flowers came the next day, a bouquet of thirteen red
roses tied with a thick satin ribbon and adorned with
baby's breath. They were delivered early, too, the card in
my mailbox announcing I had a package at the front desk
tucked in amongst the bils the way not too long ago the
notes had appeared. It set my heart to racing the way
those notes always had, but the flowers sunk my guts to
my shoes.
"Someone has a special friend," Alice said when she
handed me the bouquet with a knowing grin. She leaned
closer. "I knew it wouldn't take you long, hon."
I paused with the flowers in my hand, not daring to hold
them too tight unless there were thorns. "For what?"
"To get one," Alice said. "A man."
Being unable to speak is different than not having words. I
hate not knowing what to say. I goggled at her like an idiot
and puled the flowers closer to my chest. The look on my
face set her back a step, her ready smile fading.
"Pretty flowers." It was the woman from the mailboxes
stopping to pick up her own package. "From your
boyfriend?"
"I don't have a boyfriend," I said shortly for her benefit and Alice's. "I don't know who these are from."
If they shared a look it was behind my back, because I
turned away to pul the card from between the stems. It
was a printed card, not handwritten. Three words.
I'm sorry. Eric.
Austin had given me flowers once or twice, sad and
scraggly bouquets picked up from the grocery store. He'd
picked me flowers, too, from his mother's garden and put
them in a beer mug for me to find on our kitchen table
when I got home from school. These were my first roses.
I didn't have time to put them in my apartment before I
headed off to work, so I took them with me. I didn't have
to worry about getting them into water right away because
each stem was capped in a smal plastic tube, but I
arranged them where I could see them from my chair.
One minute I smiled to look at them. The next, I frowned.
One minute I smiled to look at them. The next, I frowned.
Eric shouldn't be apologi
zing to me, but it was sweet he
had. And he'd done it without prompting.
"Paige, I—" Paul stopped in his doorway. "Pretty flowers."
"Thanks." A mouse click saved my document, and I
looked up at him. He had a paper in his hand. A list, for
which I held out my hand.
He didn't hand it over. Paul held it in both his hands and
rubbed the paper back and forth in his fingers. He looked
again at my flowers.
"Is there something you need, Paul?"
Paul cleared his throat and folded the list in half, then half
again. "Vivian has asked for a meeting with us today to
talk about the possibilities of your promotion. We're
getting lunch ordered in. At eleven."
He said it like I had a choice, as though he weren't my
boss. He folded the paper again and tucked it into the
pocket of his gray suit pants. Today he wore a pale pink
shirt with a maroon tie and looked very puled together.
"I'm not sure I realy want to talk about a promotion with
"I'm not sure I realy want to talk about a promotion with
Vivian."
Paul nodded and gave me a smal smile. "It can't hurt to
listen to what she has to say, Paige."
He was right, so I nodded and turned my attention back to
the computer. Paul waited a couple seconds, then left me.
I stared for a while at my computer but couldn't make
much sense of the words on the screen.
At ten-fifty, Vivian click-clacked into the office on her
expensive high heels. She carried an immense mug, the
sort you buy at the convenience store and use for refils on
fountain drinks. It looked out of place against her high-
profile suit and jewelry, but she clutched it like she'd kil
anyone who tried to take it.
"Paige." She nodded. After a second she remembered to
smile, too.
"Vivian." I didn't get up from my desk, though I did take
my hands from the keyboard. "Paul said you wanted to
meet at eleven. He's in his office. I'l be in when I'm
finished with this last file."
My smile stretched the corners of my mouth, but I didn't
feel it in my eyes. Vivian took a long, gurgling swig from
her mug and went into Paul's office without more than a
swift rap of her knuckles on the door frame to announce
her arrival. My victory was smal but mighty. She couldn't
complain I wasn't being prompt, but I'd made it clear I
wasn't going to be rushed, either.
I'm not a fan of scary movies, especialy the kind where
the girl knows there's something awful in the basement or
