by Julie Cannon
“I can only wish. I’m an only child.” Lauren winced, remembering that it had been several weeks since she had called her mother.
“Yikes, and I thought I had it tough.” Both women laughed.
Acting on an impulse, Lauren asked, “Will you have dinner with me Saturday night?” Jesus, I don’t believe that just came out of my mouth. She held her breath.
Elliott didn’t expect the invitation, and she suspected that Lauren hadn’t planned to issue it. She was accustomed to women and even some clueless men making the first pass at her, but this time she wasn’t certain that the invitation was a pass.
Not knowing what had gotten into her, Lauren was completely embarrassed and tried desperately to think of a way to get out of this. She had never been so unprepared for what came out of her mouth. “Um…I…”
Elliott quickly said, “I’d love to.”
Now what in the hell do I say? Think! Think! Lauren was stunned at her reaction to this woman, and shook her head in an attempt to jog her brain into action. Her mind was completely blank as she struggled to come up with the name of any restaurant in town. Her savior came in the form of an invitation to a luncheon meeting sitting prominently in her in-box.
“Have you been to the new restaurant at the Borgotta called Madison’s?” She referred to the newly remodeled upscale shopping plaza on the boardwalk.
“No, I haven’t. I hear it’s wonderful.” Elliott sat back in her chair and put her feet on her desk.
A vivid image of Elliott sitting across from her at a small, intimate table invaded Lauren’s thoughts. She saw the candlelight flickering in the dark eyes that held mystery and adventure. Long fingers held a glass of Dom Perignon that was slowly moving toward lips that Lauren could actually feel caressing her breasts.
“Lauren?”
Snapped out of her salacious thoughts, Lauren said, “Yes, I’m here, sorry. I need your address.” She could not stop thinking about Elliott’s lips and had to ask her to repeat the address twice. “Six thirty? That should give us enough time to get there.”
“Make it six and we can have a cocktail first if you’d like.” Elliott was hoping they could have a few minutes together before joining the throngs of other dinner patrons. Maybe we won’t even make it to dinner.
“All right.” Wanting to prolong the conversation, but at a loss for how, Lauren agreed, “Okay then, I’ll see you at six.”
“I’ll be ready,” Elliott said with intentional double meaning. Based on the long silence at the other end, it seemed obvious that Lauren had picked up on the innuendo.
“Right, see you then,” Lauren replied weakly and hung up the phone before Elliott could tease her any further. Sitting back in her chair, she gazed into thin air, waiting for her heart to slow down. God, what is it about that woman? I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.
Chapter Four
Elliott leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples. After four days of back-to-back meetings she was tired and cranky, and her head hurt. She looked at the notes in front of her from this morning’s meeting, noticing abstract doodles scattered throughout the pages. Frowning, she realized the scribbles reflected how often her mind had wandered to Lauren over the past few days. She had dated many women, and slept with most of them, but none had intruded on her thoughts as this one had.
She recalled Lauren in the black designer dress and was struck again by the way she’d stood out from the rest of the women at the benefit, not by sheer beauty but with her presence. Lauren radiated an energy that made everyone else in the room seem flat and uninteresting. Elliott hadn’t mistaken the interest in those eyes, even from across the room, but at the time she’d been too angry about Rebecca to act on it.
She put her feet on the desk and glanced at the clock. She had thirty minutes before her next meeting, and this was as good a time as any to think about exactly what else she had glimpsed in Lauren’s eyes before she dropped her gaze. Was it just curiosity? Was Lauren straight, or maybe a hobby bisexual? Elliott pondered the different scenarios while she nibbled on the salad Teresa had left on the corner of her desk. Something else nagged at the back of her mind and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She was rarely wrong in her judgment when it came to women, or business, but the situation with Rebecca suggested a nick in her assessment ability. Very little shook her confidence, but the possibility that she was losing her judgment did just that.
She’d spoken at length to Ryan a few hours earlier, attempting to determine their strategy if Rebecca followed through on her threats. She’d ended the call disgusted and just a little bit afraid. They could handle Rebecca, but not without some ugliness. Elliott didn’t like being held to ransom, and the fact that she’d brought this upon herself made the problem even more intolerable. She rubbed the kinks out of her neck and flipped the calendar, smiling when she saw the notation for dinner with Lauren the next evening. She had almost expected Lauren to call and make some plausible excuse to break the date. But instead she’d confirmed, adding to Elliott’s general distraction level.
The thought of spending an evening with a beautiful woman always filled her with anticipation, but this time the familiar prickle of her senses seemed more intense. This was not just dinner with another beautiful woman; she was going to spend the evening with a woman who tantalized her as few did. If for no other reason than to find out if she was imagining the rapport she’d felt with Lauren Collier, she needed to see her again.
Needed. Elliott shifted some papers around her desk. The thought of needing anything made her uneasy. To need was to be vulnerable, and she could not remember the last time she’d felt that way about a woman. Her physical “needs” were something else. But now her desires had complicated her life intolerably, exposing her and an innocent third party to Rebecca’s ruthless game-playing. Elliott supposed she should be thankful that her emotions had never been involved; her pride was the only thing at stake, personally. In the future she would be more cautious and that meant whatever happened on Saturday night with Lauren, she was not going to make any hasty decisions she might later regret.
*
Jesus, Lauren, just pick something. Lauren was in her closet examining the clothes that remained hanging neatly on the rod. She glanced at the pile of garments she’d already tried on and discarded on her bed as not being right. She was nervous and wanted to look her best. She didn’t quite know how to classify this evening with Elliott. It wasn’t really a date, but yet it certainly felt like one.
The butterflies jostling for space in her stomach were a clear indication that she was looking forward to this dinner engagement with more anticipation than she ever experienced with other companions. She reached for a hanger and finally admitted to herself that she found Elliott more than just attractive and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that fact. Lauren was highly educated, well traveled, and far from naïve in the ways of the world, but she was way out of her league with this one.
Frowning at the empty hangers, she couldn’t remember the last time she had been this nervous. She traveled in high circles, and thanks to her upbringing she was not impressed by the accompanying pomp and circumstance, or by the people. Her father loved his job as a mailman and had taught her the importance of commitment to family, job, and country. Her mother was a teacher, and throughout her childhood Lauren had been exposed to literature and different cultures. She still retained the love of learning and acceptance of difference she had grown up with.
Money was tight in the Collier household, and Lauren had worked hard to earn enough to attend the local university, where she graduated summa cum laude and was granted entry to the Harvard School of Law. While at Harvard, Lauren encountered, almost for the first time in her life, people who believed that their bloodline or bank balance made them superior to everyone else. Out of necessity, she had learned how to adapt to her surroundings, and she took pride in the fact that she never compromised her values or integrity to do so. Harvard had prepared her we
ll for what was to come in her working life.
These days, she was surrounded by successful men and women and also by those who would resort to anything to be a member of the club. Lauren was aware that she had foes, colleagues who resented her senior position. Typically they underestimated her strength and savvy, and if Lauren ever had to act to protect her interests, her targets never knew what hit them until it was all over. Through hard work and dedication, she had gained the reputation of being brilliant in law and extremely politically astute. Most people knew better than to make an enemy of her, even those whose advances she rebuffed.
Over the course of her career she had encountered men used to getting their way, who thought they were doing her some kind of favor by hitting on her. Like many successful women she’d spoken with on this subject, she seemed to attract men who were interested either in being dominated or in conquering her. She dated when she found time and had managed to keep two semiserious relationships going for several years. But when each man proposed marriage, she found herself surprisingly ambivalent. Four years had passed since she broke off with her last would-be husband, and she had halfheartedly dated a handful of other men over that time, but no one who meant anything. She had started to wonder if she would ever meet one who would ignite her soul.
In recent years women had sometimes expressed an interest in her as well—it was not as if she didn’t know any lesbians—but she had never dated a woman seriously. Lauren took a deep breath and stopped frantically searching her closet. It was just dinner. She’d been in more intimate settings with women. What was the big deal here?
Hoping the sound of her own voice would calm her frazzled nerves, she said, “I wasn’t this nervous on my first date.”
Lauren smiled at the thought of Claire Bailey, the first woman whose invitation she’d accepted. Several dates later Claire was also the first woman she’d kissed, but they had not gone much further. Lauren had dated a few other women after Claire, but she hadn’t hooked up with anyone. She realized that in many respects the women she dated were very much alike. Successful, confident, and sophisticated. But boring.
Elliott was different, very different. She’s the first woman that makes my skin crawl. In a good way. A very good way. Her body confirmed the description and she shook her hands as if this would expel the tingling sensations in her fingertips. Elliott could have any woman she wanted. Could she want me? Lauren doubted it. She was nothing like the women Alan said Elliott typically went for.
“If I’d just shut up and admit to myself that I want more than dinner I probably wouldn’t be this nervous.” Her voice trailed off as the image of what she did want filled her mind. Nervous, hell. She was scared to death.
She finally settled on dark green silk pants and a cream sleeveless shell with a contrasting green jacket. The color worked well with her red hair and the soft tan that seemed to be a genetic aberration. Her mother had the same unusual coloring. She leaned toward the mirror attached to her dresser, inserted her earrings, and studied her face critically. Not bad. She had taken extra care applying her makeup, which was a challenge with her hands shaking in anticipation. The resulting effect simply highlighted her features with a clean natural look that she could barely detect. Pleased with the results, she returned the discarded clothes to her closet, smoothed the wrinkles out of the down comforter that covered the king-size bed, and fluffed the pillows.
She intended to turn away but was arrested by a mental flash of Elliott lying naked on the large bed. A shaft of white-hot heat shot from her stomach and settled between her legs. Stepping back, she knew with a sudden shock that Elliott was the first woman she had ever been able to imagine in her bed. She quickly picked up her purse and keys and left the room, her heart pounding erratically.
I guess this means I could be a lesbian. Shit, I hope I know what to do.
*
Twelve miles away in her McComb Drive home, Elliott was seated in an overstuffed leather chair slowly sipping Chivas from a heavy crystal glass. Her body was still, but her mind raced in direct competition. She could not remember looking forward to an evening with a woman as much as she was tonight. Lauren Collier was certainly attractive and the spark of desire instantaneous, but there was something about her that heightened Elliott’s anticipation. She seemed very different from the women Elliott usually dated.
Elliott never had a shortage of attractive women willing to share her bed. She believed that if two women were attracted to each other and both wanted the same thing, then there was no reason why they should not spend the night together—or in some cases the afternoon. It was just sex, something for two consenting adults to enjoy. As a result she’d had many sexual partners, and most of her liaisons lasted days or weeks, seldom any longer. Casual affairs fulfilled her sexual needs and suited her lifestyle, especially since she had been totally consumed with managing the day-to-day rebuilding of Foster McKenzie ever since she took over the company. She didn’t have any interest in establishing a relationship.
Elliott didn’t fool herself thinking that her lovers were unaware of her identity when they came on to her, or when she approached them. They ran in the same circles, and if names were not specifically known, at least faces were. However, she suspected that Lauren hadn’t realized who she was when they first met, and certainly didn’t care who she was when she raked her over the coals for her awful behavior. Tonight’s dinner invitation had surprised Elliott completely, and, for her, surprises were few and far between.
Even through the phone lines, she’d suspected that Lauren had acted impulsively, which was not a common thing for an attorney to do. Elliott had enough experience with members of the legal profession to know that they thought through everything and usually knew exactly what the answer would be to just about any question they planned to ask. She smiled at the challenge of keeping this woman off her stride.
When the bell announced her guest a few minutes later, she rose quickly and crossed the room with more haste than usual. She did not generally have a woman come to her house but rather preferred to pick them up or meet somewhere. An easier escape if she needed one, she had always told her friends, and several times it became a reality. This was another sign that Lauren was not a cookie-cutter girl.
Elliott’s shoes clipped on the marble tile floor in the foyer and her hand shook when she reached for the doorknob. She tightened her grip at the sight of Lauren on her doorstep. She’s beautiful. Elliott took in the perfect cut of the green suit and just the hint of cleavage showing at the top of the shell. Her makeup accentuated her cheekbones and highlighted her tentative blue eyes.
Lauren’s throat tightened and her breathing became shallow when she realized that she was actually standing in front of this striking woman once again. What in the hell am I doing here?
“Hi.” Elliott’s voice almost betrayed the racing of her blood as it coursed through her body.
“Hi,” Lauren greeted her shyly, stunned by her reaction at seeing Elliott for a second time. She took in the familiar cut of a Hugo Boss design in the charcoal dress trousers and darker shade silk blouse Elliott had chosen to wear. Very hot.
“I’m sorry. Please come in.” Elliott opened the door wider and stepped to the side to let Lauren enter. Mmm, you smell delicious. “Any trouble finding the place?”
“No, not at all.” Lauren almost laughed, recalling her reactions as she’d approached Elliott’s rambling house moments before. She’d parked in the center of a long circular drive and had to take several deep breaths in an attempt to rein in her nervousness and racing pulse. Then she slowly walked up the cobblestone path flanked on either side by bright, colorful flowers and an immaculately manicured lawn. The smell of salt was in the air as a soft breeze from the ocean tousled her hair. The walk would normally have been a pleasure, but the whole time she had been rehearsing how she would greet Elliott. For crying out loud, it’s only dinner. Yeah, right.
Elliott motioned her through a spacious hallway to a living room
decorated in shades of brown and tan with accent colors in the upholstery on the chairs and throw pillows on the couch. A Georgia O’Keeffe print hung above the fireplace and another on the wall to her left. The room had a warm, comfortable feeling to it.
“You have a beautiful home,” Lauren said as she moved to sit in one of the high-back chairs across from the couch.
“Thank you. I’m not here often but when I am I like to be comfortable,” Elliott replied almost guiltily. She wasn’t home much, and at times it seemed to be almost a waste of good furnishings. “What would you like to drink?” She moved toward the wet bar on the other side of the room.
“Scotch if you have it.” Lauren was typically not a heavy drinker, but she felt she needed additional fortification this evening.
“Certainly. How was your week in the world of corporate law?” Elliott cringed at the stupid question but, surprisingly, she was unable to think of anything else to ask. Normally she had no trouble with small talk, which she generally peppered with sexual innuendo.
“Probably about the same as yours.” Lauren accepted the glass with thanks. “Meetings, phone calls, tedious flights out of town, and more meetings. And let’s not forget about the ever-present e-mails.” She chuckled. “I think they multiply the longer they’re in my in-box.”
The liquor was warm in her hand but was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through her body as Elliott laughed at her apt description. She held the glass tightly and took a drink, blinking back the tears brought on by the strong beverage.
“I think the same about the pink message slips Teresa gives me. I’m not a geneticist, but I swear they reproduce like bunnies on the corner of her desk.” Elliott wished she could relax.
