Friendly Persuasion

by Dawn Atkins

  Once she was naked before him, he paused, awe in his expression. “You’re beautiful,” he said, sounding very Ross. He caught himself and resumed in his accent, “You are like art, Señorita Katherine. Perfección.” He ran his hands along the curves of her hips.

  She felt so wonderful, so aroused, she didn’t have her usual urge to slip under the covers and keep her partner too busy to look at her very closely. Instead, she reveled in her nakedness and wanted to enjoy his.

  “Now you,” she said, and unhooked his buckle and zipper, not surprised to find no underwear behind them. Miguel, like Ross seemed to be a man who would forgo any unnecessary barrier to sensation.

  Ross stopped her from pushing his pants to the floor so he could take something out of his pocket—a short strip of condoms. Bless him for his thoughtfulness.

  “I’m on the Pill,” she said. “And healthy.”

  “I’m good,” he said, returning the condoms to his pocket before he let his pants fall.

  “I’m sure you are,” she said, her gaze drawn down his body to his erection. She glanced up at his face.

  “For you,” he said. “I am this way for you.”

  She grasped him gently.

  He groaned, gripping her upper arm, his fingers digging in. “You make me crazy,” he said, his voice hoarse with need.

  “You mean loco,” she murmured, sliding her hand along the solid length of him, loving the way he quaked at her touch. “And that’s what I want—to make you crazy in both your languages.” That was a very sexy thing to say, she realized, liking Katherine a lot.

  Then Ross released her arms and slid his palms slowly down her arms and across her hips, his touch so light he barely made contact with her skin. He skimmed the surface of her pubic hair, setting the nerve endings there on fire. He was teasing her, and she couldn’t stand it.

  “Touch me, please,” she said, pushing herself toward him. His fingers slid in and oh, so lightly brushed her clitoris. Liquid gushed from her and she feared she’d climax before she got to feel him inside her.

  As if he’d read her mind, he lifted her off her feet and set her gently on the table beside the mirror, the cool marble a delicious shock to her thighs, and teased her with the tip of his penis.

  She automatically wrapped her legs around his waist as if this were the most natural position in the world instead of something completely new to her. She tried to pull him into her.

  “Slowly, sweetheart. Let’s make this last.” He turned so they could see themselves in the mirror. “Look at us,” he whispered.

  She looked. The sight was erotic and illicit—as if they were voyeurs to their own ecstasy. As she watched, Ross lowered his mouth to suck her left nipple. The sight set her on fire and the sweet tightness made her gasp. She threw back her head, afraid she would explode or scream or pass out.

  “Is this good?” he asked her. “Does this feel good?”

  “Oh…it…oh…it’s so…” She could only gasp single syllables.

  “Good,” he said, triumph in his voice. He pushed into her, millimeter by exquisite millimeter.

  “Please, more,” she moaned, not caring what she said as long as she got more of him.

  He moved faster, his body trembling with urgency as he thrust deeper and harder.

  “Oh, oh, oh,” she gasped. Now and then she caught sight of them in the mirror—her knees spread, breasts swollen and tight-tipped, his buttocks rippling as he thrust into her—powerful, yet needy, too.

  Then his speed quickened even more. He moaned, then slammed into her and exploded, the spasm bringing on her own climax. She cried out, writhing and twisting while he pumped into her for long, glorious seconds. When it was over, she sagged against him, tucking her face into his neck. “That was amazing,” she breathed.

  “Yeah,” he said, then, almost as an afterthought, “señorita.”

  She smiled into his neck.

  He slid out of her body, then hugged her in a familiar way. Uh-oh. She became abruptly aware that she’d just had sex with her friend Ross. She slid to the floor, embarrassed. “I’d better go,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

  She grabbed the puddle of silk and lace—her dress and teddy—from the floor and rushed into the bathroom to dress. When she came out, Ross was sitting up in the bed, beautiful and tan against the white sheets.

  “Why don’t you stay?” he said. “We have the room all night.” His expression promised even more sensual delights.

  But that would spoil the illusion. Like Cinderella before the clock sounded midnight, she had to get away before reality sank in. She slipped on her shoes and shook her head. “That would be too much. You gave me exactly what I needed.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “You were perfect—a perfect stranger.”

  He saluted her. “I aim to please.” But that was too Ross, so he added, “Adiós, cara mía.”

  “Adiós, Miguel, mi amor,” she said with a grin.

  All the way home, she felt invigorated. She couldn’t believe that was her with her legs around Ross’s hips, crying out wildly for more. Just like one of Ross’s women. She’d never had sex like that in her life—reveling in her body, watching herself move and moan. And sitting on a table? Omigod. She would have thought it would be too awkward. But nooo. With Ross it was graceful and perfect.

  She tested herself. Did she feel she was falling in love? Not at all. She felt sensual and confident and relaxed and wonderful. It had been just the way Tina described it—two people sharing physical pleasure. It didn’t have to be love.

  Except, what would happen when she saw Ross at S&S for their noon game of spades? It could be really, really weird. Or really, really funny. Or really, really hot. She had no idea which.

  She knew one thing—she’d split the hotel bill with him. She’d checked the rate on the way out. Three hundred dollars was too much for Ross to spend on a favor to a friend. Luckily, she knew that he was an extravagant guy without a thrifty impulse in his soul. Otherwise, she might have to wonder if there was more to this mystery date than was good for either of them.

  4

  “ABSO-FRIGGIN’-LUTELY amazing,” Tina said after Kara had described the events at the Hyatt the night before. They were in the coffee room where Kara was drinking a double-bagger of Earl Grey because she could barely keep her eyes open. She’d lain awake all night reliving her Latin lover adventure.

  “It was amazing,” Kara said wistfully. “Only I don’t know what to say to him now. He saw me…you know…like that.”

  “Like what? With your head thrown back, eyes rolling, sweating and moaning like a beast? Like that?”

  “No, better than that. I was really, really sexy.” The memory made her blush. “And today I’m going to have to ask the guy whose hips I wrapped my legs around last night to quit belching the lyrics of songs over the office intercom.”

  Tina opened the refrigerator for what Kara knew to be her usual morning pilfering. “God, nothing in here but Sampson’s peanut-butter celery that he never eats.” She emerged with a piece of it.

  “Could I get some help here?” Kara said, calling her friend back to her problem.

  “Just act normal,” Tina answered, waving the stalk in the air. “You have a double life. Last night you were an exotic stranger and he was Don Juan. Today you’re back to being a repressed account exec and he’s an overgrown kid who collects comic books.”

  “I guess so. And last night did the trick. I can definitely see how sex without love works.”

  “Poof!” Tina said, pretending to tap Kara’s head with her celery wand. “You’re sexually liberated.”

  “It was nice of Ross to do that for me, don’t you think?”

  “He got something out of the deal, too,” Tina said, then gave Kara a speculative look. “You’re not making too much of this, are you? No urge to register at Macy’s or anything?”

  “Of course not. This was a one-time thing.” Except all she’d done for the past ten hours
was relive the event and long for more. “So, you say, just act like nothing happened?”

  “Exactly.”

  She sipped her tea, clutching the warm mug with her nervously cold palms. “Speaking of nothing happening, how did it go with Tom last night?”

  Tina blushed. Amazing. Tina never blushed. “It was bizarre. It started out like I planned—it’s two a.m. and I tell him my car won’t start and could he give me a ride home. He looks at me funny, but he says he’ll do it.” Tina tapped her lip with the jagged-ended celery stick.

  “Then what?”

  “So, I climb into his car, lean into him to free my seat belt, giving him plenty of thigh to ogle—and he ogled, all right. Good, I think, we’re getting somewhere. I’ll invite him in for thank-you coffee and we’ll see if he’s as attentive in bed as he is at the bar.

  “He hardly talks in the car, but I drag out of him that he’s close to his family, and he’s taking classes to be an engineer. His eyes are so blue…. Anyway, we get to my place and I ask him to come in and you won’t believe what he says to me.” Pause. Tina was such a drama queen.

  “What?”

  She took a bite of celery and chewed slowly. “He says, ‘You need your sleep.’”

  “What?”

  “Then he says, ‘Give me your distributor cap and I’ll put it back on before you pick up the car.’ Can you believe it? He was on to me the whole time. Then he offers me a ride to work this morning.”

  “Wow. What did you do?”

  “I gave him the cap, but I rode in with my neighbor.”

  “So, are you giving up?”

  “Are you kidding? I figure he likes to make the first move. Old-fashioned, but nice. He held the door for me and walked me up to my apartment, too. A gentleman.” She sighed, then tossed the stub of celery into the trash. “I’ll just play it his way. Let him come to me.”

  “Maybe he’s not your kind of guy, Tina.”

  “He’s hot. That makes him my kind of guy.”

  “What if he wants to get serious?”

  “No guy wants to get serious. Not if he has half a chance not to. That only happens in romance novels.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “Ditto,” she said, looking past Kara’s shoulder. “Miguel at twelve o’clock.”

  Kara whirled to find Ross leaning against the doorjamb taking a swig from a quart bottle of V8 juice.

  “Ross!” she said, too bright, too nervous.

  “Have fun last night, Kara?” he asked, his expression neutral. “Meet anybody?”

  “I, uh, I…actually, I did.” Her heart pounded in her ears at the sight and smell of him—she could still detect Miguel’s spicy scent. It seemed weird to talk about it in front of Tina, but she needed some acknowledgment that she hadn’t been alone in the miracle of it all.

  “That’s good.” Nothing flickered in Ross’s eyes. She almost despaired. Hadn’t it meant anything to him at all?

  “I hope it was all that you wanted.” Then he touched her shoulder—softly, but with an intimacy that turned her to liquid. It meant something to him, all right.

  “All I wanted. And more,” she said. But not too much? She wasn’t thinking about engagement rings or wedding cakes, right?

  Tina snorted and looked from one to the other. Then she pointed at Kara. “You be careful. That’s all I’m going to say.” She toddled off.

  “Good advice,” Ross said softly. “Surprising, coming from Tina.”

  “I know. She’s getting downright maternal.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Sure. Yes.” Her mouth was so dry and he was standing so close.

  “I mean, you’re not smitten or anything?” He was trying to joke, but he looked at her very closely.

  “Smitten? Ha,” she joked back. “You’re good, but not that good.”

  “I’m not known for my modesty.”

  “Evidently not. And I remember both my name and where my underwear is.” Electricity shot through her, as the image of Miguel pushing her teddy to the floor came to her. “Talking about it feels weird,” she said.

  “Yeah.” Ross ran his fingers through his hair. “Hard not to, though. I can’t stop thinking about it.” His eyes flared again.

  “I can’t believe that was me doing that,” she whispered, blushing madly.

  “Believe it. You were hot. But I wasn’t surprised. You don’t seem to know how sexy you are.”

  “Thanks.” His praise warmed her to her toes. “That was good for me, Ross. I learned a lot. Thanks.”

  “And you’re sure you don’t feel the urge to offer me a sock drawer?”

  “No way. You’re too much of a slob.”

  “Let’s not get insulting now. I liked it better when you were worshiping at my feet.”

  “Pul-eeze,” she said, shoving him playfully out of her way. “Back to work, Mr. Love Meister.”

  Relief filled Kara. She and Ross had had amazing sex and they were still the same joky, easy friends they’d been the day before. Later that day, feeling jaunty, she slipped a check under a straightedge on Ross’s drafting table to pay for half the hotel room.

  Except when she returned to her desk after a Dairy Arizona meeting, she found the check on her desk torn in half with a Post-it note that said, My pleasure…Miguel. Lust washed through her and her legs turned to boiled pasta.

  Ah, Miguel.

  At home that night, Kara felt terrible—alive with itching. She couldn’t read and TV was boring. She even tried the firefighter video, but it looked silly and flat, not warm and sensual. How could anyone settle for video sex when there was the real thing out there? She wanted more of Miguel.

  What if Miguel wanted more of Katherine?

  There was only one way to find out. An hour later, she stood in the doorway to the Hyatt bar, dressed as she had been last night, her heart in her throat, looking for a certain lonely South American playboy with an on-and-off accent. What was the worst that could happen? If Miguel showed up, perfect. If not, no one would ever know how foolish she’d been.

  Unfortunately, Miguel didn’t show. Probably for the best. How could a second time compete with the first? The major charm of last night had been the miraculous newness of it all. Ross must realize that. How uncharacteristically sensible of him.

  Finally, when the lounge singer, an ancient-looking guy wearing a tux and a toupee in equally bad taste, started singing “Strangers in the Night,” she almost laughed out loud. Strangers in the night, indeed. She slid off her stool and practically ran out of the bar.

  WHEN ROSS STEPPED into the Hyatt dressed like Miguel and feeling like an idiot, the last strains of that Frank Sinatra tune about strangers exchanging glances were fading from the air. He just wanted to see if Kara—make that Katherine—was having the same thoughts he was. If not, so be it. They’d had a nice night and that should be enough.

  He stayed for an entire set of the lounge singer until the guy started doo-be-doo-be-doing his way through “Strangers in the Night” for the second time. Ross hadn’t heard that song in years. His parents had the album and when his mom was depressed she would play it and get that wistful look on her face. She never said anything, but he could hear her thinking, If it weren’t for your father and you kids, I’d be exchanging glances with a stranger right now. He’d hated that.

  So much better to make fun of the singer in his powder-blue tuxedo and bad rug, especially since Ross’s stranger in the night had not shown her perky breasts in that slinky black dress.

  He should have known. Kara was smart. That night had been perfect, and how could he top perfection? He was good, but not that good.

  KARA GOT TO WORK early the next morning. She’d peeled off the skintight dress and kicked it into a corner—a move worthy of Ross—and slept off that stupid fantasy. If even reckless Ross knew better than to try again, something must be wrong with her. Maybe she was trying to fall in love with him.

  She’d nipped it in time, though. Her concentration was i
n sharp focus this morning. One hour into the day and she’d already coaxed the Dairy Arizona CEO into getting his board of directors to sign off on the ads. Her tenacity was legendary at S&S. If you want it done, give it to Kara. That was the book on her and she was proud of it. By the end of hour two she’d drafted the promotion plan, and then headed into the kitchen for her midmorning snack as a reward. She was definitely over the fantasy aftereffects.

  Today she’d gone with low-fat cottage cheese with pineapple and sliced cantaloupe instead of the usual yogurt and carrots. She was a lot better off living dangerously with her snacks than her sex life. She rounded the turn to the kitchen and found Ross sitting at the table, his feet up, reading the alternative newspaper, whistling to himself.

  The tune was familiar—“Strangers in the Night”—the same song the bad-haired, ruffle-shirted lounge singer had performed last night. What had put that in his head?

  She’d swear his hair seemed stiff, as if he’d put mousse in it, and she thought she picked up traces of Miguel’s spicy cologne. She’d proceed with caution, in case she was imagining things. “I didn’t know you were a Sinatra fan,” she said.

  Ross looked up in surprise and she could swear he blushed. “Oh, that. I went to a bar last night.”

  “With a lounge singer with a robin’s-egg tuxedo and a terrible toupee?”

  “You were there?” he asked, lifting a brow in a cool gesture, but his tone was eager.

  “Yeah,” she breathed, “hoping to see someone I just met.”

  He rose from the chair and came to her quickly. “Miguel was there,” he whispered. “Too late, it seems. Qué lástima.”

  Her knees gave way and she leaned against the refrigerator.

  “Do you want to do it again?” Ross said.

  “Do you think we should?”

  “It would be just sex, right? For fun?”

  “Absolutely. M-maybe there’s more you can, um, teach me.”

  “Yes, Grasshopper. You can learn the ways of the master.”

  “I didn’t know sex was a martial art.”

  “Why do you think those Chou Lin warriors are always so peaceful and smiley?”