No, the whole lust potion thing had to stay top secret if he hoped to avoid becoming the laughingstock of the news office.
“So you seemed a little distracted or something at lunch today. Anything going on that I should know about?”
“Are you that hard up for gossip that you’re dredging up dirt on my personal life?”
Zoe was the Times’s gossip columnist, and therefore a notoriously bad person to spill, say, the details of one’s short-term dalliances with local celebrities.
“Hardly. I just worry about you. You don’t seem to be your usual jovial self is all.”
“Did Kathryn put you up to this?”
“No—well, maybe a little. She knows I’m the pro at digging up dirt, and she noticed your strange mood, too. We were just talking about how distant you’d seemed over lunch.”
“I’m not sure what to say. I guess maybe I could have been a little distracted thinking about the story I’ve been working on, but that’s all,” Ethan said as he unlocked his car and got in.
He put his key in the ignition, started the engine, and put the car in Neutral.
“Let’s be honest here. We’re pretty sure you’re not a born-again virgin, but lately, you’ve made no mention of your social life. You used to tell us all about your exploits.”
“Um, no, actually I never told you more than the most public details. Besides, what do you care if I’ve decided to stop whoring around?”
Ethan hadn’t even realized it before Zoe’s comment, but she was onto something. Lately he really had let his social life die down, and he’d been throwing himself into his work more and more. He had no idea why, except maybe it was the one area of his life that he was sure had any meaning.
“I’m nosy, and we’re worried about you. Any unattached thirty-year-old male is subject to speculation in these harsh dating times.”
“I see,” he said, but he didn’t. “Were you hoping to remedy my problem? Perhaps make some more dreadful matchmaking efforts on my behalf?”
“Liza Wittaker was not dreadful, and neither was—”
“Oh, you know what I mean. I know how you and Kathryn are, always thinking you have the perfect friend for me to hook up with.”
“We just love you, Ethan. Not that either of us are even remotely attracted to you—”
“Of course not,” he said wryly.
Zoe laughed. “Because we know what a pain in the ass it would be to always have to fend off all the other women who are attracted to you.”
“I like that story much better. Let’s go with that one.”
“It’s true. So, let’s hear the details. What’s up with your vacant social calendar?”
“It’s just a little dry spell, but I like how you buttered me up with flattery before zeroing back in on your information-gathering mission.”
“Please don’t tell me you’ve slept with and pissed off every available female in San Diego.”
“It’s true. I’ll be moving on to Orange County next. The commute will be hell, but I hear the girls there are easier.”
Zoe’s snort of laughter drowned out the sound of Ethan’s car stereo for a moment. “Are you ever serious?”
“I try to avoid it. Morose is a bad look for me. I don’t want to get frown lines, and I can’t afford bimonthly Botox.”
“Oh God, speaking of Botox, you’ll never guess who’s getting it….”
Ethan didn’t hear anything else Zoe said, because Nicole suddenly exited the building. She walked to her car, her lush ass a sight for sore eyes in a pair of navy blue pants.
He could almost feel the dense fog settling on his brain again, and he wondered for a moment if it would be safe to drive in such a state. But there was little time to consider such matters, because he knew without thinking about it that he would follow her.
“Listen, Zoe? I’ve gotta go. We’ll chat later, okay?”
Zoe said something about him not getting away with excuses about dry spells, but he hung up the phone before she could get too far on the rant.
Why the hell did he want to follow Nicole so badly, anyway? He didn’t go chasing after women for no apparent reason. But maybe if he confronted her once and for all, and aired out the issues about that night two years ago, they’d have a chance of moving forward with a clean slate. Perhaps a chance to explore the very real attraction he knew there was between them.
It was as if some magnetic force was keeping him within orbit of her. As if he faced a vicious hurtling into outer space if he dared let her out of his sight.
She was a cop though—detective no less—and it wasn’t as if he could hope to tail her without being noticed. To minimize the risk of being spotted, he kept a safe distance behind her car, and when he saw that she was headed in the direction of her apartment, he followed without worry about staying close. He knew where she lived, and even if she didn’t go straight there, she’d end up there eventually.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled into an empty spot across the street from her apartment. Her car was already parked, and she was nowhere in sight—presumably already in her apartment.
So now what? He couldn’t exactly pound on her door and demand another kiss. But he couldn’t drive away either. All he knew was that he had to stay close to her, had to find another opportunity to talk to her, and he hoped, pick up where they’d left off.
His stomach growled, but he felt no hunger. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, and it was dinnertime now. Normally he’d be ravenous. Instead, his entire being was focused on Nicole as if she was his only hope for nourishment.
He thought again of the lust potion—wondered what, exactly, it might have done to him. Was he going to grow hairy palms and weird skin patches? Was he going to starve to death following Nicole around at a safe distance for the next week? Or would she put him out of his misery and shoot him before then?
Safe distance, hell. Without really deciding to do it, Ethan suddenly knew that he would get out of the car and go take a peek in Nicole’s window.
Just a quick peek.
How that would give him a chance to talk to her, he couldn’t say. Shouldn’t he have been walking up to her door and knocking on it? No, he needed a chance to compose his thoughts first before he aired all the stuff that always went unspoken between them.
He was possessed with the idea of seeing her, knowing what she was doing at this very moment. He could barely remember getting out of the car, crossing the street, or rounding the building.
If he recalled correctly from having tracked her down to apologize after their disastrous night together, she lived in the left corner apartment. As he stared up at her balcony, he realized the second-floor location might be a problem, but the apartment below hers had a conveniently placed picnic table on the patio, and surely the resident wouldn’t mind if he used it to get a foot up.
He tugged the table out a bit, then climbed onto it, got a hold onto the wrought-iron rails of the balcony, and tested his weight. He tried to stay fit, but he’d never before needed to access a second-story balcony without the aid of stairs, and it was only occurring to him as he swung a leg up onto the edge of the balcony that he was demonstrating a surprising amount of strength for a guy who spent most of his day tapping away at a computer. He pulled himself all the way up without breaking a sweat and found himself on Nicole’s rather desolate-looking balcony. A lone beach chair sat neglected, a layer of dust muting its blue and purple stripes.
The blinds for the sliding glass doors to the balcony were partly open, and Ethan could see into Nicole’s living room.
Lamplight illuminated the room, but there was no one in sight. Nicole’s purse and a stack of mail lay on the small dining room table that sat between the living room and the galley kitchen.
So now what? Press his nose to the window and wait? Had he lost his freaking mind?
Quite possibly.
Some small nagging voice in his head said this was absurd—climbing onto balconies and lurking at a woman’s wind
ow. A woman cop, no less, who would not hesitate to shoot him if she thought he harbored ill intent.
But some baser force propelled him forward. Possessed him with the desire to see Nicole, to be close to her, to have her naked body against his—
Ethan threw himself against the edge of the balcony when Nicole appeared in the hallway wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a bra. He flattened himself, hoping the six inches of wall concealed him from her view.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his heart thudding maniacally in his ears.
She’d know for sure that he was an irredeemable freak if she found him loitering out here. Not exactly the image that makes a woman want to hop into bed with a man.
When, after a few moments, there were no screams or gunshots, he eased his head forward until he could see into the living room again. Nicole stood with her back to the patio door—her glorious satin back—as she read through her mail. His gaze dropped immediately to her ass, bared by a black lace thong instead of the granny girdle he’d encountered that night. Round, full and firm, it was the kind of ass a man dreamed of grabbing onto and holding tight, the kind of ass rappers wrote songs about.
His cock stood up in his pants, and he looked down stupidly at himself. Now he really was officially a pervert, standing on a woman’s balcony with a hard-on.
But then he noticed for the first time that he’d ripped the knee of his pants somehow. Must have happened while climbing onto the balcony. His knee had been cut, too, and was bleeding, but he hadn’t even felt it. Even now, upon seeing the wound, he barely felt the sting of it.
This whole day was getting weirder by the minute, with no end to the weirdness in sight. He couldn’t even recognize his normal, responsible, non-crazed self right now.
Nicole moved, catching his attention again, and he watched in utter appreciation of her body and the way she moved as she walked across the room toward the kitchen. She picked up a phone, dialed a number, and paced back and forth as she waited on the line. Ethan strained to hear her as she spoke…something about going out, dinner, a nightclub called La Casa, a girl named Serena’s inability to resist some guy named Rick…
He lost the sound of her voice as she left the room and went down the hallway.
Ethan leaned back against the wall again and closed his eyes, wondering not for the first time what the hell he was doing and what crazy force had taken him in a matter of hours from being a sane and rational reporter to being a peeping tom with a boner trespassing on a balcony.
A peeping tom with degrees from both Oxford and Stanford. A well-educated pervert, so to speak. He could amuse himself by reciting Proust and Milton as he whiled away his years in prison. The parole board probably wouldn’t look kindly on a man who’d been sexually harassing a police officer when he was arrested.
And being English wouldn’t exactly make him the most intimidating inmate on the cell block. Some big bastard named Bubba would probably think his accent sounded pretty and decide to make him his bitch, and then Ethan would be screwed in a whole new way. Quite literally.
Did he really want Nicole to the point of lunacy simply because he couldn’t have her? Was that what this was all about? Or was there something more…? Maybe. Sure she interested him in profound ways, but he’d never pursued a woman who’d made it clear she didn’t want to be pursued. Not only was he so not one of those can’t-take-no-for-an-answer guys, but he’d always had enough women pursue him that he didn’t need to chase one who didn’t want him.
He’d always prided himself on being a great lover. Not an adequate one, not a prolific one. A great one. Great lovers didn’t leave their women unsatisfied. Great lovers made up for unfortunate incidents. That had to be the reason he couldn’t let Nicole go.
He probably should have dismissed all that wounded pride garbage, but being here on Nicole’s balcony had little to do with that. Whatever had driven him here was beyond his comprehension and nearly beyond his control.
It was some kind of lust gone wild, he feared.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing up there?” Ethan heard a woman’s voice call out from below.
His heart nearly sprang out of his mouth as he turned toward the sound and spotted a tiny African-American woman wearing a leopard-print satin robe. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her glare nearly shot fire.
“I said, what the hell are you doing up there? Don’t you know a cop lives there? She’ll shoot your ass if she catches you—”
Ethan plastered on his most innocent expression and held a finger up to his lips to silence the woman.
“Don’t you go shushing me, you mother—”
“Please,” he tried to say just loud enough for the woman to hear, “I’m trying to surprise my girlfriend. It’s her birthday, and…she’s inside looking for clues I planted for her to find me out here.”
“Uh-huh. If you were her boyfriend planting clues in her apartment, why haven’t I seen you here before, and why’d you have to use my table to get up there? Don’t you have a key?”
“Please, ma’am. Don’t spoil the surprise. I’ll explain later, okay?”
He was going to prison. Straight to San Quentin with the guy named Bubba and the lifelong Proust recitations.
“I’m about to march my ass upstairs and knock on your so-called girlfriend’s door to let her know she’s got some crazy bastard on her balcony—and you better stay the hell off my picnic table, you hear?”
She said all that in about five seconds without taking a breath.
Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but the woman was gone in a flash. He looked left and right, calculating his best escape route. A glance at Nicole’s living room, which was still free of her, gave him some hope that he wouldn’t be discovered.
He’d just determined that his best bet for escaping without a broken limb was to risk the neighbor’s wrath and jump down onto the picnic table again when she reappeared armed with a cordless phone and a baseball bat.
“Ma’am, just let me explain,” he said.
“Yeah, you explain to that cop whose balcony you’re trespassing on,” she said. “I’m calling her right now.”
It was now or never. While she was distracted by the phone call, he had to pray her aim with the bat would be a little off.
Ethan swung himself over the balcony railing, lowered himself, and right before he jumped down, he caught sight of Nicole reentering the living room, the phone still pressed to her ear.
“Damn busy signal,” the woman said down below.
The sight of Nicole’s large, full breasts encased in black lace nearly halted him in his escape, and he felt that sense of euphoria descending on him once more. His cock stirred in his pants again—for God’s sake, did it have no shame?—and his whole body seemed to hone in on Nicole and her glorious, perfect mounds of flesh.
“You bastard!” the neighbor was saying now. “You better be glad your so-called girlfriend doesn’t have call waiting.”
He’d hesitated for a moment too long, and now he’d probably have his head bashed in with a Louisville Slugger, just for an extra glimpse of some very nice breasts.
The moment his feet touched the picnic table, he felt the hard thud of the baseball bat against his thigh. He expelled a curse. The pain took a while to register, as he scrambled off the table and away from the crazed woman. But she followed and swung again, this time making contact with his shoulder.
And now the dull ache in his leg was nothing compared to the bone-deep pain in his shoulder. Still, it felt duller than a high-velocity pounding with a baseball bat should have…as if his body had some newfound tolerance for pain.
“You better get your sorry white ass back here!”
Ethan kept running, figuring it wouldn’t do any good to defend his motives now, not when he was unarmed. He rounded the building with the woman still chasing him, then had to fear for the life of his car when he realized she’d probably catch up before he managed to pull away.
&n
bsp; He ran for all he was worth, scrambled into his BMW, locked the doors, started the engine and was just pulling away when he heard the bash of the bat against the rear of his car.
“Damn it!” he cursed at the steering wheel, burning rubber as he left the scene.
Knowing his luck, she was memorizing his license plate number right now.
Thank God Nicole didn’t know what kind of car he drove. And thank God she didn’t have call waiting. And thank God the neighbor hadn’t thought to call 911 instead of the cop living upstairs from her. But what if the neighbor did memorize his plate number, and she did give it to the police? He glanced into his rearview mirror and saw her looking at something on the bottom of her shoe, rather than studying his plates, and heaved a small sigh of relief. It appeared he’d dodged that one little swing of the bat.
But, he realized, as he rounded the corner toward the freeway, what bothered him most wasn’t his beating, or the car’s beating. What really had him freaking out was that he was driving farther and farther away from Nicole.
4
NICOLE COULDN’T STOP thinking about sex. She’d driven home from work all distracted, her insides doing that crazy buzzing thing the entire way.
She’d gotten herself ready for girls’ night out in a state of half arousal, suffered through dinner with her friends the same way, and now that they were at their favorite Friday night hangout, La Casa, she wasn’t in much better shape.
She was not a woman who did one-night stands—except for that one not-so-notable exception. She didn’t even do third or fourth date sex. She never slept with a guy until their relationship was guaranteed exclusive and straight-up protected by condoms, birth control pills and preferably a clearance from the doctor that the guy was clean. By her friends’ standards, she was a good girl, a prude, a total drag when it came to sex.
But that was only because she knew what she was capable of. Within her lurked a woman who could too easily get out of control. She was determined to keep that part of herself in check or wear out her vibrator trying.
Thanks to her mother, her aunts and her sisters, she’d seen firsthand what happened to women who were too passionate and too spontaneous. They all loved men too much—always the wrong men—and they all had the thwarted dreams to prove it.
A Whisper Of Wanting Page 3
