“So did you have to play on the field-hockey team?”
“You bet. I was grounded for everything except field-hockey practice for three months. It was not a happy year—that was only the first of a long string of power struggles I didn’t stand a chance of winning.”
“Maybe that’s really why you don’t want to get married,” Johnny suggested. “Because your parents want you to.”
“Thank you so much, Dr. Freud. I think maybe I’m a little bit more in control of my own life now that I’m twenty-eight years old.”
“Ready for my next question?” Johnny was smoothly changing the subject. He was a very smart man.
“Isn’t it my turn yet?”
“Nope. If there was one single thing in your life that you could do differently, what would it be?”
Chelsea didn’t have to think about that for long. “I wouldn’t have had that affair with Benton Scott. Definitely not.”
“That wasn’t your fault—you were too young,” Johnny said. “He was the one who should have known better.”
“I wasn’t too young,” Chelsea countered.
“You think sixteen’s not too young?”
She hadn’t been sixteen, not the second time. Chelsea was silent for a moment, wondering how much to tell him. The truth? Why not? He was her husband, after all. Why not share her darkest, most dreadful secret with him?
She moistened her suddenly dry lips, wondering what he was going to say. “I wasn’t talking about the first time I had an affair with Bent,” she said. “I was talking about the second. After he was married.”
Johnny was noticeably quiet.
“It was about five years ago,” she went on, “and I was working for my master’s degree. I hadn’t seen Bent in years, and I ran into him downtown. He looked almost exactly the same. It was weird, as if he’d time-warped through the past seven years. He told me he and his family had just moved to a house out in one of the W suburbs—Weston or Wayland or Wellesley, I don’t remember which. But because they weren’t living in town anymore, he’d gotten a small apartment near the courthouse for the times when he had trials and he wanted to stay overnight … and you know exactly where this is leading, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Disappointed in me?”
“Yeah.”
Chelsea squeezed her eyes shut. “Do you hate me now?”
“Of course not. Hell, everyone makes mistakes.”
“It wasn’t as tawdry as I’ve made it sound,” she told him. “I didn’t go to his apartment with him right away—not for a few weeks, anyway. But he started calling me regularly, and we had lunch, and then dinner, and then …” She closed her eyes again, wondering what Johnny was really thinking. Sure, everyone made mistakes, but she’d knowingly slept with a married man. It had not been her finest moment.
“It was tawdry,” she admitted. “Unbearably tawdry. I only went there once, but once is enough, isn’t it? I guess I did it mostly to get back at Nicole—Bent’s wife. But she probably never knew, and I was the one who felt like crap afterward. Of course, it didn’t help matters that I was still in love with the bastard.” She took a deep breath. “So there it is. The one thing I’d do much differently if I could only do it over.”
“Maybe your mistake was in letting yourself fall in love with a man like Bent in the first place,” Johnny said quietly.
Chelsea snorted. “Yeah, like we can control who we fall in love with?” She sat up, letting the water out of the tub. “I’m turning into a prune. I’ve got to get out of here.” She stood up and stepped out of the tub.
“Are you still in love with him?”
His words stopped her. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I … haven’t been with that many men, if you want to know the truth. And I haven’t been with anybody who made me feel even close to the way Bent did.” Except Johnny. Those kisses Johnny had given her had been totally off the scale.
“That sounds like a challenge to me.” His voice was as soft as the towel she reached for to dry herself with.
“Well, it’s not. I don’t want to be someone’s challenge, or someone’s prize or someone’s bonus or—”
“How about someone’s partner?”
“There’s no such thing as a true partnership,” she told him as she dried herself off. “Someone always has more power. In everything from a business deal to a love affair. There’s always someone who wants more. And if you want something—or someone—too badly, you’re definitely in the weaker position.” Chelsea hung her towel up and reached for the moisturizing lotion on the counter next to the sinks. “That’s what happened with me and Bent—the first time around, I mean. I wanted to go out with this exciting, handsome, grown-up man—enough to get myself involved in a sexual relationship that I probably wasn’t ready for. And I ended up losing more than I bargained for—my trust and innocence as well as my virginity. I’ve been careful ever since then never to want anyone that much.”
She tucked the phone between her shoulder and her chin as she squeezed some of the fragrant lotion into her hand. “Of course, that’s not so hard—I just compare anyone I meet to Bent. He was a remarkably talented lover. And I don’t necessarily mean in the physical sense, although he was no slouch in that department either. But I’m talking about presentation.”
“Presentation?”
“Yeah, he was romantic. He would take me places, treat me like an adult, order me champagne or wine with dinner. He took me to fancy hotels, treated me as if I were special. And for someone who was so damned selfish, he spent a huge amount of time giving pleasure. Sometimes I wish …”
“What?” Johnny’s word was as soft as a breath.
She hesitated.
“Tell me what you wish.”
“Sometimes I wish I could have a physical relationship of that intensity now. At the time I didn’t fully appreciate it.”
“You can, you know.” His voice was just a whisper, just a caress. “We can.”
What was she doing, discussing the intimacies of her past sexual experiences with Johnny. Talk about playing with fire. “I should go. It’s getting late—we should both be in bed.”
Johnny didn’t say anything right away, and Chelsea felt her words seem to echo across the line: we should be in bed.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “We should definitely be in bed. Together. I think you probably know that I’ve been sitting here, listening to you take your bath, listening to you talk about your first lover, imagining the way you must look lying back in that tub—” He broke off, swearing softly. “I wasn’t going to say anything like this, but as long as I’ve started, I’ve got to tell you that I’ve been sitting here, wishing to God that I could walk in there, climb into that tub with you, and make you forget Benton Scott’s name. I want you so bad, Chelsea, I may not live through the night.”
His words sent a wave of desire pulsating through her, heat pooling sharply in her belly and between her legs. She gazed at herself in the mirror, at all that bare skin reflecting the flickering candlelight. Her hair was slicked back, her face clean of makeup, making her look like a stranger. A naked stranger. A stranger who didn’t need to be careful about wanting someone too much.
“I wish I could show you,” Johnny murmured. “I wish I could walk into your room and show you just how much I want you.”
Chelsea gazed at the stranger in the mirror, who was gazing back at her. Her breasts were peaked with desire, her nipples tautly erect, enticingly sensitized, so that even the slight breeze blowing in through the open window was enough to make her shiver.
She could remember how it felt—the excitement, the need, of wanting something she knew she shouldn’t have. She remembered the total release of letting that wanting consume her completely.
“I want you, too, John,” she whispered, watching the woman in the mirror rub lotion down her arms and across her breasts.
Johnny drew in a ragged breath at her words. “Damn, I want to touch you.”
>
“I want you to touch me too.” In the mirror, the stranger’s chest was rising and falling rapidly with every breath she took. And then she was sixteen again. Sixteen, and recklessly carefree. Now was all that mattered. Feeling good right now. She could barely believe the words that came out of her mouth. “John. We could unlock the door.” The door that adjoined their two rooms. They each could unbolt it from their own side, and …
His voice vibrated with his intensity. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
She didn’t hesitate. She only wanted. “Yes.”
He laughed, a short burst of amazement and disbelief. “Wow. You sound … convinced.”
“I am. Right now. But don’t make me think too hard about it.”
He took a deep breath. “I do want you to think hard about it. You made me promise—”
Chelsea didn’t want to think about legal complications. The naked stranger in the mirror wouldn’t give such things a second thought. Nor would her sixteen-year-old self. “I don’t care. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anybody.”
He was silent for a moment. “Are you serious?” When he spoke, his voice was thick with his own desire.
“Meet me at the door, okay?”
“More than Bent?” he asked, then quickly added, “Forget I asked that. I shouldn’t have asked you that.”
“Yes.” She answered him anyway. “More than Bent. Meet me at the door, John. Please?”
“Oh, God,” he breathed, then took a deep breath. “Chelsea, I promised you we wouldn’t do this.” He took another deep breath. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay?”
“No! Not okay, I’ll meet you at the door. I meant, okay, I’ve figured out what we can … Look, just listen to me, all right?”
“I’m listening.”
“Put down the phone and go into the bedroom, and pick up the extension that’s next to the bed, okay? Then go and hang up the bathroom line. I’ll meet you back in your bed.”
“Don’t I have to unlock the—”
“No,” he said. “You don’t. Just do what I said, all right?”
Johnny took a fortifying swallow out of one of the bottles of beer he’d ordered more than an hour ago from room service as he waited for Chelsea to come back to the phone.
He stood up and paced, carrying the phone with him, and he found himself standing in the bedroom doorway, staring out into the darkened living room, at the private door that connected their two suites.
Chelsea wanted him. She wanted him to walk through that connecting door and make love to her. She was his wife, he was her husband. They were legally wed.
So what the hell was he doing, standing over here?
He wanted her so badly, he was in serious pain.
If she wanted him even half as much, she would be dying for his touch—just as he was dying for hers. He wished he had the strength to go through those doors and make love to her only with his hands and his mouth, but he knew if he got near her he wouldn’t be able to resist loving her completely. Those words he’d spoken in the restaurant were the truth. He wouldn’t be strong enough to stop himself from making love to her.
And if he did that, he would be breaking the promise he’d made to her. And tomorrow, when she woke up, the impact of what they’d done would fracture the growing friendship between them, possibly destroying it beyond repair.
And he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t.
The truth was, he liked her. A lot. Enough to want more than just one night of incredible sex.
Enough maybe even to want a lifetime.
The thought caught him off guard, and he shook his head, pushing it away. He refused to think that way. Not about a woman who so clearly didn’t want anyone around forever.
“John?” Chelsea was back on the phone, her voice slightly breathless.
“I’m here,” he told her, turning his back on that door, walking back toward his bed.
“I know,” she said, her slightly husky voice thickened with desire. “But I want you over here.”
“Lie down and close your eyes,” he told her. He could hear her pulling back the bedcovers, hear the rustling of the sheets. “Are your eyes closed?”
“Yes.”
“You know I can’t really be with you tonight, Chelsea,” he said quietly. “Not if I want to keep the promise I made to you. But you know I’d knock down this wall to get to you if I could.”
“John—”
“Shh. Just listen. Because the day that annulment comes through, well, I’m probably going to have to work that night, but after work, I’m going to come over to your place. I’ll have a key to let myself in, because by the time I get there, it’s going to be pretty late. You’ll be in bed already, just like you are right now. Maybe you’ll even be asleep.”
“No, I won’t.” Chelsea spoke with such certainty. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
“You’re naked under the sheets,” Johnny told her, letting himself lie back on his bed, his feet still on the floor. If he closed his eyes, he could picture her all too clearly. “And I still have all my clothes on. I just stand there for a minute, looking down at you, you looking up at me, both of us knowing exactly what’s going to happen next.”
“And then I pull back the sheet,” Chelsea said.
Johnny smiled. He hadn’t been sure at first if she would be willing to play along, or if she’d simply want to listen to him talk. But it didn’t surprise him that she’d want to take an active part in this game. He felt a rush of heat and desire at the thought of her lying in her bed, willing to let him guide her so intimately.
“I’m still standing there, looking at you in the moonlight. God! You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’re going to share yourself with me.”
“I sit up and reach for you. …”
Johnny groaned at the powerful visual images in his head. “I can’t keep from touching you any longer. So I sit down next to you, and I kiss you. Your skin is so soft and smooth—I’m touching you everywhere—I can’t get enough. Your back, your arms, your throat, your breasts—they fit in my hands so perfectly. Do you feel me touching you? You have to help me a little bit here, Chelsea. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
She was breathing harder, and he was too. Because now he had the fantasy and the reality to think about, and both were overwhelmingly erotic. He’d never done anything even remotely like this before. He’d never been one to spend time on words and talking when it came to making love. But right now all he could give Chelsea were his words and his voice. He was determined to give her as much pleasure as he could, and the words seemed to flow.
“I want to taste you, and you want it, too, so I do. I touch the very tip of your breast with my tongue, very lightly—just a little. And then I look at you to see if you like the way that feels.”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “I like that.”
“So I do it again, and this time you want more, so you push yourself up, up into my mouth, and I really love that. And now I’ve got you in my mouth, sucking and pulling, tugging at you, and you taste so good, I think I’m gonna die. …”
“I want to take your clothes off,” Chelsea said, surprising him again by taking the lead. “Your clothes are getting in the way. I unfasten your jeans, pull down the zipper—it’s not easy to pull it down because you’re … you’re so hard.”
The sound of her voice, whispering those words in his ear was mind-blowing. “I am,” Johnny said, and it was true. “Chelsea, I am so hot for you. …”
He wanted her—in every way imaginable. He wanted to walk into a crowded room and know he’d find her waiting for him, smiling as he came closer, her smile telling of secrets shared and promises made. Do you take this woman …? Yes. Yes, he wanted to take her—and keep her. He wanted to make love to her, and to love her.
To love her … God help him, he was falling in love with his wife.
“You help me push down your jeans,” she murmured into his ear, “and God, yo
u’re not wearing any shorts. There’s just your jeans … and you. I touch you, my fingers against your skin—do you feel me touching you?”
“Chelsea—”
“And then you reach for me, too, touching me. …”
She moaned, and Johnny could barely speak.
“Chelsea,” was all he managed to say.
“Yes …?”
Somehow, he had to get back into control. Somehow, he took a deep breath and brought the focus back to her. “I’m touching you,” he rasped. “You’re so soft … and hot. So smooth, like silk. I touch you lightly at first, then harder. Deeper.”
“Yeah …”
“It feels so good—you touching me that way”—his voice sounded harsh in his own ears, rough from his desire—“and me touching you. You push your hips up, against me—you want more.”
“Yeah …”
“And I want to get inside of you—”
“You are,” she said. “You’re on top of me, and you’re inside me, and it feels so good, and we’re moving together and oh, John—”
He heard her cry out, and it pushed him over the edge. He heard her drop the phone, heard it bounce along the floor, heard it rocking slightly before coming to a rest.
And then there was silence. One minute stretched into two, two into three.
“Chelsea?” Johnny said when he could finally speak. “Are you all right?”
He heard a rustling sound, and then a scraping as the phone was probably pulled along the tile floor by its cord.
Then: “Hello?” She sounded out of breath.
“Hi,” Johnny said. “Are you okay?”
She laughed. “Yeah. I’m … extremely okay.”
He had to know. “Did you just …?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Did you?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I wasn’t exactly planning to, but …”
“Oh, my God,” she said. “We just had phone sex.”
Stand-in Groom Page 10
