Second Time Around

by Nancy Herkness

  From behind her, Will said, “It’s good that you have Gloria looking out for you.”

  “She’s kind of like a cool aunt,” Kyra said, touched that he understood what Gloria meant to her. The Carver Center community had given her a family in the city.

  When she reached the third-floor landing, Kyra unlocked her apartment door and pushed it open. “Welcome to my humble abode.” Luckily, she kept the place pretty tidy on most days.

  Will’s gaze swept her living room and she saw admiration in it. Like him, she’d opted for modern furniture but hers was in the context of a late 1800s structure. And her pieces were cheap knockoffs of the kind of stuff he had in his house. Gloria had loaned her the maroon-and-blue Oriental rug, which Kyra felt built a bridge between the old and new elements. Her sectional sofa had clean, squared-off lines in a blue imitation-suede fabric that picked up the rug’s tone. She’d cut up some fake Oriental rugs and made pillows out of them. The two front windows were hung with simple pleated cream shades to allow in the maximum amount of sunshine. The working fireplace with its white marble mantel was filled with an array of pillar candles that she lit in the summer for coziness without heat.

  He walked over to the bookcases built in between the windows, reading the titles and pulling out a volume. “Chaucer’s World. That’s from Lit 302 with Professor Fleming, one of my favorite classes.”

  “Mine, too. That’s why I kept it.”

  He ran his fingers over the cover before replacing it.

  Earlier she had wanted him in her bedroom as quickly as possible, but now she felt hesitant about inviting him into the most private part of her world. He looked too comfortable, too right in her living room, just as he had at the Carver Center and with Gloria. She wanted him to seem awkward or out of place, but Will Chase could fit in wherever he went with an effortless grace that was dangerous to her peace of mind.

  “Would you like some wine?” she asked, then winced at the thought of the fifteen-dollar bottle of Chardonnay she had in contrast to the spectacular Le Montrachet they’d been drinking at his house.

  He crossed the room in three strides to cup her face in his hands. “All I want right now is you,” he said.

  She nodded within his grasp. “Let me show you where I keep my etchings.”

  He wrapped one arm around her waist to walk down the narrow hallway to her bedroom at the back of the house. The room was small so the queen-size bed took up most of the floor space. But it looked inviting covered with its geometric-patterned duvet in tones of terra-cotta, pale blue, and cream, accented by solid-colored pillow shams in matching shades.

  Will met her eyes with a solemn gaze. “Thank you for letting me come here.”

  Then his eyes turned hot and he lowered his mouth to hers, teasing her lips with his tongue as he cupped her behind and brought her in against his erection.

  Desire roared back to life. She ran her hands up his back, loving the swell and flex of his muscles under her touch. She traced the straight line of his spine through the fine cotton of his shirt right down to his belt and then curved her palms over the tight arcs of his buttocks.

  “Ahh,” he breathed into her mouth. “I need you naked on that bed.” He stepped back and tugged the hem of her top upward until she lifted her arms to let him pull it over her head. Her bra seemed to come unhooked almost by magic under his deft fingers. He knelt in front of her to unzip her trousers and pull them down to her ankles before he kissed the lace of her panties at the juncture of her thighs. The press of his lips so close to the focus of her yearning had her hissing with anticipation.

  Then he slowly traced his fingertips along all the edges of her panties, first around the top, then around each leg, skimming near the wet ache between her legs so that she held her breath, waiting.

  He leaned in and inhaled before he blew out a breath that feathered over her sensitized skin, making her shiver. “You smell good enough to eat,” he said, tossing a wicked glance up at her. “Kitchen spices and aroused woman.”

  Then his fingers were hooked in the side of her panties and he drew them downward. She braced one hand on his solid shoulder and stepped out of her shoes and the bundle of clothing at her ankles. He stood and grasped her shoulders so he could lower her back onto the bed. He towered above her, his eyes raking over her bare skin. “Put your hands up over your head,” he rasped.

  A shiver of arousal ran through her, making her nipples tighten even more as she lifted her arms and stretched them out on the duvet.

  He sucked in a breath. “Circe, Helen of Troy, and Cleopatra all in one.”

  A purely feminine power surged through her. She arched her back to tempt his hands onto her breasts.

  Instead he yanked open his belt and fly, pushed down his boxer briefs, and rolled on a condom. Putting his hands on her thighs, he pushed them wide open and stood between them. He slipped his hands under her bottom to tilt her pelvis upward before he drove his cock deep into her. The delicious shock of being filled abruptly made her body bow upward so her head was pressed back into the mattress. She bent her knees and braced her feet on either side of him to angle her pelvis even higher.

  His fingers curled into her buttocks, holding her in the position he wanted as he withdrew and thrust in again. She looked up to see his eyes focused on the place their bodies joined, watching himself move in and out of her. The contrast of her total nakedness with his tailored business clothes fanned her arousal even higher.

  His rhythm accelerated, making her hips buck against his grip. She caught the moment he lost control, his eyes slamming shut, his head falling back, his grasp tightening so he could plunge in and out of her straight and hard. As her body grew taut with desire, he shouted her name and he seated himself deep inside her where she could feel the pumping of his orgasm.

  He held them like that until the last pulse of his climax died. Then he banded one forearm under her behind and slipped his finger down over her clit, hitting just the right spot to release her pent-up energy in a convulsion of sheer pleasure. She arched and bucked and screamed under the persuasion of his finger and his embedded cock, her muscles squeezing and relaxing over and over again until she went limp in his grip.

  He slipped out of her and lowered her gently to the bed before disposing of his condom. He lay down on the bed on his side and gathered her into him, the fine fabrics of his clothing soft against her skin. “I don’t suppose Gloria is hard of hearing,” he said.

  Surprise made her laugh. “I was expecting something more along the lines of, ‘That was amazing!’ or ‘You’re sexy as hell.’”

  An answering laugh rumbled in his chest. “I was getting to that.” He nuzzled up to her ear. “You wrenched my orgasm all the way up from my toes. I lost control.”

  Satisfaction glowed through her, stoking her physical contentment. “Gloria is not hard of hearing, but she would applaud the fact that I made you lose control.”

  “I got that impression when I met her.”

  He’d met too many people she knew. She didn’t want him to become braided into her real life. When the end came, disentangling herself from him would be that much harder.

  She glanced at the vintage Bakelite clock on her bedside table. She had forty-five minutes before she had to get ready for her night job. She pulled the corner of the duvet up from the bottom of the bed to wrap it around herself. Will heaved a sigh of regret but, after kissing her bare shoulder, let her sit up.

  “I’ve been thinking about your job and the kids,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead as he lay on his back, his eyes so deep she felt like she could drown in them.

  He levered himself up on his elbow and gave her a quizzical smile. “Such a serious topic just after sex.”

  “It was serious sex, so it seems appropriate.” She laid her palm against the sharp line of his jaw. “Have you ever thought about teaching? You were amazing with those three boys. Even I could barely tear myself away from your lesson in Spartan history.”
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  He shook his head against her hand, but then smiled ruefully. “The look on those kids’ faces when I was telling them about the Spartans made me feel . . . ‘lit,’ as Isaiah would say. Like electricity was crackling between me and them.”

  “You’re a natural teacher.” She smiled with a wry edge. “Although I warn you that there are also days when you want to strangle them.”

  “They can’t be any more difficult than managing my sales force.”

  “It would be a big change from being a CEO,” she said. “No corner office, no power suits, no minions kowtowing to you. I guess you could grow back your ponytail, though.”

  “The ponytail is a definite point in favor of becoming a teacher,” he said. “But my minions would miss me.”

  “You could just teach a class once a week or something.”

  He appeared to consider it before he shook his head again. “It wouldn’t be fair for me to promise a class every week. I’d have too many conflicts with work. If you’re going to commit to something, especially for children, you have the responsibility to be there.”

  “That’s very honorable, but some ancient history would be better than none for those boys.” She pulled the duvet tighter around her breasts. “Just think about it.”

  A flash of heat flared in his eyes and he hooked a finger in the duvet where it stretched over her cleavage.

  “Nope,” she said. “I have to get ready for Stratus.”

  His expression darkened. “I wish you didn’t have that job.”

  “That job pays the bills,” she said, trying to pull away from his touch. He feathered his fingertips over the swell of her breasts, making tingles dance over her skin, before he removed his hand.

  She realized she was going to have to drop the duvet and walk to the bathroom naked since he was stretched out on top of the bed. She was less worried about being exposed than she was about Will persuading her to be late for work. But she’d just have to be strong.

  “I need to shower.” She threw him a saucy smile. “To wash off the smell of kitchen spices and satisfied woman.”

  “I’ll scrub your back,” he said, his eyelids heavy with seduction. He shifted to prop himself up against her pillows, hands behind his head, long legs stretched out on the duvet and crossed at the ankles so she could see the dog bones on his lavender socks. She was afraid that, from now on, she would imagine him there on her bed, looking like sin incarnate, every time she walked into her bedroom.

  “I’m pretty sure you’d end up scrubbing more than my back, so I’ll say no to that kind offer.” She threw off the duvet and strode toward the hallway.

  As she walked out the door, she was followed by a long, appreciative wolf whistle.

  Will didn’t want to leave. Kyra’s bedroom was like a cozy cocoon that he could wrap himself in. A floating sense of well-being permeated his body while he allowed his gaze to scan over the carefully chosen furniture and knickknacks that showed him the private woman. There were a few photographs he would have to look at more closely, but right now, he just wanted to absorb the atmosphere.

  Closing his eyes, he inhaled, parsing the scents he’d drawn into his nostrils. Sex. That made his lips curve in satisfaction. A faint aroma of the casserole she’d cooked today, which was probably as much from his clothing as hers. An old-fashioned cosmetic fragrance that he couldn’t place. Perfume or a cream of some sort. That old-house smell that combined wood, furniture polish, and age.

  The sounds of New York drifted into his consciousness. Distant sirens, a barking dog, traffic . . . always traffic, and the bang of a dumpster lid slamming down. Closer, he could hear the shower running, which sent his mind off in directions that made his cock stir.

  He reluctantly banished the image of Kyra, her long, wet hair clinging to her breasts and back, while water sluiced over her naked body.

  The idea of teaching nagged at the corner of his mind. He’d loved studying the classics and their history at Brunell, but he’d never been tempted to shut himself up in a musty archive to do scholarly research. At the time, that had seemed the only way to continue with his chosen field of knowledge. But passing that knowledge on . . .

  It had never occurred to him to become a teacher. He realized now that it was because of his parents’ weighty expectations.

  If they hadn’t lavished both their attention and their money on him, maybe he would have had an easier time thwarting their desires for him. But they loved him in their own demanding, self-centered ways. It was hard to disappoint them.

  That unwelcome thought had him swinging his legs off the bed so he could examine the framed photos arrayed on the top of Kyra’s blond wood dresser. A faded picture of a young couple holding a baby as they stood on a cement patio must be her parents and her. She’d gotten her luminous brown eyes from her mother and her smile that always hinted at an inside joke from her father. Her father wore coveralls with the Mack Trucks logo. His hair was cut short on the sides and left long and curly on top. Where his rolled-up sleeves revealed his forearms, some serious muscle showed on his wiry frame.

  Her mother was dressed in tight-fitting jeans and a denim jacket with shoulder pads, her hair layered and blown away from her face, her lipstick glossy pink, huge triangles of gold dangling from her ears. Kyra was reaching one of her tiny infant hands toward the nearest earring, her face rapt with fascination.

  Pride and love shone in both her parents’ faces as they smiled for the photographer.

  Next he picked up a posed head shot of a young Kyra, one of those photos they took in public schools every year. He guessed she was ten or eleven, like the kids at the center. Despite her braces and the roundness of immaturity, her fresh, innocent beauty struck him in the gut. This was Kyra before life had dumped two dying parents and a mountain of debt on her shoulders.

  He stroked a fingertip along her two-dimensional cheek. He wished he could give her back that innocence.

  The shower noise ceased and he replaced the photo, quickly skimming over the rest, which were groups of friends at various ages. Until he came to one of himself. Well, there were three other people in the picture, including Kyra, all dressed in Brunell blue and orange as they sat in the bleachers of the football stadium.

  Memory surged through him. He’d gotten two tickets to that game so he could invite Babette but she’d been busy . . . probably with a different boyfriend. So he’d asked Kyra to come because she was in the suite when Babette turned him down. Then he’d gotten two more tickets and brought along two other random friends, just so Babette wouldn’t mistake his outing with Kyra as a date of any kind.

  But the day had been an unexpected pleasure. Kyra knew a lot about football because her father was a Steelers fan, so she kept up a running commentary on the game. All four of them had gotten mildly drunk on the scotch he’d smuggled past the security guards in flasks concealed under his jacket. The booze had swept away their inhibitions so they cheered, booed, and sang along with the spirit band. Things he would never have done with Babette.

  They’d all staggered out of the stadium together, their arms linked, singing the school’s fight song. The security guards had rolled their eyes but left them alone. Will and his two friends had tried to persuade Kyra to come to the fraternity with them, but she’d refused, saying she had to study.

  He didn’t remember the rest of the day, so clearly it had gone flat after Kyra left.

  As the memory faded, Kyra walked back into her bedroom, a large white towel wrapped around her like a sarong, her hair dried into cascading waves, the way it had been when they first encountered each other in Ceres. Then he’d thought it was sexy, making him want to run his fingers through it or spread it on a pillow around her bare shoulders. Now it signaled that she would be tempting other men with it. Granted, her intent was only to entice them to leave large tips, but he knew exactly what they were thinking when they saw those loose, seductive curls.

  He forced himself not to scowl. “I remember that afternoon,” he said,
lifting the photo to show her. “We drank scotch and made a lot of noise.”

  A faint blush colored her cheeks. “It was the only picture I had of you.”

  “I’m honored to be included in the rogues’ gallery,” he said, setting it back among the other photos with a flare of gratification. She’d framed it because of him.

  “You were a good friend at Brunell,” she said with a shrug. “Even if you seemed to come from an alien planet.”

  “Connecticut isn’t that far from Pennsylvania.”

  “Geography has nothing to do with it.” She nudged him aside with her shoulder so she could pull open a drawer.

  He watched unabashedly as she rummaged through a neat pile of panties, pulling out a solid-black bikini without frills or lace. When she caught him staring, she lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have a lingerie fixation?”

  “I’m developing one.” He pinched up a wisp of pale blue lace between his thumb and forefinger. “Why don’t you wear these?”

  She tugged the panties out of his grasp and dropped them back in the drawer. “They’re not very comfortable for a long night’s work.”

  He lowered his mouth to her shoulder and licked her just-washed skin before blowing on the spot to dry it. “Maybe you could put them on later, just so I can take them off.”

  She retreated to the other side of the bed and wriggled into the black panties under her towel. “Seems like a waste of energy.” But he saw her smile as she bent over.

  He fished the blue panties out of the drawer again and slipped them in his trouser pocket. “Efficiency is overrated.” He could picture the way her skin would glow under the sheer cobweb of fabric and how he would taste her through it. He cleared his throat.

  She pulled a couple of black garments from her closet and tossed them on her bed before turning her back to him and dropping the towel so she could hook on a black bra. As she shimmied into tight black trousers and pulled on a clinging black top that swooped low over her cleavage, he watched her transform herself into the hot, sophisticated Stratus bartender. Even knowing that it was just a persona she donned for work, he felt himself respond to her in a way that was all about sex.