One Kiss, Two Kiss, Red Kiss, Now You Kiss

by Linda Wisdom

  Jill allowed her hair to dry on its own and only bothered with a light coating of moisturizer on her face. She dressed in a bright turquoise cotton dress with a band of bright yellow crisscrossing the waistband. While the bright color was meant to lift her spirits, it certainly didn’t flatter her pale complexion. She put on a pair of glasses with tinted lenses to shield her sensitive eyes and left the apartment.

  “‘Bout time some people decided to join the living,” Mrs. Hathaway muttered, steering the vacuum cleaner into the bedroom.

  Greg was downstairs pretending to work and performing a horrible job of it. A bottle of aspirin and a pitcher of orange juice stood near his elbow. While trying to work at the computer terminal, he had soon discovered that the amber letters on the monitor made his headache worse, so he sat at his desk, writing out ideas for new books.

  “This is all your fault.” Jill’s croak sounded from behind him.

  Greg turned his head very carefully, positive it would splinter into a million pieces if he moved too quickly. “You’re talking too loud.” He closed his eyes. “Did you have to wear such a bright color? It’s enough to blind a man,” he grumbled, turning back.

  “I figured I’d look more alive in this than if I wore black.” She picked up the glass of orange juice sitting near his elbow and sipped the tart liquid to cool her cotton-filled throat.

  “Why are you wearing glasses when you don’t need them?” he demanded.

  “For effect,” she replied sardonically. “All serious writers wear glasses.”

  “You haven’t been serious since day one,” Greg retorted.

  “Ha, ha, very funny.” Jill poured more juice into the glass and drank deeply.

  “Get your own glass.” He snatched it out of her hand. It wasn’t that he resented her drinking out of his glass. They had certainly shared drinking glasses many times in the past. But not when he wanted to be the one to moisten her lips. Greg couldn’t help wondering if they would have felt better this morning if they had given in to their baser instincts and made love all night. He certainly couldn’t be feeling any worse than he already was! He might have been drunk when he went to bed hours before, but it hadn’t dimmed the ache in his body. Now the pale-faced embodiment of his desires sat before him, and even with red-rimmed eyes, a pasty complexion and shaky hands, she still looked beautiful to his bloodshot eyes.

  Jill’s thoughts were along the same lines as Greg’s. She had always seen him as a good-looking and desirable man, but even more erotic doors were opening in her mind. He was one of her best friends and someone she could talk to about any subject, but she suddenly thought of him as more than just someone to talk to. She had always believed there was a distinct purpose in everything that happened to a person. Were her and Greg’s previous lovers merely a prelude to what they would eventually share with each other? The thought both frightened and fascinated her. It was just as well she didn’t realize that his thoughts were traveling along the same lines.

  “It was probably the pink champagne that did it,” Greg mumbled.

  Jill discovered smiling didn’t hurt her face any longer. “Did what?”

  “Left us feeling like hell.”

  “Peter never did have good taste in wine,” she murmured. “Do you feel guilty about last night?” She couldn’t resist asking.

  “No,” he answered without hesitation.

  She reached for the glass of orange juice. “Neither do I.” Jill slid her glasses up on top of her head. “I think Mrs. Hathaway is convinced I participated in an orgy last night.” She discovered she was beginning to feel more like her normal self.

  “Knowing that sour-faced old witch, she probably thinks I make love to you on your desk, every day.” Greg bit his lip, unable to believe he had actually spoken out loud one of his more erotic fantasies.

  Jill didn’t have much difficulty visualizing such a dream. “Have you worked on the book any more?” She knew she had to return to reality before she said or did something ridiculous.

  Greg sensed her unease and answered in a careless tone, “My brain wasn’t ready for that, so I’ve just been fooling around with new ideas.”

  “Oh, what have you come up with?”

  The rest of the afternoon passed under a thick cloud of sexual tension. Neither one of them could work without being aware of each movement of the other. Jill covertly watched Greg’s thigh muscles flex when he shifted position in his chair. He noticed the rise and fall of her breasts under her cotton dress and remembered how they felt to his touch. He wanted to recreate that feeling again. After a couple of hours they still hadn’t been able to accomplish any true work.

  “We might as well quit for the day,” Greg announced, throwing his pen down. He stretched his arms over his head to relieve the ache in his shoulders. “Want to go out for some dinner?”

  “As long as we don’t order champagne,” Jill replied. “My head won’t be able to handle another day like today.”

  “We could go to the Fargo Station,” he suggested.

  She nodded. “Give me time to change my clothes.” She raised herself out of her chair. “I can be downstairs in about an hour.”

  Greg nodded. “Fine with me. I should have the rest of the fuzz out of my head by then.”

  Jill took another shower, applied a light touch of makeup, and dressed in designer jeans, low-heeled boots and an argyle sweater with blocks of jade, cobalt and plum against a black background. For an added touch she wore her new pendant. Greg had dressed just as casually in jeans and a steel blue sweater.

  The Fargo Station was one of their favorite eating places. With an interior resembling a saloon out of a Western film, it also boasted old-fashioned photographs of mining camps and wanted posters of famous and not-so-famous outlaws on the walls. Jill and Greg were greeted by a hostess dressed like a schoolmarm, who led them to the Black Bart room.

  “Y’all want a beer or cocktail before you order?” she asked in her sugary Alabama drawl.

  Jill resisted the urge to groan loudly. “Just club soda with a twist of lime,” she requested, edging her cigarettes and lighter to the top of her bag. She knew it was a bad habit, but the need just might send her outside for a quick smoke.

  Greg asked for a draft beer.

  Jill studied the menu, which consisted of various cuts of steak, prime rib and wild game when available.

  “Venison sounds good,” Greg remarked, looking up from his menu.

  Jill’s head snapped up, her eyes wide saucers. “Venison?” Her voice rose. “You would eat Bambi?”

  “You’re overreacting, Jill,” he protested in a harsh whisper. “Besides, Bambi was a fawn.”

  “Who grew up,” she argued.

  He looked at her as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. When had she become so unreasonable? This had never happened before when they had eaten here. “All right, if it’s going to bother you so much, I’ll order rabbit stew instead.”

  “Thumper was a rabbit,” she pointed out.

  “No more Disney movies for you.” Greg shook his head, astonished that someone could be so matter-of-fact one moment and completely emotional the next. This woman was turning him inside out! He didn’t care to realize that the reason for their minor disagreements was due to the events of the previous night.

  “I’m going to have the steak, ladies’ cut,” Jill announced.

  “Steak comes from a cow,’ Greg informed her with a perfectly straight face. ”Makes me think of Susie, my calf.”

  Jill flashed a brief smile at the waitress when she set the glass of club soda in front of her. After they ordered, she eyed Greg suspiciously. “Gregory Mark Richmond, you grew up in Santa Barbara where your father still owns a prosperous restaurant and your mother runs a successful real estate agency. The ‘ranch’ house you lived in had two dogs, a cat and an aquarium filled with tropical fish. As far as I know, you’ve never even been within petting distance of a calf.”

  “I certainly did own a calf.” He lo
oked affronted at her accusation. “Susie was part of my farm animal play set.”

  Jill choked on her drink before glaring at Greg with all her might. “Talk about low. You’ve pulled some dirty tricks on me before, but this is the worst.”

  Greg settled back in the captain’s chair, his hands clasped, the fingers touching to form a steeple. “You’re a strange mixture, Jill,” he mused. “Has any man ever learned the true you?”

  “Isn’t it better to be a lady of mystery?” she quipped with a coy lift of her shoulders.

  He didn’t smile as he continued watching her. “Not you. At least not to everyone.”

  “Meaning you.”

  “Meaning me.”

  Jill accepted her steak, baked potato and baked beans. A basket of warm Indian fry bread and sourdough bread was deposited on the table. She concentrated on cutting the meat into tiny pieces, then adding butter to her potato. She would do anything rather than look at Greg. She took a bite of each and added a slice of bread to her plate. Sensing his gaze on her, she finally looked up to find him watching her in a disconcerting way.

  “You know all about me, Greg,” she argued softly. “In fact, you probably know almost as much as Evelyne does.”

  “Do I?” he countered just as softly, also cutting his meat. He caught the waitress’s eye and requested another beer and asked Jill if she’d care for something else to drink. She asked for an iced tea.

  “Greg, what exactly are you getting at?” she asked abruptly.

  He chuckled. “That’s my girl, cut straight to the heart of the matter. We’re very much alike, you know.”

  “Perhaps in some ways.” Jill surprised Greg by agreeing calmly. “Although your lovers certainly outnumber mine.” Now why did she have to say that? And why did the thought bother her so much?

  He gripped his fork tightly. “I didn’t realize we were keeping score,” he spit out.

  “I don’t want to fight with you, Greg.” She sighed, for once not allowing her temper to take over.

  He breathed deeply, finally acknowledging the same.

  “Okay, killer, let’s eat as if there’s no tomorrow, then go over to visit Tank,” Jill recommended brightly, reaching across the table to take his hand.

  He smiled and lifted her hand, pressing a kiss in her palm, then curling her fingers inward to hold his kiss. “Sounds fine to me.”

  Greg and Jill stayed at Mahoney’s until closing time nursing one drink each. It was as if they were afraid drinking too much would bring on a repeat of the previous night’s episode, and they both knew they weren’t ready for that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  For the next few days Jill and Greg worked in their own offices, but even that small separation didn’t lessen their heightened awareness of each other.

  There were times Greg could swear he smelled Jill’s perfume drifting through the air.

  Jill recognized every tune Greg hummed to himself as the songs they had danced to on her birthday.

  In other words, they were slowly but steadily getting on each other’s nerves.

  “Do you think you could lay off wearing clothing that doesn’t glow in the dark for a while?” Greg demanded one morning when Jill arrived downstairs wearing a hot pink capris and crop top that showed off every curve and a reasonable amount of cleavage.

  Her reply was short and to the point. “Would you mind not using your desk as a set of drums? Who do you think you are, Gene Krupa?”

  “Gene Krupa, huh? You’re certainly older than thirty if you know about him,” he said with a sneer.

  “It’s amazing what the late night movies can teach you. You should try it sometime,” she advised kindly. “You might learn something.”

  “Sure, then I’d be just as smart as you. I’d learn who Superman really is, and what good ole Boris and Bela are doing in those movies, not to mention your favorite gory films on cable. That kind of education I can do without, thank you very much,” he jeered.

  Jill’s eyes narrowed to deep blue slits. The battle was on, and she was ready to fight.

  “It’s certainly meatier than watching your English drawing room comedies.”

  “And you think that planets eating people, rocks that are really aliens and the lizard who ate downtown New Orleans are educational?” Greg fought back. “You wouldn’t know culture if it walked up to you and introduced itself.”

  “Some of those movies you’re maligning happen to be classics,” she argued hotly, standing in front of him with her hands braced on her hips. Her entire body quivered with relish at the idea of an all-out battle. It was just what she needed.

  “To some people they may be classics, but that’s because you don’t have to worry about testing your brain power!” he shouted, waving his hands about in an arc.

  “That is really low, Greg,” Jill countered, a brief smile on her lips. “I certainly didn’t insult your mediocre intelligence.” She picked her cigarette up from the ashtray and puffed on it, knowing she was making matters worse. It was probably a childish gesture, but the only one she could think of at the moment.

  Greg’s mouth tightened in annoyance. For one moment he thought about strangling her. The trouble was, if he put his hands on her he feared his dark mood would rapidly change into something more powerful.

  The two combatants stood glaring at each other in the middle of the room. Then the hard set of Greg’s jaw relaxed just a bit. “You know the reason we’re acting like this, don’t you?”

  “I might,” she said, cautious of what he might be leading up to.

  His gaze swept over her rigid figure. “Your place or mine?” he quipped, his eyes returning to stare at her face.

  Jill’s expression didn’t reveal her inner feelings. She thought this particular scene should be in a movie, not played out in the midst of an office when bedrooms were so easily accessible to them.

  “We’re both acting like a couple of crazy monkeys at the zoo,” she said softly, lowering her stiff shoulders a fraction.

  “Even monkeys have those holes in the corner leading to a private area.” Greg found himself wanting to pick Jill up and carry her upstairs. “Sexual frustration can turn into anger and temper tantrums. It appears we qualify on both. Jill, we need to do something about it.”

  She arched an eyebrow, looking much too smug for his peace of mind. If he had been able to see into her brain he would have discovered that she agreed wholeheartedly. “I wouldn’t know about such things.”

  “Dammit, Jill!” Greg exploded, moving away from the spot he had previously been frozen to. “This is not some little feature story in the morning paper for you to make asinine jokes over.” He crossed the room in two steps until he stood directly in front of her. If he leaned down a few more inches their noses would touch.

  “I want you, Jill,” he said bluntly, gripping her shoulders. “And it’s only too apparent that you feel the same.” His gaze raked over her, noting the signs of her arousal—her peaked nipples through the thin material, her thrusting breasts asking for his touch, beautiful eyes dilated and her rapid breathing.

  For the first time Jill couldn’t think of a comeback. She could only look up at him and wonder why this hadn’t happened before. How had they managed to remain apart so long?

  Impatient with Jill’s hesitation, Greg jerked her toward him and fastened his mouth on hers in one smooth motion.

  Jill was past wavering. She curled her arms around his neck and moved in even closer. Their mouths met hungrily as if they couldn’t get enough of each other. His lips moved upward to caress each eyelid and sweep across her forehead.

  “I guess these crazy curls aren’t so bad after all.” His breath warmed her skin. “They just show off new places for me to kiss.” He flicked his tongue under one such curl. He took a deep breath, but it wasn’t enough to calm his racing blood. “Come on,” he said harshly, unsure if his voice would even hold for those few words.

  Jill wasn’t about to argue when Greg led her upstairs to his a
partment. Inside, she didn’t notice the articles of clothing scattered on the living room carpet as she was pulled into the bedroom. Jill only had a moment to notice a damp towel lying across the bathroom doorway, the cream and rust abstract print quilt that had been pushed to the floor and the top sheet draped over it. His tablet sat on the pillow and a faint drift of Greg’s aftershave still lingered in the air, along with another smell coming from the kitchen area; Greg must have burned his breakfast. Again.

  Clothing had never been discarded so quickly. The tablet suddenly disappeared and the vertical blinds adjusted so only a minimum of light slid across the bed. He returned to Jill, gathering her in his arms and pressing hot kisses across her face. By shifting his weight, they fell across the bed in delicious abandon, prepared for what would happen.

  And happen it did. Greg nuzzled Jill’s breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, and the tops of her thighs. He learned the soft skin under her arms, discovered the vanilla spice scent of her perfume along her throat and behind her ears and learned what her eyelashes felt like fluttering against his skin.

  Jill explored the silky dark hair on Greg’s chest, found out he was ticklish along his right side and watched his nipples pucker under the loving touch of her tongue.

  When Greg moved over Jill, entering her in one thrust, she looked up and saw what looked like a footprint on the ceiling. A footprint? That was something she didn’t care to pursue any further. What was wrong? Why weren’t they flying into another galaxy, as his kisses did to her on her birthday?

  Greg realized how easily Jill’s pelvis cradled his body, but while their loving should have been wonderful, something was missing. Where was the wonder of their joining, the ecstasy, the pleasure?

  Five minutes later it was over. Jill and Greg lay on the bed, each taking up a separate half, both staring up at the ceiling.

  “Isn’t this the part where we smoke our cigarettes and gaze upward?” Jill finally spoke the words that had plagued them both.

  Greg turned his head, wondering where the magic had gone. “Maybe the timing was wrong?” Not that he thought so when it first began.