Fast & Loose

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  Wow. She never would have thought Rufus would be the gym type. Maybe, just to be absolutely, positively certain, she should—

  “Bree?”

  “Yeah, Rufus?”

  “Either turn on the light you were reaching for, or it’s going to stay off for a long, long time.”

  Yikes.

  “Uh, sorry,” she mumbled as she took a giant step to the right to feel for the switch she’d all but forgotten about.

  She flicked it quickly, activating a wall socket into which was plugged an antique standing lamp with an amber glass shade. The room was immediately bathed in soft, ambient gold, giving it a sort of otherworldly aura. The lamp was the very first purchase she’d made for her very first apartment, and when she’d seen the color it cast, she’d bought all her additional furnishings to match it. The overstuffed sofa and club chair were a tawny cognac color, while the pillows tossed onto both and the throw slung over the sofa’s back were the color of strong tea. Two prints hanging on one of the creamy walls were of dark yellow flowers framed in gold, while another wall held antique-looking maps of the Aegean and Mediterranean, two of many areas in the world Bree hoped to visit someday—preferably with her Greek tycoon boyfriend Stavros and his fully outfitted yacht. An old steamer trunk covered with the remnants of someone else’s travels nearly a century ago served as her coffee table, and two throw rugs that were shaggy with all the colors of the room combined rounded out the decor. Every time she looked at it, she felt like she was watching an old sepia-toned movie.

  Usually, coming home and turning on that lamp to reveal her golden room served to calm Bree after a long night’s work. Now, though, it allowed her to see the way Rufus’s cheeks had darkened in response to her careless touch, the way his pupils had expanded, and the way he’d halfway lifted a hand to touch her. Although his black bartender pants were virtually identical to hers, too, what was under them, it was more than evident, was also way different from what was under hers. Immediately, he dropped his hand to his side and shifted his weight to make his condition a bit less obvious—though, she had to admit, there was no way he could completely hide something like that.

  “Uh, coffee?” she asked quickly. Even more quickly, she made her way to the tiny galley kitchen to start a pot brewing. Even though the last thing she needed at the moment was any kind of, ah, stimulant. So she added, “Beer? Wine? Scotch? Oh, wait, I don’t have any Scotch. Or wine, either.” She feared she was also out of beer, but tugged open the fridge door anyway. “Aha!” she said when she saw a solitary bottle of Sam Adams—one of Lulu’s—sitting on the shelf. She plucked it out and held it up as if she were a spokesmodel for the brand. “Here ya go. Sam Adams is just waiting to make your night.”

  The trip across the room had sent the butterflies in her stomach scurrying back to the Amazon, thankfully. But taking their place was an odd knot of tension that clenched tighter with every passing moment. It pulled taut enough to cut off her breath when Rufus began to walk across the apartment toward her. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers, until he stood barely a breath away from her. He extended his hand forward, and she thought he was going to take the beer from her, but instead, he moved his fingers to the dark curtain of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. In one swift, economical move, he brushed it away from her face, dipped his head to hers, and kissed her.

  It was totally unexpected. Bree was in no way prepared. Without even thinking—because thought was impossible when a man’s lips felt as good as his did—she kissed him back, leaning her entire body forward, as if he were a magnet and she was steel. Hot, molten, malleable steel just waiting to be hammered. When he opened his mouth against hers, she eagerly parted her lips, drawing his tongue inside, tasting him as deeply as she could.

  It was all the encouragement he needed. He drove both hands into her hair and turned himself and Bree until her back was against the doorjamb. Then he crowded his body into hers and kissed her more deeply still. She roped her arms around his waist, opening her palms over his back, dragging her fingers down the finely sculpted muscles she felt beneath his shirt. He slanted his head first one way then another, as if he couldn’t decide which way he liked kissing her better. She followed every move, giving as good as she got, taking as much as she could. Not that Rufus seemed to mind her demands, since he met them with a fire and passion to equal hers.

  Where had this come from? she wondered vaguely. Yes, she’d always found him attractive, but this? This went beyond attraction. This was something she feared she could barely contain. Which was all the more reason, she told herself, why she had to contain it.

  Now.

  Rufus sucked her lower lip into his mouth and nibbled it gently with the edges of his teeth.

  Really, she told herself. Had to contain it now.

  He traced her upper lip with the tip of his tongue, then rubbed his nose lightly against hers.

  Now, Bree. Now.

  He threaded his fingers in her hair, gripped a long strand and pulled gently to tip her head back, then rubbed his lips over the sensitive length of throat he exposed.

  Now!

  She had no idea how she managed it, but somehow, Bree was able to dip her head to the side and halt his progress. He didn’t seem to notice she was doing it to stop him, though, and covered her mouth with his again. She kissed him back for a little while longer—since she knew this was never, ever going to happen again…dammit—then dragged her mouth from his to pull in a few long gasps of air.

  He allowed her that small escape, but pressed his forehead to hers and kept his fingers tangled in her hair. She felt more than saw his smile as he murmured, very, very softly, “So, Bree. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe you might like me a little bit, after all.”

  She wished she could deny it. But she’d look like an idiot if she tried. She couldn’t even deny it to herself anymore. She’d liked Rufus more than she should—more than she’d allowed herself to think about—since her first day on the job. She hadn’t wanted to, but there it was all the same. How could a woman not be attracted to him? He was gorgeous, funny, smart, and sweet. He was a good guy. An incredibly hot good guy at that.

  “Okay, I admit it,” she said softly. “I like you a little bit.”

  He brushed his lips lightly over her temple, and she couldn’t help the purr of contentment that rose inside and rolled out of her. “I think,” he said, his breath warm against her face, “that maybe you even like me a lot.”

  He moved his mouth to skim it over her cheekbone, nuzzle her jaw, and draw his open lips down the sensitive flesh of her neck. The purr of contentment grew to a shudder of delight, and suddenly Bree was curling her fingers in his hair and tilting her head back, to both bring him closer and give him better access. He took full advantage, combing his fingers through her hair and pushing it back, moving his head upward again to rub his nose softly against hers, then skimming his lips across her cheek until he could nibble her ear lobe.

  “Admit it,” he whispered. “You like me a lot.”

  “I do,” she groaned. “I like you a lot. Too much.”

  And that was the problem, she told herself. She liked Rufus way more than she should. Enough to risk losing sight of the goal she’d been focused on all her life. The goal that was growing more important every day. Rufus couldn’t provide what Bree needed. It was as simple as that. To let this go any further would only hurt them both.

  Reluctantly, she pulled her head away from his and stepped back, far enough to move out of the kitchen doorway and, more important, out of his reach. Just to be safe, though, she also turned her back on him before saying what she had to say. If she was looking at him when she said it, she’d lose sight of what she needed to make clear to him. Or she’d lose her nerve. Or she’d lose herself.

  “Rufus, I can’t do this. Not with you.”

  He said nothing in response, but she heard him sigh. Loudly. Impatiently. Angrily? Oh, surely not. Rufus was too good a guy to get angry over somethi
ng like this.

  “Because I don’t have money,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s the only reason.”

  “That’s the only one.”

  “It’s a stupid reason, Bree.”

  “To you. Not to me.”

  “Then maybe you should explain it to me in a way that would make me think it less stupid.”

  There was no way she could do that. Unless Rufus had grown up the way she had, unless he knew her mother as she was now, Bree couldn’t make him understand. In spite of that, she turned around and, still avoiding his gaze, crossed her arms over her midsection in an effort to shore herself up.

  “I never knew my dad,” she said. “I don’t even know how well my mom knew my dad. Hell, I don’t know for sure if my mom even knows which guy of a couple she dated is my dad. He was a soldier at Fort Knox—that much I do know. My mom could never resist a man in uniform.”

  Her mother still couldn’t resist a man in uniform. There was a new guy at the nursing home who thought he was Douglas MacArthur, and Rosie Calhoun was completely enamored of him. He was crazy about her, too. Of course, he thought Bree’s mother was one of the Andrews Sisters and Rosie hadn’t exactly tried to dissuade him of the notion. Then again, there were times when Bree wasn’t sure her mom didn’t think she was one of the Andrews Sisters, too.

  “Anyway,” she started again, “whoever my father was, he never came around after I was born, and he never sent anything to help out.”

  Rufus said nothing, but he took a few steps toward her. Bree took a few more in retreat, circling the sofa to put it between the two of them.

  “Okay, I get it,” he said, stopping. “I promise to stay on my side.” He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. “Go on.”

  “My mom was a single mother at a time when it wasn’t all that hip to be one, you know? I mean, no one ever gave me a hard time about not having a dad around, and I had friends whose parents had split, but it was tough on my mom. She never got to go to college, and she wasn’t trained or qualified to do much of anything.” She shrugged. “Except look pretty and be charming. That didn’t pay the bills, though, so she worked two jobs. Two crappy jobs. She waited tables at night, and she cleaned people’s houses during the day. She’d take me with her on her housekeeping gigs in the summers, when school was out, and I’d help out.”

  She sighed as she remembered. “Some of those houses she cleaned, Rufus…These huge estates in Glenview, and big houses in the east end…I couldn’t believe how some of these people lived. I couldn’t believe they had so much room to move around in, so many things to dust and polish and scrub. Beautiful things,” she added. “And the women would be home while we worked sometimes, reading the paper and drinking their coffee. Or they’d come home in their tennis and golf outfits while we were there.” She finally met his gaze, levelly and unflinchingly now. “My mom worked so hard, Rufus. She was no different from any of them. She deserved to live the same kind of life. But she had no life. She had to take care of herself and me instead. I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to let the same thing happen to me.”

  “That sucks, Bree,” Rufus agreed. “You and your mom should both have had better. But you know what? A lot of people have crappy jobs. A lot of people deserve better than they have. It doesn’t make them go out and look for somebody else who has a better life to take care of them. Either they do what they can to improve their own lives, or they make do with what they have. Having money doesn’t mean all your problems are magically solved. A lot of times, it just makes more problems.”

  “I know that,” she said. “I know my life won’t be charmed and perfect just because there’s someone else paying the bills. But it sure as hell would be better than what I have now. I’m not a lot of people, Rufus. I don’t want to make do with what I have. I want something better.”

  “Then make it happen for yourself.”

  “You don’t think I haven’t tried?” she said.

  He jerked his hands from his pockets and took a step forward. “You majored in English, for God’s sake,” he reminded her. “That’s not exactly a degree that lends itself to moneymaking.”

  “No, but it’s good for making a person smart and articulate and interesting to talk to. Look, Rufus,” she hurried on when he started to object, “I tried taking classes in economics and finance and business, and I just don’t have a head for it. It’s not in my genes. From my dad, whoever he was, I got a strong survival instinct and good strategy skills. From my mother, I got good looks and the ability to be charming when I want to be. Put them all together, and you get someone who knows what needs to be done and can figure out the best way to do it. I knew a long time ago what I needed to do. And I’ve done my best to do it. Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it won’t. Maybe it’s taking longer for me to reach my goal, but I will reach it. I have to.”

  “You’ll hand yourself to some guy—let him take whatever he wants from you—just because he opens his wallet and lets you take whatever you want from it.”

  She tried to feel militant and defiant when she said, “Damn right.” Instead, she only felt tired and defeated.

  “It’s not a fair trade, Bree. Not even close.”

  She said nothing to that. Mostly because she couldn’t disagree.

  When she remained silent, he nodded briskly, then dropped his hands onto his hips in challenge. “Okay. Okay, so let’s say you do find a guy rich enough to keep you in the style you imagine you need to make you happy.”

  Bree thrust her fists onto her hips, too, mimicking his stance, rising to his challenge. “There’s no ‘imagine’ in the equation, Rufus. I know what I need to be—” She couldn’t make herself say the word happy, since she knew, really, that she would never be that. “To be content,” she finally finished. “And it can only be bought with lots and lots of money.”

  He started ticking things off on his fingers. “Expensive home, expensive car, expensive jewelry, expensive clothes, expensive travel. Did I leave anything out?”

  “Maybe one or two things,” she told him crisply. “But I think you got the biggies.”

  He dropped his hands back to his hips. “You think having that will make you happy?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I do.” As happy as she could be, anyway. Because all of those things could be turned into cash if an emergency arose. And cash was what Bree wanted—needed—more than anything. “But it’s more than just expensive things, Rufus,” she continued. “It’s knowing I don’t have to worry. It’s security. That’s even more important to me than the expensive things.”

  “You think you’re going to have security in this life you envision for yourself?” he demanded. “Are you serious? Guys who buy women only pay for them for as long as they’re interested in them. And they don’t stay interested for long, Bree. What happens when your Sugar Daddy finds a new Barbie doll he likes better than you?”

  Did he think she hadn’t thought about that? Hadn’t she just told him she was smart? She sure as hell wasn’t that naïve. She knew men didn’t marry their mistresses. And she knew they didn’t keep them forever. “By the time he gets bored with me,” she said, “I’ll have moved in his society long enough to have met dozens of men just like him.”

  Rufus’s mouth dropped open at that. “So that’s it then?” he asked. “You’ll just hire yourself out to the highest bidder? Let yourself be passed around among friends?”

  “Oh, don’t you dare make it sound tawdry.”

  “Bree, it is tawdry.”

  “It’s not tawdry.”

  “Then what do you call it?”

  “Survival,” she said. “I call it survival.”

  “And what have you been doing all these years?” he asked her. “You seem to have survived just fine on your own.” He spread his arms wide. “Look at this place. It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s small.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he repeated. “You hav
e a nice place to live, Bree. You have a decent job. You have friends who care about you. Do you really need more than that?”

  “Yes,” she told him without hesitation. “I do. Because I’m tired, Rufus. I’m tired of never having anything extra in the bank. I’m tired of dreaming about going places I can’t afford to go. Hell, I’m tired of months where I have to decide whether to pay the electric bill or the phone bill or buy groceries. And I’m tired, dammit, of worrying about the future and how I’m going to cope with everything that’s sure to come.”

  She started to tell him about her mother. Wanted to tell him the real reason she was so obsessed with having—and hoarding—money. But maybe it would be better if he didn’t know. If he thought she was shallow enough to just want material possessions, then maybe his affection for her would wane. Maybe he’d begin to view her as just some whack chick he didn’t want to be around. Maybe he’d stop doing nice things for her, saying nice things to her, being so nice to her. And maybe he’d stop looking at her the way he did sometimes, a way that made her want to fall into his arms and cling to him.

  He studied her hard for a moment, his mouth a thin line. “I still don’t get it, Bree. I still don’t see how you could sacrifice your dignity in exchange for letting someone else, someone who doesn’t even care about you on more than a superficial level, hold your future in his hands.”

  She swallowed hard. “Yeah, well, the way it stands right now, I don’t have enough of a future for anyone’s hands, do I?”