Turn Left at Sanity, page 20
The next thing he knew, she’d squirmed around until her hips were directly beneath his, then she arched against him, teasing him with her slick cleft. Oh, he wanted to plunge, hard and fast, so badly he felt sweat build on his forehead as he refused his body the pleasure it had craved since the first time he’d met Emmylou.
Instead he tongued her nipples in a way that made her pant harder, and he tried to ignore the torment as she teased him with her hips and lured him into her body.
He was panting as hard as Emmylou, and as much as he loved kissing her breasts, he wanted her mouth, so he moved up to kiss her, and as his tongue slipped into her mouth, his cock took over and plunged inside her body.
The move startled both of them.
Emmylou made a strangled sound in her throat and rose up to meet him as he plunged again and again. He let go of her wrists and instead they linked fingers, holding hard as they mated with mouths, and bodies struggling and thrusting, no longer opponents, and no longer playing games.
There was nothing in the world he could do to stop the tide that built from deep within him.
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The only loser in this contest, he realized, would be a man who rated his laptop over making love to the most special woman he’d ever known.
He’d wanted to pleasure her first, for his own pride’s sake more than anything, but he wasn’t going to make it, not when she was gripping him, kneading him, all clinging, wet heat and he was all but drowning in the feel of her, the sound of her, the scent of her.
Suddenly, she arched against him and that slight change in angle did it. He felt the explosion, felt it roll out of him in agonizing bursts of pleasure. While he was half lost to reason, he became aware that his weren’t the only cries in the room, nor his the only intense climax. Emmylou’s fingers gripped his feverishly, her body milking him as she rode out her own orgasm.
His heart thundered, his breathing was ragged, and he’d never felt so good in his life.
He wanted to tell her, say something, let her know what she meant to him, but he couldn’t find the right words, so he kissed her slowly, tasting her, swallowing the last of her sighs of pleasure while she traced the shape of his shoulders with fingers that weren’t quite steady.
He raised himself up on his elbows and looked down into her face, which was passion pink, her eyes still barely focused, her lips swollen and wet. “Emmylou, that was . . .” He couldn’t finish. What was it he was trying to say? It felt like something amazing had happened, something way beyond the sexual.
Words were floating through his head. Scary words. The kind a man like him didn’t say to a woman. He felt more emotion swirling in the
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room than was good for either of them. She wasn’t blabbing, though, or kissing him to stop herself from blabbing. Of the two of them, he’d say she was the more shocked.
He traced the shape of her ear with his fingertip, thinking he could spend a year getting to know every unique part of her, then he pulled her in for a big, goofy hug and held on, feeling all the emotions he was too wary to name.
“I told you I’d win,” Emmylou said when her heart finally slowed and she felt as though she could speak without making a fool of herself.
She was wrapped snuggly in Joe’s arms.
The hair on his forearm brushed her chin when he tightened his grip and pulled her against his chest. She loved the feel of him, the warm fuzzy brush of his chest hair against her back, the way his forearm crossed her breast.
“I think we both won,” he said, dropping a kiss on her head.
“I meant the bet.”
“Oh, that,” he said with a pretty good imitation of casualness, considering the technology slave was about to lose his master. “We came together, it’s a draw.”
He was right, of course, but she wasn’t giving up that easily. “Your orgasm triggered mine, therefore, technically, I won.”
“I let you win.”
“Oh, you liar. You did not.”
He chuckled and she felt the rumble of his chest behind her. “Yes, I did. I probably could have held out for a few more seconds.”
“And why did you let me win?”
She felt the mattress shift slightly as he moved.
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“One, because you might be right. Maybe I should try living without my phone and computer for a few days.”
“You said one. Is there a two?”
“Yeah. This client’s a pain in the ass. It won’t hurt them to discover I don’t always jump when they yank my strings.”
“Cool. Does that mean you’re also going to tell me what they’ve got you working on down here?”
He pulled her down beside him. “Tomorrow.
I’m doing my best to take a day off here, don’t remind me I’m a workaholic.”
She could have kicked herself. “Right. Sorry.”
Just because they’d achieved such an incredible physical intimacy didn’t mean he was going to share his devious purpose in coming to town.
Yeah, great postcoital chitchat. That was fantastic, honey. The earth moved. And speaking of moving earth . . . we’ll be moving most of yours around here to mine cat litter.
Okay, she wasn’t going to spoil her own wonderful bliss by even thinking about his true purpose in coming to Beaverton. Tomorrow she’d challenge him and then maybe she could start talking some decency into the man. He had the sense to let her lock up his high-tech toolbelt, maybe he was on the road to enlightenment.
Amazingly, he did take the day off, most of which they spent in bed. She crawled out in the late afternoon to ensure the ceremonial locking up of the laptop took place, then Joe helped her make dinner. She loved the intimacy and the way his eyes warmed whenever they glanced her way. Which was often.
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Luckily, the aunts didn’t come home until dinnertime, so she was spared any teasing, knowing looks, or even worse, how-to suggestions.
She took Joe for a long walk after dinner and then he announced he was heading off to bed early, sending her a significant glance that had her body blooming once again with desire.
She snuck into his room a little later, feeling young and foolish and determined to be so quiet that two nosy old ladies would be kept in ignorance of what was going down in the Blue Room. Joe held a history book in his hands, but it was clear from the terrain of the bedsheet that he’d been waiting for her. She stripped in seconds and climbed in, putting a finger to his lips as she straddled him, riding him slowly until they were both sweat-damp and spent.
Feeling deliciously postcoital and heavy-eyed, she snuggled against his warmth and enjoyed the sense of drowsy euphoria that echoed great sex.
“I’ve never slept in this room before,” she told him. “It’s nice. I love the way the ceiling slopes.”
“Yes. It’s a great room. Nice firm mattress, too.” He sounded wide awake, and she opened her eyes fully, then turned to see that Joe was not in a similar drowsy zone. His eyes were wide and he was staring at the ceiling.
Oh, jeez. She’d forgotten his problem, and here she was about to fall asleep in his bed.
Trying to act cool about it, she leaned over and kissed him good night.
“Stay,” he said, when she rolled out and fumbled into her clothes.
She smiled. “I don’t want to give the aunts
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the satisfaction of seeing me roll out of your room in the morning.”
She got to the door and glanced back, and she thought she’d never seen anyone look so lonely. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” he said.
Her smile wasn’t large, but she managed one.
“Me, too.” And then she slipped out and padded to her own room. The sheets on her bed seemed chilled and it took her a long while to fall asleep.
Chapter 20
Joe hauled himself out of bed, realizing he’d have to hurry if he didn’t want to miss the advertised breakfast hours. He didn’t want Emmylou to think he was taking advantage just because they were having sex. And they’d better be having a lot of it to take his mind off the loss of his cell, his laptop, and—at the last minute—the sneaky way she’d grabbed his Palm Pilot and shoved that in the safe.
After showering and shaving, he pulled on the most casual clothes he’d brought, jeans and a Knicks shirt, then ran lightly down the stairs.
Well, it seemed he hadn’t missed breakfast, he realized when he got to the dining room and saw the two older gals sitting over their coffee and the morning paper.
Some toast crusts sat on a white plate in front of Olive, and Lydia was spooning up the last of a bowl of oatmeal.
“Morning, ladies,” he said, hoping Emmylou had something a little more substantial on the
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menu for him. He’d been looking forward to another of her breakfasts and he had worked up quite an appetite in the night.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Lydia said, giving her brassy hair a pat.
“You took the words right out of my mouth,”
he said, feeling in charity with the whole world this morning.
She cackled at him. Then yelled, “Emmylou?
Joe’s ready for his breakfast.”
“Be right there,” came her voice from the kitchen. He wanted to walk right in there and kiss her good morning properly, but with the two aunts looking on he felt that maybe he should restrain himself.
“You want some coffee?” Olive asked as he sat down at a place set between them.
He opened his mouth when Emmylou came swinging through the door in one of her endless aprons over a jean skirt and—he wasn’t sure what. From where he sat all he could see was apron front—for all he knew she didn’t have anything on underneath it.
Now that was an idea. Emmylou in nothing but an apron . . .
Sexual fantasy was promptly forgotten when she said, “Herbal tea for Joe.”
“Herbal tea? Don’t you know by now that I like coffee?”
“Doctor’s orders; until your esophagus has healed, he doesn’t want you drinking coffee.
Didn’t he tell you that?”
Now he felt like a kid who didn’t want to take his medicine. “He might have,” he admitted.
She put the tea in front of him and he caught her gaze. She looked exactly the same as always.
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Where was the blush? The exchange of intimate glances? He’d planned to be circumspect in front of the old ladies, but Emmylou was taking things a little far. It was like their night hadn’t affected her at all.
She poured something pink into his cup and his mood soured further. “What is that?” he asked.
“Raspberry tea. It’s good for the stomach.”
He sipped, decided it was as putrid as it looked, and added up the things she’d taken away from him. One: cell phone. Two: laptop.
Three: Palm pilot. Four: coffee. Five: this morning’s good mood.
“Did you sleep well, Joe?”
“Never better, Olive,” he lied, watching Emmylou as she turned and headed back for the kitchen, seemingly completely uninterested. “And you?”
“I always sleep poorly,” she said. “It’s age.”
Lydia made a rude noise. “When I was as young as you, I didn’t waste all my nights sleeping. I don’t know what’s wrong with you and Emmylou. So hot for each other you scorch the air when you look in each other’s eyes, and acting like a pair of scared virgins.”
Right. That was it.
Rising, and placing his linen napkin on the table beside the pink tea, he strode around the table, catching Emmylou just before she reached the swing door leading back into the kitchen. He grasped her shoulder and turned her around bodily. Surprise was written all over her face.
“I forgot to say good morning to you properly, Emmylou,” he said pleasantly, then kissed her.
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Not a kiss on the cheek, or a peck on the lips, either. Oh, no. He grabbed the back of her head, kissed her the way a man ought to kiss the woman he’d made love to most of the night, bending her back so they probably looked like a pair of passionate tango dancers to the interested onlookers at the breakfast table.
He felt the moment she gave in and kissed him back, putting her arm around his neck and pressing against him. He felt her heart thump against his chest and he was pretty sure that was her nipples he felt rubbing against him.
When he straightened them both, she blinked at him, dazed, her color a little heightened.
He walked back to the dining table, sat down, and put his napkin back in his lap.
Even the pink tea didn’t taste so bad this time he sipped it.
There was total silence in the room and he knew all three of the women were staring at him.
He felt he’d made his point.
Not even the plain poached eggs Emmylou served him with butterless toast could dim his sudden verve. There were no further references to the lack of initiative in young people today.
The two old ladies conversed with him over breakfast with great good humor, sharing such nuggets from the morning paper as the fact that more hummingbirds had been counted in the area this year than last.
“Oh, look. You made page three,” Olive informed him as though he ought to be pleased.
He put down the forkful of egg and toast he’d been about to eat. “What do you mean?”
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She folded over the paper and handed it to him. Sure enough, there was the headline: NEW
YORK BUSINESSMAN FELLED BY BEAVERTON.
He shook his head and shoved the paper back at her. Usually, he was mentioned in the business pages. But not even the fact that his ignominious gastric attack had made the news section of the paper could dampen his mood.
Emmylou came through the swing door several more times, but it was fair to say that she no longer appeared as though this morning was just like any other. When she saw him she blushed like a schoolgirl after her first kiss.
That was more like it.
Emmylou felt like she was presenting the largest urine sample in history when she placed the half-full liquor bottle of yellow cordial on Gord Hartnett’s desk.
He looked at the bottle, cocked an eyebrow, and turned his attention to Emmylou, who settled into one of the chairs in his office. It wasn’t a very comfortable chair—she suspected doctors chose chairs the same way fast food restaurants did, to get people out of them again as soon as possible.
“What’s up?” he asked, settling into his own executive chair behind the desk, which looked a hell of a lot more comfy than the vinyl and chrome job on which she perched.
Gord wasn’t big into chitchat or wasted time.
That was one of the things that had made their affair work so well, she realized now; neither of them had ever pretended to more than they
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felt. They’d both had obligations and lives to live, and while they’d felt affection for each other, she knew they both viewed their relationship as a convenient, efficient way to meet their sexual needs. The incredible thing to her was how different he’d been the second he met his wife-to-be. He’d ended things with Emmylou almost before Terri’s tonsils bit the dust.
She opened her mouth and completely different words emerged than the ones she’d planned. “When you broke things off with me, had you even asked Terri for a date?”
Gord blinked, obviously as taken aback by what she’d said as she was. He leaned back a little, as though seeking the right position in his chair in which to have this unexpected conversation.
“No,” he said, when he had his back flat against the chair back and his arms on the armrests. He looked like a man about to face a firing squad but open to his fate.
“But what if she’d said no, she didn’t want to go out with you? What then?”
“Emmylou, I’m sorry. I always thought you were okay with the way things ended between us. Forgive me, but I thought we both felt that our relationship was—”
“Temporary.” She completed the sentence for him cheerfully. “Yes, absolutely. We were convenient for each other. But I just now wondered what made you so certain things would work out with you and Terri that you ended things with me when you did. It’s funny, I never thought of that before.”
He turned his head so he was looking past her, and Emmylou suddenly knew without having to
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follow his gaze that there was a picture of his wife behind her. “I think I fell in love with Terri the first time I saw her.”
“With a hundred and three temperature and her throat swollen?”
He gave a short laugh. “I know. She can’t believe it either, but it’s true. At first she was just another patient, of course, but every time I looked into her eyes it was like seeing someone I’d known a long time ago and had missed really badly. Then I touched her and . . . I don’t know.
It sounds corny and completely unlike me, but I knew.” He glanced back at Emmylou. “But I never, ever meant to hurt you in any way. You know I think—”
“No, it’s fine. I think the world of you, too, and I have no regrets. We were always destined to end up friends, not lovers.”
He nodded and she felt the relief coming off him in waves.
But she still felt puzzled, as though there was something just out of her grasp. “The thing is that I always thought we were alike. We’re practical about sex.”
“But I turned out to be a romantic in love.”
He turned a little pink as though embarrassed even to be talking like this. “I never saw it coming. Never.”
“Wow. So even if she’d—once she could talk normally again—even if she’d said thanks but no thanks, and left the state, you’d have—”
“I’d have kept trying to change her mind. I wouldn’t have felt right making love to one woman when I’d fallen in love with another.”
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