Читать книгу Red-Hot Nights: Daring in the Dark - JENNIFER LABRECQUE - Страница 11

COULD SHE HAVE POSSIBLY made it any clearer than if she’d held up a sign inviting him to kiss her again? And again. And then take it further. To pick up where he’d left off, with his fingers brushing against her wet panties.

They both obviously wanted one another. He’d felt her damp underwear and she’d felt his rock-hard erection. And she’d just told him in no uncertain terms that she no longer had a future with Elliott.

Simon’s hair stood up at the crown where she’d run her fingers through it. She rather liked it because it made him much less intimidating and proved him human.

“People say and do a lot of things they don’t really mean when they’re angry,” he said in the tone of a peacemaker.

Was he implying she was irrational and should make allowances for Elliott’s wandering penis? Ha. She was very much in touch with rational thought. “I’m not angry.”

Simon simply looked at her.

“Okay. Maybe I’m still a little mad that he cheated on me and that it was with a man.” She cringed inside, feeling fat, ugly, lacking and unwanted. “How can I even compete when I don’t have the same equipment?”

Simon shook his head, a touch of anger marking his face and the movement. “You don’t compete. As difficult as it might be to believe, this isn’t about you.”

Freaking easy for him to say. “Have you ever had a girlfriend tell you she’d discovered her inner lesbian after sex with you?”

“Uh, no.”

“I didn’t think so. Don’t you think that might leave you feeling a little deficient? Like your equipment wasn’t up to par or you had some serious operator error going on?”

Simon looked like a man facing a firing squad. “I know it feels that way, but this isn’t because there’s a problem with you. Elliott’s the one with the problem. And I sure as hell wish he’d talked to me before he did something stupid that buggered up his relationship with you.”

His vehemence and apparent disapproval of Elliott surprised her. Usually, right or wrong, men stuck together. And she’d always sensed Simon didn’t like her, so his reaction doubly surprised her.

She picked a People magazine off the bamboo chest and fanned herself. “I’m surprised you don’t think it’s his lucky day that he’s managed to get rid of me.”

Simon sat ramrod straight. “I’m sorry you misunderstood my actions that way.”

What? As if she was some neurotic she-devil who’d misinterpreted his friendly demeanor? She was pissed and hot and sweaty. He’d picked the wrong day and the wrong gal to pull that holier-than-thou crap. She stood, bracing one knee on the couch, and planted her hands on her hips.

“Whoa. Stop right there. You’re sorry I misinterpreted your actions? If you’re going to apologize, then do it right. If you’re not, then save your breath. But don’t even think about giving me some backhanded apology.”

He had the grace to look slightly ashamed but still arrogant. And very sexy with the candlelight flickering from the table beside him. “You’re right. I’ve acted like a jerk and I’m still acting like a jerk.”

That surprised her. But then again, she never really knew quite what to expect from Simon. “I didn’t call you a jerk. Not exactly. Well, maybe that’s what I was implying.” She’d had it with all the prevarication. What was the point? “Let’s just cut to the chase. You’ve never liked me. You’ve barely managed to be civil and I’ve never known why. I thought that day you photographed me it was different … I thought … well, never mind. I’m a big girl, and after finding out that my fiancé prefers men, I don’t suppose it can get any worse. So while we’re sitting here with nothing else to do, why don’t you enlighten me? Tell me why you’ve never liked me. They say confession is good for the soul.”

“I don’t think …”

“Oh, come on, Simon. Get real. There’s something about the dark of night that brings out the daring. You know how it is. Things you’d never think about in the light of day. Things you’d never do or say otherwise somehow seem okay in the dark.”

Their hot kiss—her tongue in his mouth and his hands on her ass, pulling her harder into his erection—still lingered between them. She saw it in his face. “We both know I’ve never had the guts to ask before and I probably won’t have the guts to ask again. In fact, after tonight our paths probably won’t cross again. So let’s get daring in the dark and have a real conversation,” she said.

The idea of not seeing Simon again was far more disquieting than the thought of not seeing Elliott again. She was needling Simon, but it was better than flinging herself at him. What she really wanted to do was lose herself in his arms, feel the heavy thud of his heart beneath hers, taste the heat of his passion, wallow in the desire that left her aching, wet and feeling like a desirable woman. She longed to discover firsthand whether the real passion between them was as potent and incredible as her dreams.

“If our paths won’t cross again, what could it possibly matter?” he said. The flickering light played tricks on her. For a brief second she could’ve sworn dismay flashed in his eyes.

“Because it’ll bother me until I have an answer. My nickname growing up was Bulldog because I can’t let things go. Why you disliked me will niggle at the back of my mind and worry me—unfinished business—until ten years from now I have to track you down and demand an answer so I can take myself off Prozac.”

Simon frowned in confusion. “You’re on an anti-depressant?”

Tawny smiled at him. It was sort of weird trying to charm a man into telling you why he disliked you. But nothing about the feelings Simon stirred in her was normal or comfortable. Between Simon and Elliott, her journey of self-discovery had taken an abrupt turn. “No. But if you don’t give me an answer, it’ll drive me crazy and I’ll have to start taking it. So go ahead and exonerate yourself up front.”

He shook his head but seemed to relax, stretching his arm along the couch back. He had nice arms. Just the right amount of muscle and a smattering of dark hair. Who was she kidding? Everything about him registered on her sexy meter. And—woohoo—she didn’t have to feel guilty about it anymore. She could lust up front and outright without even a twinge of conscience.

“Does everyone in your family communicate this way?” he asked.

“No.” She laughed and tossed the ball right back at him. “Does everyone in your family try to dodge the issue by introducing another topic?”

He grinned and a healthy dose of that guilt-free lust slammed her. “No. They simply don’t talk.”

It was the most he’d ever said about his family and she was curious to know more. “The British stiff upper lip?”

“Something like that. And their heads are full of ancient artifacts and civilizations.” Per Elliott, his father was a museum curator and his mother was an archaeology—or maybe it was anthropology—professor. “They find the modern world something of an inconvenience.”

It took a nanosecond for her to feel the loneliness of a little boy who had always hovered on the periphery of his parents’ attention. Tawny knew as surely as she knew her name that Simon had been something of an inconvenience, as well. She related. “I wasn’t an inconvenience, but I’ve always been a disappointment.”

“I never said I was an inconvenience.”

“You didn’t have to say it.”

He tilted his head to one side. “How could your parents possibly find you a disappointment?”

Okay. So he was probably just looking to shift the conversation from himself, but he seemed genuinely puzzled that she might disappoint Dr. and Mrs. Carlton Jonathan Edwards III.

“It’s been all too easy. I’m not exactly the overachiever my sister Sylvia is—magna cum laude from Yale and a rising member of the Savannah bar.” Out of nervous habit she started to twist her ring on her finger and realized it was no longer there. Her nail scraped her bare finger. “Betsy, my younger sister, married one of daddy’s partner’s sons. She and Tad have a beautiful home on Wilmington Island in a prestigious gated community. Me? I’m not as smart as Sylvia and I’m not as refined and gracious as Betsy. I talk too much, I’m too assertive, I have a master’s degree in business but I plan parties for a living. I committed the ultimate sin of leaving Savannah, Georgia. When I came home with Elliott, they were pleased, although he wasn’t a Southerner. Now it turns out he’s gay.”

She was batting a thousand here. And while she was hauling all of her shortcomings out for examination … “Oh, yeah, and Sylvia and Betsy take after my parents who are tall and thin. Thanks to recessive genes, I take after Grandmother Burdette, short with a big butt.” And add talking too much and saying the wrong thing to that list. Why the heck had she mentioned her big ass?

Simon crossed his arms over his chest, restrained strength in lean, sinewy muscle. He leveled an uncompromising look at her from his end. “Are you sure you want the truth, here in the dark?”

Uh-oh. Something in his tone reminded her of Nicholson in A Few Good Men, assuring them they couldn’t handle the truth. She’d asked for it, but now she wasn’t so certain she wanted it. But she’d never run away from things or buried her head in the sand, and she wouldn’t start now. “Absolutely.”

“If that’s really how your parents feel, all of you need to get over it. Lose the pity party and look at things the way they really are. You say you’re a party planner as if it’s some lesser accomplishment. You’re an event planner for a law firm with a hundred and fifty practicing attorneys. According to Elliott, you do an incredible job planning and executing a multitude of functions. That requires tremendous organizational and negotiation skills.”

She opened her mouth to point out she had an assistant, but he forestalled her with a raised hand.

“Let me finish and then the floor’s yours. I think you came to New York to get away from your parents’ censure, but you might as well pack up and go home if you’re going to continue to see yourself through their eyes and judge yourself against some mythical standard.” Ouch. His tone softened. “You’ll never be free to be you until you accept and like who you are. I don’t know what your sisters look like and I don’t care. Your body would drop most men to their knees. Any man with half a dose of testosterone would tell you that you have the perfect behind. I’d like to think men aren’t quite so shallow as to fall in love with your behind and overlook all of your other obvious attributes and qualities, but certainly any man would love your derriere. It could drive a man to madness.”

Well. It was her turn to talk and she didn’t know what to say. He’d certainly taken her at her word and said a lot. And perhaps he was right. She’d ostensibly moved to the Big Apple to shake off the confines and constraints of Savannah aristocracy, but was she still measuring herself against their standards? And how much of her attraction to Elliott and her subsequent engagement was due to the need for their elusive approval? And she’d think about all of that. Later. Now her fragile, wounded, her-fiancé-succumbed-to-the-charms-of-a-man ego latched on to the part about her body dropping a man to his knees and her ass driving him to madness. “Really? Madness?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her as if to say he knew where she was coming from and then he smiled at her, the first smile she’d ever received from him that actually reached his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Even now this smile didn’t totally encompass him. She always had a sense of part of him being closed off, as if he held a jealously guarded secret. “At the least, distraction.”

In the span of a very brief time her self-perception was changing drastically. The way she saw herself was beginning to unravel. Perhaps it had begun with her dreams about Simon and her reaction to him tonight, the way she saw herself since she’d discovered Elliott’s unfaithfulness, the way Simon portrayed her in relation to her parents. In a very short time frame her world had shifted and changed and left her floundering. Perhaps the last year in New York had just been a warm-up, and the closest she’d come to discovering her true self had been in the last few minutes.

And she and Simon were getting real. She’d had a glimpse of the real Simon when he’d photographed her for Elliott. What would she see in herself now, were he to photograph her again? She didn’t want him to retreat again. She didn’t want to dream about him tonight. Tonight she wanted the flesh-and-blood man in her bed.

An idea began to gel. He was so much more approachable when he was behind the camera. If she could talk him into photographing her, she also had a fairly good chance of getting him into her bed.

“Simon, would you do something for me?”

“It depends on what it entails.” Ah, ever cautious, ever reserved Simon wasn’t crawling out on a limb blind.

“I’m more than willing to pay you.”

A wicked smile set her heart thundering. “You’ve definitely caught my attention now.”

Something dark and sexy underlay the note of droll amusement in his voice that sent a wave of desire washing through her. Attention was good for starters, but she definitely wanted more.

“Would you photograph me while we’re waiting on the lights to come on? Not for Elliott this time but for me?”

“I’M NOT FOR HIRE,” HE SAID. Agreeing to photograph Tawny would be a combined act of madness and desperation.

“Oh.” Her disappointment wasn’t feigned.

Who was he kidding? He might as well get real with himself. Photographing her would be a sweet torture. Making love to her with his camera was a dismal substitute for actually touching and tasting her but far safer. And when it came down to it, he was incapable of denying her anything. He’d give her the moon if it was his to offer.

“But I will do it for free.”

She shook her head, freeing a few strands of hair that promptly clung to her cheek. She brushed them back. “No. I insist on paying.”

“Trust me. I’m a selfish bastard. You’re much less likely to cry in front of a camera. It isn’t gratis as much as self-preservation.”

“I only cry when I’m really angry, so you’re safe unless you make me mad.” She smiled. “I’m beginning to think you’re not a selfish bastard at all but that’s the image you like to project.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Then we’ll barter. I’ll plan a party for you one day.”

“Absolutely.” Right. He had one friend. Elliott. And he wasn’t feeling like throwing a party for him at the moment.

“Or I could set something up more private, for you and your lady if you decided to approach her,” she said, as if she’d read his mind.

“You did offer to help me with my sad love life, didn’t you?”

“I could set up something very nice and romantic. You really should approach her. You’ve got so much to offer a woman.”

“I’ve already agreed to photograph you. Blatant lies aren’t necessary,” Simon said. He laughed to cover his pounding heart.

Tawny smiled and caught him totally off guard when she tossed a small pillow at him and it bounced off of his chest.

“Maybe you need a little dose of your own hard-line truth. Whoever this wonder woman is would be damn lucky to have you. I think you’re hiding a very nice guy behind your aloofness. You’re smart, occasionally very funny, talented, sexy and I give you high marks in the kissing department.”

He didn’t know what the hell to say. “Okay.”

“At least think about it,” she said. “Decide what kind of evening you’d like to have with your own true love. I bet if you ask her, she’ll say yes, and I can take care of the rest.”

She faced him from the other end of the couch like a luscious piece of fruit just out of reach. Well, unfortunately, closer to his reach than was comfortable. And he didn’t have to think about it too hard. He’d want it similar to this. Candlelight. A bottle of wine. Her. Him. Soft, seductive music. He’d sit in a chair and she’d stand just out of reach and slowly peel her clothes off until she was splendidly naked. She’d come closer, close enough for him to touch the velvet of her skin, cup the fullness of her breasts, cull the dew of her desire, inhale the scent of her skin and arousal…. He jerked himself back from the precipice of lust he’d almost plunged over headfirst. “I promise I’ll think about it.”

“Just let me know when.”

“Sure.” He levered himself off the couch and crossed to his equipment stored by her door. “Now that we have an agreement, what’s your favorite room? Your favorite place? Where do you spend most of your time?”

He pulled out his camera and began setting up the lens. He relaxed into the rote task, pleased to focus on something tangible, something other than his feelings for Tawny.

She hesitated. “The couch is my favorite spot.”

He wasn’t buying it. She’d thought about it too long for him to believe her.

He looked at her across the candlelit room. She sat perched on her knees, bracing her arms on the sofa back, watching him.

“Come on, Tawny. What happened to honesty in the dark and all that? Let’s try this again. What’s your favorite place in your flat?”

Her chin rose a notch. Ah, that was his girl. “The tub. It’s an old claw-foot. Great for soaking.”

Click. Instant photo in his head. Her, hair piled atop her head, steam rising, skin glistening. He swallowed.

“What’s your next favorite place?” No way she missed the hoarseness in his voice, but bloody hell, he was only human.

“The bedroom.” Only marginally safer than the bathroom, with her big sleigh bed, but at least naked wasn’t a given. “And my least favorite room is the kitchen. I don’t like to cook and neither the kitchen nor this room has windows. They feel claustrophobic.”

“Then let’s photograph you in the bedroom.” He strove for a professional tone. She’d hit on the perfect solution to his problem. Photographing her, he became a professional engaged in a shoot instead of Simon Thackeray besotted with Tawny Edwards.

“I definitely want to change clothes. I’m hot and sticky.”

“Fine. Take your time. I’ll finish setting up my equipment.”

“It won’t take me long.” She picked up a candle and hesitated. “Would you, uh, mind just walking me to the bedroom until I light the candles?” That’s right, he’d blown them out earlier. “I hate walking into a dark room.”

She had major issues with the dark. But then again, he had major issues with getting too close in relationships. He knew that. Particularly after one of his girlfriends had flung the accusation at him on her way out the door. Everyone had their own neuroses to bear. “Sure. I’ll lead the way so you don’t have to walk into the dark room.”

“Thank you, Simon.”

Her soft voice with it’s honeyed Southern drawl slid beneath his skin. Ridiculous, really, that she looked at him as if he’d just agreed to slay dragons on her behalf. Even more ridiculous how good it made him feel.

“You’re welcome, Tawny.”

A fat candle in hand, he led the way, aware of her close behind him. Unfortunately for him, he now knew how delicious her mouth tasted, how her curves fit against his body as if she’d been tailor-made for him. Just before he reached her room, she placed her hand lightly on his back. Her touch hummed through him.

“Wait a minute. Let’s stop by the bathroom. A nice cold washcloth would be heavenly right now. I bet you could use one, too.”

How about a nice icy shower? But he’d get by with a cool cloth. “Sure.”

He stepped through the dark doorway to his left, the candle illuminating a rectangular room with a small, high window. A claw-foot tub with a circular shower curtain pushed to one side sat beneath the window. The mirror over the sink reflected his light and brightened the bathroom.

Simon sucked in a deep breath as her hip and breast brushed his side, her fingers slid along his back as she squeezed past him in the confines.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“No problem.”

She placed her votive on a small shelf next to the sink. Thick, fluffy towels and washcloths sat neatly folded in an open cabinet. She plucked two cloths from the stack and held them under the cold-water tap.

Simon waited beside the sink, next to the door. She squeezed excess water from the cloth and passed one to him.

He ran it over his heated face and watched Tawny do the same. She slid the cloth over her neck, rolling her head to one side and then the other. A half moan, half sigh escaped her. “How good does this feel?” she asked, her voice low, husky, intimate.

“It’s somewhere past good.” Icy droplets trickled down his throat, raising gooseflesh. It wouldn’t surprise him to hear the water sizzle on his skin. She definitely had him hot and bothered. The cloth might be cooling him down, but she was heating him right back up.

“Here. Let me wet it again.” She took his cloth and held it under the cold faucet. She held it out to him dripping wet.

Simon set his candle on the widest portion of the sink and took the cloth from her, his fingers brushing hers in the exchange. The brief contact fired through him.

“Have you ever been this hot before?” she asked. “If I spontaneously combust, douse me with water to put out the flames.”

Simon had no idea where it came from, but he ran with his impulse. “Like this?” he asked. He stepped closer and squeezed the cloth, cascading water over her shoulder.

She gasped, whether at the shock of the cool water or at his audacity or perhaps both, and then laughed. “Oh, you …”

“Or like this?” He sent another round of droplets skittering down her back, bared by her top.

“Maybe more like this.” She reached up and squeezed her cloth at the base of this throat, sending a cool stream down the front of his T-shirt.

He laughed and retaliated. She shrieked and didn’t bother with the washcloth, cupping her hands beneath the water and tossing it his way. Within seconds they were both drenched. One of them, their aim so bad, doused the big candle. It sputtered out and ended their water play. Only the small votive flickered, plunging them into intimacy.

“Oops,” Tawny said. “That was fun.”

Her hair hung drunkenly from its clip. Water sparkled against her skin. The cold water had her nipples standing at full attention against the wet material of her shirt. Simon swallowed hard and looked her in the eyes. Just don’t look back down.

He cleared his throat. “It was fun.”

He had no idea he could be so playful. Water fights had never happened in his house. Hell, fun hadn’t happened in his house. His parents had taken their jobs and life very seriously. They still did.

She grabbed a towel off of the stack and he reached for it. She bypassed his hand and instead began to rub his wet hair herself.

“I can do that myself,” he said.

“I know.” She gentled the towel along his jaw, slid the thick, soft cotton down the column of his throat. “But there, I’ve taken care of it.”

She took a step back and, using the same towel, blotted her face. Simon held out his hand and she gave the towel over to him.

“I can do this myself,” she said, echoing his earlier declaration.

“I know.” He eased the towel over the length of her neck, across the delicate line of her collarbone, into the valley created by her breasts. Simon made sure only the cotton cloth touched her skin. He moved behind her and slowly, carefully dried her shoulders and the expanse of sweet skin along her spine. He knelt on one knee and drew the towel along her thighs, the backs of her knees, her calves.

“Turn around for me.”

She pivoted slowly and he once again slid the towel the length of her legs, the material whispering over her skin.

He stood and silently handed her the towel.

“Thank you,” she said.

“No problem.”

At least there wouldn’t be as soon as they got out of this confined space where she smelled too good, looked too good, felt too good. He picked up the candle she’d carried in. The sooner he got her to her room and put his camera between them, the better off they’d both be.