Читать книгу Sex Drive - Susan Lyons - Страница 9

Had this very hot man—Day—really said what I thought he had? Flustered and skeptical, I asked, “Interested? In what way?”

He gave me the sexiest smile imaginable. “The usual way.”

As in, the usual way a man was interested in a woman. Usual for him—that was a no-brainer—but definitely not for me. My skin heated as if I had a fever, and a pulse fluttered in my throat. Another throbbed between my legs. My dormant sex drive seemed to have woken up.

No man had ever looked at me that way. Jeffrey’s interest had been immensely flattering and seductive, but his eyes had never held the heated gleam Day’s did. With my ex, I’d of course learned that his interest lay in appropriating my research, and the sex we’d enjoyed was merely a side benefit for him.

And Jeffrey had, let’s face it, been a short, prematurely balding prof who on his best day could be called cute. Not stunningly handsome like the man who was gazing at me with such intensity. A man who couldn’t possibly be interested in my research.

Day seemed sincere, not that I was any judge of male character. But I still didn’t understand. What did he want from me? I swallowed against that fluttery pulse in my throat and forced words out. “The usual way? What does that mean?”

His eyes burned even hotter. “It’s a long flight, Theresa Fallon. Bet we can figure out some interesting ways to pass the time.”

What ways did he have in mind? A more experienced woman would have known, or at least had a playful way of finding out. All I could manage was bluntness. “Day, if you wanted sex, you could have had it with Carmen.”

The corner of his mouth kinked. “True. Not saying I don’t want it, but if I did, it’d be with you. When you’re in the mood.”

“When?” My voice rose. I couldn’t believe his audacity. Did he really think I was as easy as Carmen? “Shouldn’t you have said if?”

A cocky smirk. “Nah. I’d bet on when.”

“You’re so damned sure of yourself.” The words burst out. How dare he! “Doesn’t any woman ever say no to you?”

He glanced upward, squinting like he was mulling over my question, then said, “Not in recent memory.”

The tone of his voice—amused self-deprecation—somehow defused my annoyance. “Did anyone ever tell you you have a swollen head?”

“You find false modesty appealing?”

“N-no, I suppose not.” When it came to my work, I was as confident as he. “If you’re good at something, it’s silly to pretend you’re not.” I rubbed my temple, where my tension headache had made a reappearance.

“There you go. I am good, I promise.”

He meant in bed. Or did he? Maybe my inexperience was making me read him wrong.

He reached over and stroked the hair back from my temple, then rubbed gently, his warm thumb finding the knot of tension.

People didn’t touch me, except for handshakes or an occasional brush of bodies passing in a narrow doorway. This touch was presumptuous. Intimate. I should have moved away. But it felt so wonderful. How long had it been since anyone had looked after me?

“Good at what?” I dared ask, not sure how I wanted him to answer.

“Mmm.” A small, very wicked grin. “How about curing headaches, for a start?”

“It’s not a bad start.” Where did he intend to go from here? Did he actually hope to seduce me into…whatever limited kind of fooling around we could do on an airplane?

Did I want him to? Right now, the caress that had unwound the knot of pain was winding up a whole different kind of tension. A hum of arousal that flowed through my veins like thick, warm honey.

Day had turned down the certainty of sex with a stacked flight attendant who had wavy black hair, pouty red lips, and no doubt ten times—no, make that fifty times—more sexual experience than I. And yes, knowing the plane as Carmen did, she’d have found a place where she and Day could actually engage in intercourse.

Was the man crazy? Or was it me who was crazy? Leaning closer to absorb the heat coming off that firm brown skin, to inhale that outdoorsy male scent.

I shouldn’t encourage him, shouldn’t let arousal build between my legs. Because of course I wouldn’t let him seduce me. I wasn’t that kind of woman.

No, Dr. Theresa Fallon—Ms. All Work—wasn’t the kind of woman who attracted a gorgeous man, flirted with him, took him for her lover.

When I put it that way…Wouldn’t it be nice, for one time in my life, to break out of the mold I’d always been cast in, and to be that kind of woman?

Day seemed to think I was. I’d have figured he was merely picking a convenient target if he hadn’t rejected Carmen. For the first time in my life, it seemed a man saw me as a sex object. The feminist in me said I should be insulted, but the truth was, I was hugely flattered.

He stopped rubbing my temple and ran his fingers through my hair in a stroke that was half massage, half caress, pure bliss. It was hard to think rationally. And impossible to resist leaning into his hands the way a cat presses into the hands that stroke it.

“I like your hair,” he said.

“I thought men liked long hair.”

“The hair should suit the woman. Be shiny, feel nice. Not all glopped up with gunk.”

“You think it suits me?” I wasn’t fishing for a compliment, just genuinely curious. I’d chosen my hairstyle because it was easy, and I had better things to do than fuss with my appearance.

“Yeah. Shows off your long neck, pretty face.” He ran a finger along the outside of my ear, giving me pleasant shivers. “Cute ears.”

I’d never thought much about my ears, but guessed they were okay. A pretty face, though? If he wanted to seduce me, he needed more than generic flattery. “My face is average. Not round, not square, but somewhere in between. My features are the same. Not big or small.”

He studied me intently. “Huh. Guess that’s right. Except, where you say average, I say perfect. Symmetrical.”

No generic compliment this, and he delivered it with a sincerity that made me glow.

“Like Goldilocks and the…What was it?” he asked, mischief sparking his gray eyes. “Oh yeah. Beds. Who’d want too big or too small, when you can have just right?”

“It was the chairs that were too big and too small,” I protested halfheartedly, remembering the story I’d read to Merilee a few times. “The beds were too hard and too soft.”

“Ah, well…” The spark danced again. “Too soft definitely isn’t good. Too hard, though? Hmm, you’re the woman. Is there such a thing as too hard, when a gal’s in bed?”

Oh my God. My cheeks flamed. This man was so out of my league it wasn’t funny.

If I had any sense, I’d tell him not to be crude. Tell him to remove his hand from my neck, where he was caressing my nape in a way that sent more shivers of pleasure coursing through me. I’d pull out the exams and get back to being Dr. Fallon.

Instead, I glanced at his lap. Under the fly of his jeans, an already impressive bulge was expanding. I forgot all about being Dr. Fallon and wondered what he’d look like naked, how he’d feel under my hand as my touch made him grow. Then, how he’d feel between my legs, where my long-neglected female parts had sprung to needy awareness.

Oh God, this sexy, assured, experienced man truly was turned on by me. I’d never had such a sensation of pure female power. It gave me an unprecedented sense of sexual confidence.

Trying to ignore my flaming cheeks, I said, “Too hard? Not in my experience.” Day didn’t need to know how limited that experience was.

The flare of surprise in his eyes pleased me, and I went on. “Of course, as you pointed out, I’m an academic. Hypotheses need to be tested.”

He laughed and his hand clasped my shoulder. “I’ll volunteer to assist with that test.”

Oh God, what had I got myself into? Did he think I was offering to have sex with him? People did speak of the mile-high club…

“Dinnertime.” It was Carmen, brisk and professional. “I’m taking orders. We’re starting with either Atlantic salmon tartare, pâté de foie gras, or wild mushroom soup. Then your choice of beef tenderloin with peppercorn sauce, coconut curried chicken, or bug salad with mango-ginger dressing.”

“Bugs,” I said. I loved the crustaceans, with their taste somewhere between crab and lobster. “And the salmon tartare, please.”

“The mushroom soup for starters,” Day said, “and I’ll have bugs as well. And wine. Last time I flew, there was a Lenton Brae Sauvignon Blanc?”

“We have it.” Snidely, she added, “You’re ordering for your fiancée as well, of course?”

He glanced at me. “Sugar, does that wine sound good to you?”

I didn’t know the wine, but played along. “Of course, sweetie.” Gathering my courage, pleased to have an excuse to touch Day, I leaned into him and pressed a kiss to his T-shirt-clad shoulder, absorbing an amazing jolt of heat and energy.

Hmm. If kissing his shoulder through cotton was that powerful an experience, what would lips to lips be like? I had a growing—let’s face it, irresistible—need to know.

Carmen handed us warm, damp towels and departed.

After I’d wiped my face—a benefit of not wearing makeup—and hands, and placed the towel on my tray table, I said to Day, “What’s the wine?”

“It’s from the Margaret River region. Dry, crisp, kind of lemony, a hint of spicy oak. Should go well with the bugs and appies.”

Hmm. He was getting more interesting by the moment. A hot-looking guy with a dragon tattoo who was a wine connoisseur. And flew business class. For the first time, I wondered what he did for a living. I was about to ask when his lips quirked up at one corner and he said, “Sweetie? You called me sweetie?”

“You called me sugar.”

“It popped into my mind. Because you’re so sweet, and all,” he teased. “So, d’you call all your guys sweetie?”

“No.” I’d called Jeffrey “dear” occasionally, but mostly used his name. I wasn’t the endearment type. I gave Day a saccharine smile. “Only you, sweetie.”

He laughed. “I like you, you know that?”

“I’d kind of hoped so.” I paused a beat. “Since we’re engaged and all.”

“Speaking of which.” He lifted his flute, which had an inch of champagne in the bottom. “Shouldn’t we have a toast to our upcoming…”

I raised mine, too. “Nuptials?”

Slowly, eyes gleaming, Day shook his head. “Not what I had in mind.” He clicked his glass gently against mine, then lifted it and drained the contents in one swallow.

“So I’m supposed to drink a toast to whatever you had in mind?” All the same, hand trembling as I lifted the glass, I did it. It wasn’t a promise I’d have sex with him, only a promise to…What?

To play his game, which I had to admit I was enjoying even though it made me nervous. Not to mention aroused. He’d banished my headache, made me forget about work, and also, I suddenly realized, made me forget to phone my sister Jenna.

Now I seized on the excuse to distance myself a little, to let some of the sexual tension dissipate. “Oh, gosh, I need to make a call.” Jenna should be home by now. Alone? Yesterday she’d said she had broken up with the surfer guy she’d followed to Santa Cruz. She hadn’t sounded heartbroken, but that was no surprise. For Jenna, relationships were about having fun while they lasted, not about the long term.

“Go ahead.” Day gestured to the onboard phone, then lay back, eyes closed.

I took a moment to admire the length of his legs, the press of firm thighs against worn denim, the bulge at his groin that had receded since Carmen’s arrival but was still impressive. His forearms rested on the arms of his seat, firm and tanned, sprinkled with black hair. My fingers itched to touch his arm. Among other bodily parts.

I dialed my sister’s number and waited. After several rings, I was readying myself to leave another voice mail, when I heard her voice, breathless. “’Lo?”

“Hello, Jenna, it’s Theresa.” I curled sideways in my seat, away from Day. Not only for the illusion of privacy, but to avoid the distraction offered by his hunky body.

“Hey, sis. Call display didn’t show your name.”

“I’m on the plane. Did I wake you?”

“Nope. Just got in. There was a beach party. So, you’re on your way home?”

“Didn’t you get my e-mail? I said I’d get a flight Sunday night.”

“Is this Sunday?”

“I think it’s Saturday night there.” The time differences did get confusing, even for efficient me. As for Jenna, she’d so rarely held a regular job, the days of the week held little significance to her. Nor did keeping track of time. Or keeping track of much of anything. How paradoxical that she’d chosen to participate in a count-the-falcons survey.

“How about you?” I asked. “When are you heading to Vancouver?”

“Still working on it.”

“Jenna, you’re the one who picks up at a moment’s notice and heads off in a new direction. What’s the big issue about leaving Santa Cruz? Did you get back together with what’s his name?”

“Surfer-dude Carlos? No, we’re history. But wow, the surfing is fabulous right now. I’m getting really good.”

“And improving your surfing skills is more important than your sister’s wedding?”

Day snickered and I turned to glare at him, but his eyes were still closed.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Okay, Jenna. Anyhow, if you’re tied up, I’ll do the wedding on my own. I mean, with Kat’s help,” I amended quickly.

“Yeah, right. You hate it when we try to help. All you can do is criticize.”

“I like things to be done right,” I muttered.

“Your idea of right, Ms. Perfectionist.”

Why could we never act like rational adults? “Let’s not argue. We all said we wanted to give Merilee a great wedding, so we need to cooperate. I’ll set up a project plan and work out the tasks, then we can figure out who does what.”

“Yeah, sure, a project plan,” she said disdainfully. “Whatever.”

“Of course, you can’t actually do anything until you get to Vancouver,” I added.

She sighed. “I’m trying. Honest, Tree.” Jenna was the only one who used nicknames. I was Tree because that’s how she’d first pronounced my name. “But it’s not easy. I need to raise some money.”

“Money?”

“Yeah, like to fly home?”

“You don’t have money for the flight?” Hadn’t she been working?

“The peregrine falcon survey is volunteer work. I’ve been waitressing some evenings, but I’m not making a lot.”

How could she live like that, especially now she was turning thirty? Normally I wouldn’t have bailed her out, but damn it, Merilee was getting married. “When I get to Vancouver tomorrow, I’ll book a flight for you and I’ll pay.”

“Shit, Theresa, I don’t need your charity.”

Couldn’t she just say “thank you”? Annoyed, I sniped back. “Sounds to me like you do. Or, if you won’t take it from me, call Mom and Dad. I’m sure they’ll pay to fly you home.”

“Not going to happen.”

Damn her. Ninety-nine percent of the time she was easygoing, but every once in a while—at the most inconvenient moments—she got stubborn. “So, what’s your plan?” My guess was, she didn’t have one. “It’ll break Merilee’s heart if you’re not home for the wedding.”

“I’ll be there! Honest to God, Theresa, lay off. I’ll figure it out.”

My headache was returning. “Well, if you have any brilliant ideas about the wedding, give me a call or drop me an e-mail.”

“You’ve got the location booked, right?”

“No, I don’t. I haven’t even started the project plan. Since Merilee called, I’ve been kind of busy. Booking a flight, reorganizing my schedule, getting someone else to monitor exams, packing. I’ll find a location as soon as I get home.”

“A location? You know where it has to be, don’t you?”

I’d barely given it a moment’s thought. “Where?”

“VanDusen Gardens.”

“Why do you…Oh. Oh, yeah.” Our gran, Mom’s mother—who unfortunately now suffered from Alzheimer’s—used to take us girls on an outing every Sunday afternoon. Science World, the Aquarium, the beach at Spanish Banks, VanDusen Gardens. Merilee had always loved the rambling, naturally landscaped gardens. I did remember her saying she wanted to get married there. How could I have forgotten?

Could it have something to do with the fact that Merilee, the late addition to our three-pack of sisters, had rarely been the focus of my attention? Or Mom’s or Dad’s, or Kat’s or Jenna’s, for that matter. By the time Merilee came along, we were wrapped up in our own lives.

“It’s June,” I said. “It’ll be booked on a Saturday.”

“It’s a big place. I bet they could squeeze us in.”

To put it kindly, Jenna was an eternal optimist. To put it more accurately, she tended to ignore reality. “I’ll ask.” There might be a last-minute cancellation. Merilee would be so excited if we could hold the wedding at VanDusen. “And if not, maybe one of the other gardens Gran used to take us to.”

“Talk to Mom and Dad,” Jenna said. “They must know someone who can make it happen. Play the guilt card.”

“The guilt card. That’s a thought.” Our father, who worked at the University of British Columbia, was one of Canada’s leaders in researching genetic links to cancer, and was busy with the final draft of a report. Mom was a prominent personal injury lawyer and right now she was preparing to present an appeal in the Supreme Court of Canada next week. Neither had time to help with wedding preparations, yet I knew they wanted Merilee to have a wonderful wedding. They wouldn’t mind spending a few minutes pulling strings. Grudgingly I said, “Good idea.”

“I’m sure you’d have come up with it eventually.” There was a smirk in Jenna’s voice when she added, “Once you started typing up that project plan.”

Jenna wouldn’t know a plan if it bit her on the behind, but I decided to take the higher road and not comment. Instead, I mused, “What if it rains? We’d need tents or something.”

“It’ll be sunny for M&M. Just wait and see.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, you put in a request with the weather gods, and I’ll work out a contingency plan.”

Noises from the aisle made me turn, to see Carmen serving people a couple rows ahead of us. “Jenna, I have to go.”

“Me, too.”

“Call Kat, would you? In a couple hours, when she’s up? And e-mail us when you know your travel plans.”

There was no response. “Jenna? Oh damn, did you hang up on me?”

Day opened his eyes and grinned as I hung up the phone less than gently. “Man, am I glad I don’t have siblings. Is it always like that?”

“Usually. We love each other, but…” I shrugged. “My secretary says her sister’s her best friend. I haven’t a clue what that’s like.” Of course, I didn’t actually have a best friend. Colleagues and grad students I enjoyed talking to, but no buddies.

I’d once thought Jeffrey was my best friend. After, I’d decided I didn’t need one.

Day’s hand stroked the aching knot in my temple. “You need to learn some relaxation techniques, Theresa.”

The tension eased. “Actually, I kind of like this one. Your hands are magic.” Yes, I said the words deliberately. When he touched me, I wanted more. Wow, here I was, flirting with a man I knew next to nothing about. Maybe I was wilder than I’d ever imagined.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he murmured.

I believed him, if he was referring to his hands. They were so nonacademic. Strong, dark, masculine, yet gentle and sensitive. Hands that made a woman melt and burn under their touch. Oh yes, I was coming to believe I could be wild.

Carmen arrived, bearing nicely set trays: appetizers, cloth napkins, fresh glasses. She presented a wine bottle so we could see the Lenton Brae label, then poured for us. “Enjoy,” she said flatly.

“She hates us,” I told Day. “You realize we’re going to have marginal service for the whole trip.”

“That’s better than a boob in the face.”

“Give me a break. You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that.”

“Okay, I’m male. What can I say?” He glanced at my chest as if he was wondering what my breast would feel like.

He made me aware of the thin V-necked sweater I wore and the flesh-colored bra designed for comfort, not display. And of the way my nipples had perked up and were doing their best to draw his attention through those two layers of fabric. I imagined his lips sucking a nipple into his mouth and a jolt of desire pulsed through me. Trying to sound composed, I said, “You sure do know how to sweet-talk a woman.”

“Yeah, I’m one classy guy.” The words were absentminded, his voice husky, his gaze still fixed on my chest.

I unfolded my napkin, picked up a fork. “You do have a certain distinctive charm. Stop staring and eat your soup.”

He chuckled. “Distinctive? You sure do know how to sweet-talk a guy, Dr. Fallon.” Obediently, he turned his attention to his tray and spooned up some soup. “Or is it Dr.? I noticed Carmen called you Ms.”

“It’s Dr. But the first time I flew as Dr. Fallon, a woman had a heart attack. They checked the passenger manifest and came to me, thinking I was a medical doctor.” I remembered my shock and panic, and gave a shiver. “There I was, all of twenty-two, and I felt so helpless—”

“Twenty-two?”

Damn, there was something about this man that had me revealing things I normally kept private. This was crazy. He was so clearly a player. Yet, in our semi-isolated pair of seats, feeling the buzz from champagne and arousal, I felt a sense of intimacy. Oh, what the heck, I was a strong-minded woman. I could choose what to share and what to hold back, and right now, what was the harm in talking?

I gave a casual shrug. “I was a Doogie Howser kid. Zipped through school. What can I say?” I forked up some salmon tartare and tasted it. It was very nice for airline food.

“Man. Did you do anything else but go to school?”

Besides supervising my sisters while my parents worked? “Not much. My Howser-esque qualities became apparent when I was a baby, so my parents put me on the fast track.” No Goldilocks for me; my “fairy tales” had been Greek mythology.

“Why?”

“Uh…What do you mean?”

“To what end? So you could have a doctorate when you were twenty-two?”

The question stopped me and I realized I didn’t know the answer. “I guess once they knew my potential, they wanted me to realize it.” It wasn’t like me to be revealing personal information to a stranger, but there was a surprising warmth in those gray eyes. A warmth that eased the ache in my temples, and made my nether regions hum with awareness.

He put down his spoon, soup bowl half empty, and cocked his head. “But why the ‘all work, no play’ thing? What’s so bad about being a kid? Playing with friends, having fun?”

“I don’t know,” I said softly, lifting my wineglass. “I envied my sisters sometimes, because they had those things. But…this is awful; I felt kind of superior, too.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I got that from the phone calls.”

I winced. “Did I sound horrible?”

“No. Just like a perfectionist who’s impatient when others don’t measure up.”

I nodded. “That’s me in a nutshell.”

“Try the wine,” he urged, making me realize I’d been hanging on to the glass but hadn’t yet taken a sip.

I obeyed, and found it matched his description. He’d summed it up as neatly as he’d just done with me. “It’s great.”

Day touched my arm, fingers drifting across my skin in a caress, then squeezing gently. “There’s a lot more in that nutshell, Theresa. Sense of humor, loyalty, a—”

“Loyalty?” I cut in.

“To your little sister. Taking on her wedding.”

My eyes widened. “That’s not loyalty, it’s just…she’s my sister. The wedding is really important to her, and I want her to have her perfect day.” After all, there had been enough times I, and the rest of the family, hadn’t been there for Merilee.

“Course you do.” He spooned up some more soup and held out his spoon. “Here.”

I leaned forward, feeling inelegant as I slurped it. “Tasty. Want to try the salmon?”

At his nod, I offered him a forkful. He steadied my hand with his, which had the opposite effect of sending quivers from my fingers up my arm.

He took his time about releasing me. “How many siblings are there? Any more phone calls you need to make?”

“No, that’s it. I’ll check in when I’m in Honolulu airport.” I sipped some more wine. “There are four of us, all sisters.” I broke off. “You can’t possibly be interested in this.”

“Hey, until dinner’s over and they turn out the lights, what else can we do but talk?”

And what would we do after? I’d intended to work—on the wedding plan, the exams. But that decision could wait. For the moment, with meal trays in front of us, what else could we do but eat, drink, and chat? It was flattering to have a man interested in something other than my latest research project. I’d never see Day after this flight, so what was the harm in opening up a little? In fact, the idea—ships that pass in the night; strangers on a plane—had a strong appeal.

“Okay, here’s the Fallon family history. When Mom and Dad got married, he was working on his doctorate—he’s a geneticist—and she was going into law school. They didn’t plan on having kids for years. She was on the pill, but it’s not 100 percent effective. She got pregnant in second-year law. Lucky for me, they decided to have the baby.”

“That was you? I’m glad about that decision.”

“Mom believed one parent should stay home with the kids for the first two or three years. Dad’s very much the absentminded professor, so he’d have been useless with a baby. They decided they’d like to have at least two kids, and Mom said, if she was going to interrupt her career path, she was only doing it once. So she whipped us out very efficiently. Me, Kat. Then, trying for a boy, Jenna. They decided the three-pack was enough. When Jenna was two, Mom went back to law school.”

Day, who’d been drinking wine as I talked, put his glass down. “Your mom sounds really organized. Guess you take after her?”

“Funny you’d say that. I’ve always been a daddy’s girl, an academic. But you’re right, I’m also very organized, like Mom.” An outsider’s perspective was interesting.

“I bet when you were little they saw you as the best of both of them. They wanted you to superachieve partly for you, but partly because you were a reflection of them.”

“Maybe so,” I said slowly. It was another perception to tuck away in the back of my mind and mull over later. “You’re not just a pretty face, are you, Day?”