Читать книгу Truly, Madly, Deeply - Vicki Lewis Thompson - Страница 9

Dear Erica,

My boyfriend loves it when I give him oral sex, but he’s stingy about returning the favor. Should I keep him or dump him?

Sincerely, Sugarlips

ERICA DRUMMED her fingers on the edge of the keyboard while she contemplated her answer. Then her clock chimed the half hour, reminding her that Dustin Ramsey would show up in thirty minutes, and her stomach began to churn.

She needed to make use of this time before he arrived. Her newsletter was due at the printers by noon tomorrow. If she’d had any backbone whatsoever, she’d have told Dustin this wasn’t a good time for him to make the trip from Midland. The first of next week would have been better.

But no, she’d been too dumbstruck by the call, too eager to see him after all this time. Too awed by the great Dustin Ramsey, just as she had been at eighteen. Now she was so nervous about the meeting that she couldn’t concentrate on her work. Her New Age mother would tell her to “live in the moment” and stop obsessing, but Erica hadn’t perfected that yet.

With a sigh, she rolled her chair away from the battered desk. Then she stood and wandered around her small living room, adjusting the cushions on her flea-market rattan furniture. She also should have suggested meeting him at some neutral location instead of going along with his too-intimate suggestion of coming to her apartment. She couldn’t imagine that soon he’d be standing on her sisal rug. Once she’d left Midland ten years ago, she’d never expected to see him again.

Never wanted to see him again, either. In her view, if you had embarrassingly bad sex with a guy there were only two options—hang in there and try to get it right, or avoid each other forever. She would have voted for Option A if she’d had an ounce of sexual confidence. Instead she’d allowed Dustin to dictate what happened next, and he’d chosen Option B. She could hardly blame him. Virginal and fumbling, she’d been more of a liability than an asset in the back seat of his Mustang on that warm April night.

Years later she’d realized that a more experienced woman could have changed the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am into a night of ecstasy for both of them. She could have taken charge of the situation by teasing him, petting him, suggesting varied positions, moving the action outside, even performing a striptease. Instead she’d simply spread her thighs. No doubt a savvy guy like Dustin had been bored, so bored that by now he’d forgotten the whole incident. Unfortunately, she believed him when he said he’d looked her up to discuss a business proposition, something to do with her newsletter for singles.

She could have told him that she’d started Dateline: Dallas on a dare and that she planned to abandon it the minute she landed a juicy hard-news slot on a major daily. But then he might have changed his mind about discussing this business proposition, and she couldn’t resist the possibility of spending a little time with Dustin. She’d never been able to resist that prospect.

Ten years, and she hadn’t progressed an inch when it came to that guy. Damn it. She forced herself to return to the computer. Sugarlips was the only one who could save her.

When she eventually gave up the newsletter, she’d miss writing replies to the letters column. She’d miss the free food from the restaurants she reviewed, the complimentary movie tickets, and the free drinks handed out by West End nightclubs hoping for a mention. She’d had fun this year making lemonade out of her inability to land the job she really wanted, but she had to agree with her parents that Dateline: Dallas was on the superficial side and a waste of trees.

As she typed, she smiled at the writer’s self-description.

Dear Sugarlips,

Your guy is loafing on the lead, girlfriend! You might try enticing him with flavored oils, but my gut feeling is that you’re dealing with a sexually selfish dude. I’d give him one more chance, but only one. If he fails that test, it’s Dumpsville, baby. Good luck.

Erica

Saving both letter and reply to a new file, she moved on to the next letter.

Dear Erica,

My boyfriend has no staying power, and I’m left unsatisfied. He says I should be able to come sooner, and I say he should be able to last longer. Who’s right?

Sincerely, Frustrated Franny

Erica began typing with more enthusiasm. On this particular subject, she was a certified expert.

DUSTIN RAMSEY STOOD outside a three-story brick apartment complex on McKinney Avenue, the results of Jennifer Madison’s investigation tucked into his briefcase. The sweat trickling down his backbone had little to do with the August heat and a lot to do with anxiety. Because of the ninety-five-degree temperature he’d left off the tie, but a business deal required a jacket as a bare minimum, and he’d also worn his best snakeskin boots.

He might feel like a fraud on the inside, but on the outside he would look like the professional businessman he should be, given his heritage. People in Dallas paid attention to clothes. He’d left Midland at dawn, and the knot of tension in his gut had tightened with every mile.

No doubt about it, he was in deep shit. If he’d asked to be involved in the family business instead of screwing around on the amateur auto racing circuit, he’d have known that his dad was flushing the family fortune down the toilet. It was a common story in West Texas—oil barons unable to compete with the cheap crude coming out of the Middle East.

As if that wasn’t disaster enough, Clayton Ramsey had used precious money to buy two weekly newspapers, one in San Antonio and one in Houston. Apparently Dustin’s father had always longed to be a newspaperman. Dustin had been oblivious to everything until eight months ago, when a stroke had left his father unable to talk.

Thrust into power, Dustin had considered auctioning the land to developers, selling both newspapers, setting his parents up in a town home and calling it good. But the tears in his mother’s eyes and the hopeless droop of his father’s shoulders changed his mind. He’d use the land as collateral to rebuild Ramsey Enterprises and hang on to his father’s newspapers. Somehow.

The notice for his ten-year high-school reunion had come about that time, which had started him thinking about Erica. He’d goofed off in every class, barely passing, until the semester he took chemistry and ended up as Erica’s lab partner. She’d challenged him to do better, and by God, he had. It was his lone A in a crowd of C’s.

He must have had some dumb idea that his performance in that chemistry class would transfer to his seduction of Erica in the back of the Mustang. She’d been blond, leggy, slightly drunk and unbelievable sensuous. He’d been…a virgin. A bumbling, eager, too-quick-to-come virgin. While all his jock buddies had managed to get laid in some form or fashion by the time they were juniors, Dustin hadn’t.

Naturally he’d let everyone assume otherwise, shy about revealing the romantic streak that had made him want to wait until the moment felt exactly right. That moment hadn’t arrived until April of his senior year during a keg party at Jeremy’s house. Jeremy threw a party every time his parents left town, and usually the guests were limited to football players and cheerleaders.

But in honor of his senior year, Jeremy had invited the whole damn school, including brainiacs like Erica. A couple hours into the party, Dustin had come up with the brilliant idea of asking her to take a drive into the country, and they’d ended up in the back seat together.

He still winced every time he thought about his abysmal performance that night. What a total disappointment he must have been for a knowledgeable girl like Erica. What a deep disappointment he’d been to himself. To think that the homecoming king, star running back and most eligible bachelor in school was a lousy lover. He hadn’t been able to face Erica after that.

Ten years later he could forgive himself a little bit. He’d been naive to think that he could be instantly good at sex the way he’d been instantly good at every sport he’d ever tried. Hand-eye coordination was all well and good, but sex involved coordinating a trickier part of his anatomy. Besides that, he’d been intimidated by Erica. He’d tried too hard.

Okay, now he was better at sex. Without bragging, he could say that he was damn good at it. Several women had told him so. He should be able to forget that he hadn’t given Erica Deutchmann, his first lover, an orgasm. But he couldn’t forget, and he wanted a rematch. That was a big part of why he was here.

It wasn’t, however, the main reason. His reputation as a party animal had attracted other party animals. Now when he had to get serious, he had no friends to rely on. But during that chemistry class, he’d learned that he could rely on Erica. She was intelligent and ambitious, just the sort of person he needed on his side during this business crisis.

He wasn’t at all surprised to find her publishing a wildly successful newsletter for singles all by herself. Once Jennifer had uncovered the information about Dateline: Dallas, Dustin had contacted a couple of his racing buddies who lived here, and they’d said everybody over eighteen and under forty knew about the newsletter. It was savvy, sexy and just plain fun.

Erica had tapped into a gold mine, and that was exactly the kind of drive and initiative he needed as part of his campaign to reorganize Ramsey Enterprises. He already had printing capability in San Antonio and Houston. Revenue from a hot newsletter could shore up the bottom line for the weeklies his father was so attached to.

Plus, if everything worked out, Dustin would have many opportunities to erase old memories and create new ones with Erica. It was a good plan, and it had to work. Yeah, the strategy might look like a Hail Mary pass in the last minutes of the game, but it was all he had going for him.

He took a deep breath and headed for the set of glass double doors leading into the building. Before he left Dallas, he would prove to Erica that he was capable of excellence in business and pleasure.

Inside the building he discovered stairs and no elevator. Damn. He liked the idea of whisking up to the third floor in an elevator before he could lose his nerve. Taking off his jacket, he started up.

By the second flight he’d convinced himself that this was the most insane idea he’d ever had. Erica wouldn’t be interested in sharing either business or pleasure with him. She’d sounded sort of distant on the phone. He’d been obsessing about her for years and it was possible she barely remembered him.

Still, he’d see this through. He might have screwed around most of his life, but he wasn’t a quitter. That’s why he’d scored so many touchdowns in high school—point him toward a goal and he was unstoppable. He’d just never seen any other goals worth the effort. Until now.

On the third floor he paused and put on his coat. Hefting his briefcase again, he started down the carpeted hallway toward number 310. His heart pounded like a sonofabitch, and not from the climb, either. He hadn’t been this nervous since…since driving out into the country with Erica.

He stood in front of her door for a good thirty seconds, working up to pushing her doorbell. Finally he squared his shoulders and did the deed. Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door.

When she opened it, he managed an automatic smile. He was a Ramsey, and Ramseys always led with a big, Texas-style grin. But he was afraid his eyes popped.

At the high school reunion a month ago, he’d had a chance to see how ten years had treated his classmates, and not a one of them had blossomed like this. Erica had been pretty back in high school, but not especially stylish, wearing both her blond hair and her denim skirts long. Now both were short. Very short.

Her hair was cut in the jaunty style so popular now, and her jungle-print skirt and black tank were the kind of seductive clothes that women wore these days. Not many wore them with this kind of flair though, because not many had been blessed with a long-legged, full-breasted figure that would never go out of style. She wore large wooden earrings and open-toed mules. Urban chick all the way.

He quickly checked her left hand and found bright red nails but no engagement ring. That was a relief.

“Hey, Dustin. It’s been a long time, huh?”

Way too long. “Sure has. You’re looking terrific.” It was lame, but the best he could do considering his jangled brain and dry throat.

“You, too.” Her tone was cautious. “Come on in.” She stepped back and gestured for him to enter.

“Thanks.” He could understand her caution. She wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea, like maybe she was interested in a date. Assuming she remembered their history, he’d be the last person on earth she’d want to date, old Instant-o-matic Ramsey. Although he was mesmerized by the curve of her breasts and intoxicated by the exotic fragrance she wore, he managed to walk past her and into the room with what he hoped was confident ease.

He kept his voice casual. “So why didn’t you come to the reunion?” She’d cost him precious money by staying away. He’d expected to hook up with her there. When she hadn’t showed up and nobody had known her whereabouts, he’d tried the phone listings in various Texas cities, never suspecting she’d shortened her last name to Mann. He’d had to hire Jennifer to dig up that information.

“Reunion? Oh, yeah, I guess it is ten years, isn’t it? I didn’t get the notice, probably because of my name change.”

“I wondered why you decided to change it.” He inhaled her perfume with relish. It was much more blatant and sexy than what she’d used in high school. Her makeup was more out there, too—pouting red lips and dramatic black lashes, even though he knew for a fact she was a natural blond. While taking off his Jockeys in his room after that fateful night with her, he’d found a blond hair tangled in with his darker ones.

“When I was in journalism at U.T. I decided I wanted a more dramatic byline.”

He nodded. “That sounds like you.” Dazed as he was by Erica, he had trouble focusing on his surroundings. Vaguely he registered a bright, sunny living room with lots of bookshelves, rattan furniture that gave the apartment a tropical look, a counter defining a small kitchen to his left and a hallway leading to the bedroom and bath to his right. Over her sofa hung a huge picture of some kind of flower. The rosy colors inside the flower made him think of sex, but anything would make him think of sex right now.

On an old wooden desk sat her computer, still turned on. The desk was cluttered with paper and advertising flyers. “I see you’ve been working on the newsletter.”

“Yeah, deadline coming up.”

He set down his briefcase and wandered over to the desk. He’d already seen a couple of issues, and he knew the advice column was the juiciest part, with the letters usually focused on sex. He glanced at the screen.

Dear Frustrated Franny,

You deserve long and delicious bouts of sex with many orgasms. Teach your guy to go the distance. Here’s one technique:

“Would you like some iced tea?”

He glanced up into those gray eyes of hers and swallowed. He’d give his cherished Harley jacket to know what she was thinking, now that they were face-to-face again. He’d become more experienced, but so had she. For example, she knew techniques for prolonging an erection. He might not have the edge, after all.

Wired as he felt, he could use two fingers of Jack Daniel’s to settle him down. “Tea would be great.”

She broke eye contact, as if she wanted to preserve her secrets. “Have a seat anywhere you like.”

“Okay.” He walked over to the sofa and sank down on the soft cushions. It would be an excellent make-out sofa, but he had a long way to go to overcome his previous reputation and be allowed to test-drive it.

“Are you hungry?” she called out again. “I have cookies.”

Sharing food with a business associate was always a good thing. He should keep his wits about him and remember tactics like that. “What kind?” he asked, remembering one of the other tricks of the food maneuver.

“Fig Newmans.”

He must have misunderstood her. “Fig Newtons?”

“Better. These are the organic version put out by Paul Newman and his daughter Nell.”

“Oh. Sounds good.” The cookies might be made from seaweed and tofu, but he’d eat the damned things. Urban chick or not, Erica obviously was still into the environmental stuff. He glanced at the magazines on the coffee table and noticed they were back issues of Mother Earth News.

He wondered if he had time to sneak back to the computer and read about her techniques for prolonging an erection. Not that he needed to read them, of course. He didn’t have that problem anymore. For another thing, focusing on the problem might even make it happen when he finally got his second chance. Now that would be a pisser.

“Here we are.” She walked into the room carrying a wooden tray with a pitcher of iced tea, two frosted glasses and a plate mounded with what looked like fig bars. “If you’ll pick up those magazines, I’ll set the tray there.”

He leaned over and scooped up the magazines. From this angle, if he made any kind of effort, he could look right up her skirt. He made no effort. Just watching the way her thighs brushed lightly together as she walked was causing enough damage. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but sex where Erica was concerned.

First things first. He needed to sell her on the idea of expanding her newsletter. Once they’d agreed on that he could turn his attention to other things, and not before.

She poured the tea and sat in the chair on the other side of the coffee table. “So. You have a proposition for me?”

He wondered if she’d deliberately made that sound like a sexual challenge, as if she found it difficult to believe a three-minute wonder could manage a decent business proposal. Maybe his performance ten years ago was coloring everything for her, too. God, he hoped not.

Wrapping his hand around the cold glass of iced tea, he picked it up and took a swallow. Good, strong tea. He looked her straight in the eye. “I’d love to take you and your newsletter to the next level.”

Her gaze flickered. “My newsletter?”

At least she hadn’t laughed. If she’d laughed, he would have been toast. “I think you should consider widening your scope. Ramsey Enterprises could provide a support structure that would allow you to really try your wings and achieve greater satisfaction from your efforts.”

Hey, that sounded pretty good. Maybe he was better at business negotiations than he thought. He’d decided not to mention the weeklies until later on, after she was hooked on the idea. According to Jennifer’s info, Erica used to work for the Dallas Morning News. After being involved with a major daily, she might think a weekly wasn’t impressive enough.

She frowned in obvious confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Then again, maybe he sucked at business negotiations. He sighed. “You have a great product. I think you could franchise it.”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “I’m not really into the newsletter. It’s just something I’m doing while I wait for the right opening on a big daily.”

He stared at her, unable to believe that this brilliant newsletter idea was a throwaway job. “But everybody’s talking about Dateline: Dallas. You have a hot commodity there with all kinds of potential.”

She shrugged and picked up a cookie. “Sure, it’s fun, but—”

“If you expanded into other cities, the sky’s the limit. Compare that to slaving away on a reporter’s salary.”

Her eyes flashed. “As if I cared about money. I want to make a difference, and I quit my job at the Morning News when I wasn’t getting the stories I wanted. The newsletter is tiding me over until a good job opens up somewhere else, but I don’t kid myself that it has any socially redeeming value. At least I print it on seventy percent post-consumer recycled paper, so that salves my conscience.”

Dustin was astounded. He’d never imagined that she wasn’t going to continue with this fantastic project. “It has lots of redeeming value,” he said without thinking.

“Like what?” She bit into her cookie with even white teeth.

“Like…being single is tough these days. Sexual marathoners, born-again virgins, cross-dressers. It’s a jungle out there. People need a guide.”

She chewed and swallowed her bite of cookie. “I want to deal with bigger issues.”

He had a feeling that saving Ramsey Enterprises wouldn’t count as a big issue with her. “So you’re not interested in what I’m suggesting.”

“I have to admit I’m intrigued, but I can’t see any point in talking about it when I’ll abandon the whole thing the minute I get the right job offer.”

Intrigued. He could work with that. Maybe he hadn’t bobbled the Hail Mary pass, after all. Maybe it was still hanging suspended in the air. “Any good leads on that job?”

She sighed. “No. With the economy still uncertain, people are keeping the jobs they have. Openings are scarce.”

“Then why not think about the franchise idea?”

“Because if I expanded, then I wouldn’t be able to drop it and run so easily.”

“We could anticipate that you’d be leaving, put people in place who could take over.” That would be easier said than done. Judging from the editions he’d seen, her personality was stamped all over it.

“Why are you so hot to do this?”

Now there was a loaded question. “What you’re doing is unique because it’s city-specific.” He had no idea where that term had come from, but it sounded professional. Thank God for his natural ability to BS his way through anything. The talent had served him well in college, and it might work here.

But talk about hot—all he had to do was glance over at her sitting in the chair with her long legs crossed, and he began to salivate. Desperate for some sort of oral satisfaction, he picked up a cookie and bit into it. Not bad. Tasty, even. But figs made him think of fig leaves. And fig leaves made him think of nearly naked bodies. And sex.

“What sort of expansion are we talking about?”

Surely she hadn’t just glanced at his crotch. He was imagining things. “Whatever you think you could handle.”

She nibbled at her cookie. “Fort Worth would be the logical first step. Then maybe Houston.”

“Houston’s good. San Antonio, too, maybe.” He watched her eat the cookie, watched as she licked a crumb from her lower lip, leaving it red and glistening.

“I’m not saying I want to do this,” she said, “but I wouldn’t mind having a little time to think about it.”

“Take as long as you want.” Yes, the Hail Mary pass was still in the air.

“Are you heading back to Midland today?”

“Not necessarily.” He didn’t plan to let her know how critical her little newsletter was to the fate of Ramsey Enterprises. That could spook her completely.

“Do you have other business in Dallas?”

Only you. “Not really. In fact, I’m due for a couple of days off.” He picked up his briefcase, opened it and pulled out a nine-by-eleven envelope. “I’ve laid out the details of the proposal for you to look over at your leisure. No pressure. I haven’t been to Dallas in a couple of years. I can give you a day or so to decide while I take in the sights.”

“Alone?”

“If you mean do I have a girlfriend stashed in a hotel room, the answer is no.” Good. She’d led the way to a topic he wanted to cover. He finished off his cookie. “And while we’re on the subject, is there anyone you need to consult about this? Some silent partner I don’t know about?”

She spread her arms. “Nope. I’m it.”

You sure are. “If you should change your mind and agree to this, there will be some intense working situations until we get all the machinery in place for the various markets we plan to penetrate.” Penetrate. God, he couldn’t seem to avoid sexual language. “If you have a boyfriend who likes plenty of attention, he should be forewarned.”

Her gaze turned frosty. “I wouldn’t tolerate a boyfriend who required plenty of attention, as you so quaintly put it.”

Whoops. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that. Whether you have a boyfriend is of no consequence to our business discussion, and I was out of line to bring up the subject.”

“Agreed.”

Well, he’d outsmarted himself, zigged when he should have zagged, and been thrown for a loss. He needed time out so he could regroup. He handed her the envelope. “Then maybe I should leave you with this and go play tourist. I can check back tomor—”

“Or we can take the envelope with us while we go grab some lunch. I have a restaurant to review for the current issue, and I need to do it today.”

“Sounds good.” The idea of spending more time with her was the best news he’d had yet, but he didn’t want to seem too eager.

“Then we can have more time to talk.” She rattled the envelope. “And I doubt if all the questions I have are answered in here. On the very slight chance I might change my mind and consider franchising, I need to get a feel for the company. All my information is ten years old.”

“What information?” He was truly bewildered. Ten years ago even he, the only son of Joan and Clayton Ramsey, hadn’t known diddly about how the company operated. Hell, ten months ago he hadn’t known anything. He had trouble believing Erica had possessed any knowledge whatsoever ten years ago.

She focused those mysterious gray eyes on him. “On your performance,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t very good.”

He could feel the heat working up from his collar. “You mean the performance of Ramsey Enterprises?”

“Of course. What did you think I meant?”

“That’s what I thought you meant.” He cleared his throat. “Well, that shouldn’t be a problem for you now.”

“That’s good to hear.” She smiled. “But I’d like specifics. If we spend some time together, I’ll be certain to get all I need from you.”

They couldn’t be talking about sex. Surely she wouldn’t do that. But even if they weren’t talking about sex, she was proposing that they hang out together. Good things had to happen eventually.

“Okay,” he said. “I haven’t rented a hotel room yet. Do you have time to come along while I take care of that?”

“I can do that.” She stood and picked up the tray of tea and cookies. “Let me put this stuff away and get my purse.”

“Great.” Things were looking up. He closed his briefcase and stood as she quickly put the cookies back in the package and dumped out the remains of their iced tea.

“Be back in a sec,” she said, breezing past him and heading down the hallway.

While she was gone, he couldn’t resist going over to the computer and checking out the rest of her answer to Frustrated Franny.

Practice first with fellatio, keeping your thumb and forefinger around the base of his penis. When he’s about to come, squeeze there until he’s under control again. Once he realizes that holding off will increase his pleasure, he may be more motivated. You can also consider which positions—

Dustin heard her coming back down the hall and quickly returned to the sofa where he pretended to study the gigantic flower print hanging over it. Theoretically, looking at a flower should quiet his erection, but damned if the soft, plump interior of that flower didn’t look like a woman’s—

“Georgia O’Keefe,” Erica said, coming back into the room. “On loan from the library.”

He must have looked confused.

“You can check out prints just like you can check out books,” she explained. “That cuts down on the materialistic acquisition of things.”

“Oh.” He thought of the Western art, all originals, hanging in his mother and dad’s house. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to suggest selling those, either. He studied the print more closely and found the signature. “I thought Georgia O’Keefe painted cow skulls.”

“She did that, too. But her work with flowers is quite sexual, don’t you think?”

He turned to look at her. “So it wasn’t my imagination.”

“No.” Her color was high, but she met his gaze without hesitation. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, thinking about the hours that lay ahead of them, hours that just might unfold with promise like this exotic flower. “I definitely like it.”