A Different Kind Of Forever (12 page)

“Oh, how boring.” Marianne looked at Diane closely. “This could seriously dampen the entire happily-ever-after aspect of this relationship.”

Diane laughed. “I haven’t looked that far ahead. I think he’s a lot of fun, and I have the major hots for his body. Does that count as a relationship?”

“Close enough.” Marianne looked fondly at her friend. “You look happy. Your whole face is lit up. You deserve somebody wonderful. So where are you going?”

“Dinner again. Last time, we went to Marco’s.”

“Well, at least he knows good food. So call Kevin, and tell him to get the girls at five. Shave all the critical places and not too much perfume. Some men are allergic.”

“Thank you for the advice.”

Marianne looked smug. “You’re welcome. Make sure you have condoms. And make sure he feeds you first.”

Diane buried her face in her hands and laughed out loud.

Kevin picked up the girls at five. A little after six, Diane called Sharon.

“Listen, Sharon, here’s what I’ve got. Black pantsuit. Makes me look thin. The red jersey dress clings in the right spots, but it’s sleeveless. Is it too cool for sleeveless? Or there’s the old standby, that African print, you know the one. What do you think? Which one looks best?”

Sharon snorted. “Who the hell cares what they look like? Which one is the easiest to take off?”

Diane hung up and put on the red dress. She brushed her hair carefully. She put on one of her favorite CD’s, classical and calming. Jasper sat on her bed, watching her put on earrings and make-up. She felt nervous. The condoms she had bought were in her top drawer, and she pushed them aside as she searched for pantyhose. When the doorbell rang, she was still barefoot.

She ran to open the door. Michael was wearing a beautifully pressed white button down shirt, sleeves carefully folded up, a narrow, red tie, jeans, and loafers.
 

“You look very neato. I’m glad to see you got something out of that expensive prep school you went to.” she said.

He grinned. “I’m traveling incognito.”

“Shouldn’t you have a cashmere sweater draped around your shoulders?” she teased, as he came into the living room.”

“It’s in the car,” he said seriously, “with my double-breasted navy blazer.”

Diane laughed. “I’ve got to get shoes and stockings. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

Diane went back into the bedroom. The top of her closet was packed with shoeboxes. Diane knew the exact pair she wanted, the Nine West pumps, but as she tried to dislodge the box, she pulled too hard and a dozen boxes came spilling out of the closet. She covered her head with her hands, and let out an involuntary cry as the shoes tumbled down. She ducked for a moment as they all fell to the floor, then she looked down in dismay. There were shoes everywhere.

Michael burst into the room. “Are you okay? What happened?” He looked around and said, in a different tone, “What happened?”

“My shoes tried to commit suicide. They all jumped.” She turned to him. “I’m sorry. I’ll be ready in a sec.”

 
She got down on her knees and began to pile the shoes together. Michael got down next to her. “Let me help you. Here.” He put two shoes in a box.
 

Diane looked at him and shook her head. “No. These are two different shoes.”

Michael sat, legs crossed Indian-style, and looked around him. “But they’re all the same.”

“No, they’re different. See, this has a rounded toe. This one is squared off.”

He picked up two more shoes. “They’re all black. You have, what, ten pair of black shoes?”

Diane grabbed the shoes from his hand. “You’re mocking me. I can tell.”

“No.” He picked up an empty box and handed it to her, controlling his laughter. “I would never do that. I grew up with three women. If nothing else, I learned that the relationship between a woman and her shoes is a sacred thing.”

She looked at Michael. There was a half-smile on his face. His dark hair curled around his ear. His lashes were perfectly straight and very long. She touched his cheek and he turned to her. She kissed him very carefully, catching his lower lip in her teeth and pulling gently.

“I think I’ve made a decision,” she said in a whisper.

“Yeah?” He was very close.

“Yeah.”
 

“So,” he said, his voice rough, “what do you want to do?”

“Everything.” She kissed him, slow, teasing kisses, her hands on either side of his face. His arms went around her, drawing her to the floor. Her hair fell around his face and she kissed his cheek, neck, the hollow at the base of his throat. She pulled off his tie, and began to unbutton his shirt, her tongue hot against his smooth flesh. Her fingertips brushed him gently, thumbs against his nipples, and she heard an intake of breath, and felt him strain his body against the floor.

“Shit,” she muttered. “Wait.” She reached back and grabbed a condom out of her top drawer. She held it up before him, then pushed it into his palm. She pulled his shirttail from the waist of his jeans and unsnapped them in a flick of her thumb, pulling down the zipper. He lifted his hips as she eased them down and tossed them aside, then bent to take him into her mouth. He made a sound, soft, and he moved uncontrollably as she closed her lips around him, one hand running lightly across the tight muscles of his abdomen, the other stroking him, following the rise and fall of her mouth. His hips moved, imperceptibly at first, matching her rhythm, and he grew harder.

Diane flicked her tongue, delighted with the smell of him, inhaling deeply as she felt her own desire grow. He filled her mouth, not just the feel of his flesh, but the taste of him, sweet, and he made another sound, a low groan, and his legs moved, his hips rising faster. His hand grabbed her hair.
 

“Wait,” he gasped. “Wait.”

She lifted her head, hitched up her dress, and swung one leg over, straddling him. He sat up and pulled her to him, and his hands came up her legs, under her dress, pulling it over her head. His breath was ragged, and he pulled away her bra as she pressed herself against him, feeling him through the thin fabric of her panties. Her breasts felt tender, and when he put his mouth to her nipple, she whimpered. His hands were on her hips, holding her as she rubbed herself against him, feeling a rise, a swell of pleasure.

She had wrapped her legs around him and he moved, lifting her, then laid her down beneath him. She was gasping, eyes closed, her arms outstretched, fingers gripping the carpet, and he slid his hands under her panties, pulling them down, kissing hungrily her ankle, then the tender spot inside her knee, and the soft flesh of her thighs. She arched her back as she felt his tongue, and her eyes flew open.
 

“Oh, God,” she whispered, and she tried to push her hips upward, but he held her down.
 

“Patience,” he said softly, and she felt him again, tongue moving slowly, slowly, and each sweet touch brought from her a sound, deep and breathless. The blood pounded in her ears as she strained against him, and she could feel her climax building. She could hear her voice, pleading, please, please, and she came in a violent wave that took her breath as her body heaved away from him.
 

Her head was thrown back, and when she opened her eyes, his face was above her, and he kissed her cheeks, and then her mouth, deeply, and she could taste herself on his lips, and the salt of her tears. He was between her legs, and she rubbed his erection, hard against her belly. She reached down and guided him, and he entered her gently, her flesh still throbbing, and she lifted her body to meet his. Her legs curled around him, her hands running down his back, pressing him deeper. He was moving slowly, deliberately, looking into her eyes, and she felt too open, too vulnerable, but she could not look away from him. She felt his body quicken, and at the same time she felt something of the same begin in her again and she wrapped her legs tighter, pushing herself harder into him.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please, don’t stop.” His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, she could feel all the muscles begin to strain, but he did not stop. He rose
 

himself above her, watching her as she arched against him, and she came again, crying out, and as she pulled down his head, searching for his mouth, he came with a shudder, his own cry muffled.
 

 
He lay still against her. He was lightly built, almost delicate, all wiry muscle and lean flesh. When he tried to move, she tightened her arms, her legs, keeping him close.

“No,” she whispered. “Not yet.” He lifted his head and smiled at her, his body loose now and damp with sweat. The house was quiet, music playing softly from the living room, her breathing finally slowed. He lifted himself off her and rolled on his back, eyes closed, breathing deep.
 

Diane felt stunned. Every inch of her skin felt new and exquisitely tender. She stared at the ceiling, wishing she could find words, something to say to him, something clever and smart, so he would not know how shaken she was.

Michael rolled to his side, facing her, head propped on his hand. With one finger he outlined the line of her lips, swollen and red, and she bit his fingertip very softly, then kissed it. He brushed the damp hair from her face.

“What is that music?” he asked quietly.

She listened. “Vaughn Williams. It’s called ‘A Lark Ascending’.”

“Pretty. Do you like classical music?”

“Sometimes. I like this. It helps me relax.”

He was watching her. “You needed to relax tonight?”

Diane let out a slow breath. “I told you. I haven’t done this in a while.” She turned her head to look at him. “I was afraid I’d do something stupid.”

“We did just fine.”

She lay there, wanting to touch him again, just to feel the smoothness of his skin against her. She lifted her hand and he caught it, kissing her palm. She rolled to face him and kissed him again, without passion. He pulled her close, wrapping his leg around her. She lifted the thin silver chain that was around his neck.

“This is very beautiful.”

“It was my mother’s,” he explained. “She bought it in Rome, along with a crucifix. She had it blessed by the Pope. I have the cross at home.”

Diane heard a soft thump as Jasper leapt off the bed. He walked over and sat on the floor where their heads lay, almost touching, and began to purr.

“You have a cat,” Michael said.

“Yes. This is Jasper.”

“Was he watching?”

“Probably. Now he’ll run out and report to all his cat friends.”

“Tough room.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said lightly. “I bet when you leave, all the cats in the neighborhood will be lined up outside, applauding.”

He laughed softly and kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Are you hungry?” Diane asked.

“Yes. Where would you like to go?”

“I have food here.” She sat up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” She walked across the hall and into the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed and blotchy, eyes faintly red. She sat down and urinated, the flesh between her legs achy and sore. She had the smell of him everywhere. She splashed cold water on her face and smoothed back her hair.

The bedroom was empty. She picked up her dress and pulled it over her naked body.

He was in the kitchen. She watched him taking out eggs and cheese from the refrigerator. She crossed her arms over her breasts.

“If you can cook,” she said seriously, “I may have to propose.”

He threw her a smile. “I can make a great marinade for cooking anything out on a grill, and I make mashed potatoes that will take a year off your life from too much butter and cream. I also make perfect omelets. Cheese? Or would you prefer mushroom? You have a great kitchen. You must be serious about food.”

“Yes, we’re pretty serious about food around here. I have some ham. We could run a few slices under the broiler.”

“Fantastic. Is that sourdough from Jimmy’s up there? Great bread, just great.”

He was standing in front of her stove, barefoot, jeans riding low, his shirt still open. She came up behind him and put her arms around his waist, looking over his shoulder. His movements were quick and efficient. He was cracking eggs into a large bowl, one-handed. She watched him for a minute, enjoying the feel of her hands on his skin, the play of the muscles in his back against her breasts.

“I’ll set the table,” she said. He nodded, and gave her a quick kiss before she stepped away from him.
 

She carried dishes into the dining room, set out cloth napkins from the sideboard. The table was a long oak farm table, the wood golden and softly gleaming. In the center of the table were a cluster of candles, each on a different candlestick, brass, copper, pewter. Diane collected them, one from each of the dozen countries she had visited. She lit them carefully, and the room bloomed with soft light. She went to change the music, a jazz station, and then closed the drapes of her living room window against the darkness.
 

The meal was wonderful. She ate slowly, listening to him as he spoke, laughing with him. After they cleared the table, she brought a bowl of grapes into the living room, and they drank cold white wine and sat on opposite ends of the coach, facing each other, backs propped against the arms of the couch, feet and legs intertwined. She talked about her marriage, the girls. He talked about the movie, about being a celebrity. She refilled the wine glasses and lit more candles. He watched her as she moved about the room, his body relaxed, and his eyes bright and intense.

“Would you like to go sailing tomorrow?” he asked her as she settled back into her corner.

“Sailing? You have a boat?”

“Yeah, a small one. It’s fantastic - like flying.”

“I bet. I’d love to go with you. Where?”

“We’ll go to my place. Mendham.”

“There’s a lake in Mendham? I never knew that.” She was surprised. She had been there often, antiquing. It was a small, wealthy community surrounded by woods and horse farms.

“Well, there’s a lake where I live.” He looked sheepish.