I'll Be Your Everything (17 page)

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Authors: J.J. Murray

BOOK: I'll Be Your Everything
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Keep it down, my conscience says. I’m trying to sleep.
Shh ...
Tom stares at me for a full minute then draws. The heat kicks on, but my shoulders are already getting warm. He turns the drawing toward me. “Better?”
The little devil. He’s even given me a little cleavage line. “Yes. But ...” I’m starting to sweat, and I just told him to turn up the heat. I am so conflicted. “I have a really nice stomach.” I pull up the bottom of my tank top, rolling it up to just under my breasts. Hey, I still have some abs. “Can you see everything you need to see, Tom?”
Tom nods and goes back to work while the wine and I have a long chat.
I hear heavy breathing? Is it me? I hold my breath. No.
He’s
breathing harder. And that makes me sweat more. Little beads of sweat trickle down my back into my pajamas.
He turns my picture around. “Better?”
Man, he makes me look sexier than I’ve ever felt. Even my belly button is sexy. “I also ...” What’s left? “I have some nice legs, Mr. Sexton.”
“Yes, you do,” he says. “But, um, that’s really not necessary, Shari.”
I can’t believe I’m thinking of taking off my pajamas. And
without
his help! I stare at my glass. Bottoms up! Glass number three tasted just like Kool-Aid.
I suck in a breath and slide out of my pajama bottoms, and my legs fill with goose bumps. I am so glad I did a little shaving down there earlier. “Can you, um, work with these, Tom?”
“Yes,” he says. “I can work with them.”
He takes a
lot
longer drawing my legs. He stares at them, sketches. Stares at them some more, sketches. His eyes drift over my hot skin like ... like ... I can’t think. Like eyes drifting over hot skin.
“Better?” he asks.
He’s made my panties quite small. Well, I am quite small. Duh. It looks as if I’m wearing a string bikini. This is the moment of truth. “You want to draw all of me, don’t you, Tom?”
“Yes,” he says, and oh yes, he’s really panting now. “I want to draw all of you, Shari, but we don’t have to, I mean, I don’t need to.” He blushes and shakes his head. “I think I should be going.”
Without thinking, I hold out my empty glass.
“It’s almost gone,” he says. “Should I get you another bottle?”
No ... way. I have almost killed an entire bottle of wine by myself. “Only if you join me, I mean, only if you have some with me, I mean, only if you drink some wine.” My tongue isn’t cooperating at all.
“I’ll get you the rest,” he says. He takes my glass. “You ate dinner, didn’t you?”
I blink up at him. “Yes. Why?”
“Just checking.”
He goes into the bathroom and returns with half a glass of wine.
I chug it all down and use my eyes to return him to my drawing.
He sits.
What was I about to do? Oh yeah. I start to remove my tank top when the couch decides to tilt. “Whoa,” I say. Man, I drank too much too fast.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
I nod, but I am not all right. I want to feel his hot breath on my skin. I want all those oranges and lemons and musk to seep into my skin. But most of all, I want this couch to sit still! The online description of this hotel did
not
mention tilting couches!
Now where was I? Oh yeah. I was about to have him draw me nude. I’ll bet it was some French wine. Yeah. An American wine wouldn’t have made me think these things.
“Shari?”
I look up and see a vaguely Tom-shaped, um, shape. “Yes?”
“You don’t look so good,” he says. “Maybe I should just put you to bed.”
I’m not drunk. I’m just not sober at all. “But I want you to finish my picture.” And now I’m whining. Wine does that.
He tries to slide my pajamas back on, but my legs go into convulsions.
“I can use my imagination, okay?” he says.
He tries to slide them on again, and I nearly kick him a few times till my pajamas are safely back where they’re supposed to be.
I try to sit up, but something slams my head back into the arm of the couch. Am I wearing my glasses? I am. Then why is the room spinning? I close my eyes, and the spinning gets worse.
“Let me help you,” I hear him say, and in a few seconds, I am airborne.
“But Tom,” I whisper, “I really want to see what you see when you look at me.”
“Shh, Shari,” he says. “It’s okay.”
And then he holds me. It’s like he folds me into himself, and I am surrounded by hot muscle, citrus, and musk.
I ... have ... never ... felt ... so ... safe.
And this isn’t the wine talking. This is some primitive part of me that feels completely secure for the first time in my life.
He is so strong. I bet he could curl me fifty times and not break a sweat. I wrap my arms around his neck and stare at his lips.
“Tom?”
“Yes, Shari.”
I want to tell him never to let me go. I want to tell him that if I died this second, I would die the happiest woman on earth. I want to tell him I have never felt so safe, so aroused, so—
Hey, I’m on the bed and under the covers, a stack of pillows under my head. He’s pretty fast for a big guy.
“Tom?” I’m practically pawing at him. How can I be missing him with my hands? He’s huge!
“Just rest, Shari,” he says. He takes off my glasses.
He’s so fuzzy! “Tom, what cologne do you use?” That was random.
“Jade East.”
“I love it.” I smell my arm. “I smell like you.”
I feel the bed move. “Tom?” Where’d the lights go?
“Yes?”
“You’re not leaving, are you?” I say to a moving mountain. How’d that mountain get in here?
“I really should,” he says.
Oh, the bed is turning now. Stay still, bed! I will not come back to this Hilton if this bed keeps moving. “Please stay with me, Tom. Protect me... .”
And then I dream of marshmallows, Boston cream pies, whipped cream, big fluffy clouds, and even some freaking Charmin toilet paper.
Chapter 16
 
I
wake up at midnight in my bed and under the covers, and I have the worst taste in my mouth. That’s pretty normal. What isn’t normal is the pajamas that I took off are now on, and Tom is lying fully clothed beside me and snoring softly.
What just happened? I have lost five hours of my life.
I see my glasses lying on the nightstand and put them on. I hear the heater kicking on. I smell alcohol in the air. My tongue tastes like rusty metal.
And I
feel
stupid. Why’d I drink so much? Stress and wine do not mix.
I slip out of the bed and walk on unsteady feet to the bathroom where I drink a glass of water, stare at an empty bottle of wine, and then brush my teeth. I’m just rinsing my mouth when Tom appears in the doorway.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
I was nearly naked on that couch, but I woke up clothed. A man is still here with me and was recently lying beside me on my bed. I vaguely remember the man drawing my picture and me taking off most of my clothes. I have lost five hours of my life. No, I am
not
all right. “Yeah,” I say.
“You sure?” he asks. “Oh. Sorry. I put your pants on backwards.”
I look. Yep. “It’s the new style,” I say, shutting the bathroom door and turning my pajama pants around. I take a deep breath, open the door, and see Tom sitting on the couch, that evil couch where this evening began.
I sit on the opposite end, curling my feet under me. “Um, Tom, I have to know.”
He narrows his eyes. “Know what?”
Oh, don’t play coy with me, Mr. Sexton. “Did anything happen?”
“Oh.” He shakes his head. “Nothing happened, Shari. You, um, you passed out. I just put your clothes back on, and, um, put you in the bed. I didn’t want you to catch cold. I stayed to make sure you were all right. I never should have brought you that wine.” He smiles. “I should have cut you off after the first glass.”
I nod. He stayed with drunk me for five hours and didn’t try anything? Well. He’d have to be one of the few men on earth not to try. “Did I, um, make a complete fool of myself?”
“No,” he says. “You’re a cute drunk.”
“No, I mean, did I say anything I shouldn’t have said?”
He blinks.
“I mean, what did I say?”
He looks at the ceiling briefly. “Nothing you should be ashamed of. Although you said the word
juicy
a couple times just before you passed out.”
I am about to blush myself off this couch. Either that or I’m having an entire body hot flash. “I don’t drink very often. I’m sorry I was such a fish.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “You’re under a lot of stress. It’s not easy being two people.”
I look at the coffee table and see my picture, only Tom has added a flannel shirt and tight jeans to my formerly almost naked body. “Why’d you change the picture?”
“That’s the real you,” he says.
Yeah. The real me. “Thanks.”
He slides closer to me. “Are you sure you’re okay, Shari?”
I nod. “I’m okay. I am such a lightweight. I have no tolerance.”
He rubs my shoulder. “You’re a sweet drunk, though. And so quiet while you sleep. I had to keep checking to see if you were breathing.”
And how’d he do that? I sniff my shoulder. Oranges? “Um, did we kiss?”
“No,” he says. “I, um, I did kiss your cheek. You, um, kind of purred.”
It must have been a sweet kiss. I just wish I could remember it. “Well, you must be pretty tired, Tom, so ...” Please go so I can properly vent my embarrassment on a pillow.
“Before you passed out, you asked me to stay, Shari,” he says, “so I stayed.”
Because I was drunk and horny.
“And really, nothing happened,” he says. “I made sure you were warm enough, I fixed the picture, I watched you for a while, and then I guess I dozed off myself.”
I nod. “Well, thank you for, um, for respecting me.”
He slides even closer, and I feel his heat. “If we ever did, um ...”
Yeah. If we ever did, um ...
“I’d want you to remember everything,” he says.
I want so much to snuggle up with him, but I can’t send him the wrong message. Wait. I’ve been sending him the wrong messages all night. I sigh. “Tom, I want you to know that what happened, um, that’s not me.”
He rubs my back. “I know.”
Oh, that’s nice. “And it won’t happen again,” I say. I have to get him out of here. “Um, did anything like this ever happen with Corrine?”
He reaches around me and grips my shoulder gently, pulling me closer. I can’t stop him, and I don’t want to stop him. “Pretty much for the last two years, yeah.”
Corrine gets drunk, passes out, falls asleep, date ends. “Not much of a relationship.”
“No,” he says, his cheek brushing my hair. “I just lost interest, especially when she started drinking so much. I’ve been going through the motions. I don’t call her, don’t return her calls, I make vague or no commitments, I make excuses. I’ve been hoping she would break it off so I wouldn’t have to.”
I can’t see Corrine ever giving up Tom, not with all he has to offer. “It’s not very fair to her.”
He nods. “No. It isn’t. I should have broken it off immediately after she turned down my offer.”
“So why haven’t you?” I let my right hand wander to his thigh because, um, my hand is cold. Geez, he’s made out of steel. Hot steel?
“I still like her,” he says. “But only as a friend. She turns heads, and clients notice. She really knows how to schmooze. She knows how to work a room. She’s been good for business.” He sighs. “I know that’s superficial and jacked up and wrong, but there it is. I use her, and she uses me... .” He pulls me even closer. “But nothing in my life has ever felt anything like this, Shari. I am really... .” He sighs. “I’ve never met anyone as special as you. You’re not afraid of anything. You’re fearless.”
Oh, I have plenty of fears, trust me.
“I know this is going to sound cliché, but you make me feel like a man.” He moves a stray lock from my forehead.
“And Corrine doesn’t?”
“No. She doesn’t make me feel anything.”
I want to tell him that he makes me
feel
. I want to tell him that I need him to feel every inch of my body. “So if Corrine is good for business, what am I good for?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says.
I probably will. I have a horrible headache.
“You’re good for business and, um, pleasure, Shari. You’re the perfect mix of both.” He kisses my forehead. “You make me smile. Just being with you today did my heart some good, even when we were arguing. You are an amazing woman, truly amazing.”
I look up at his lips. I want to kiss him so bad for saying such amazing things about me. “You’re ... pretty amazing, too. I have never ...”
No. Don’t tell him anymore. He already knows too much, and he’s already seen too much.
“Never what?”
Don’t.
“Nothing.” I rest my head against his chest.
He stares down at me. “Never what?”
Can I trust him not to laugh? I sigh. “I have never been with anyone but Bryan. He’s been my, um, one and only.”
Tom doesn’t react at all. “Tell me about Bryan.”
I’m in a god’s arms, and he wants me to talk about Bryan. What is up with this man? “You don’t want to hear about him.”
“Sure I do,” he says. “He’s my competition.”
Not at this moment. “He’s just a very good friend.” Whom I occasionally sleep with. Hmm. I am such a beautiful mess. “Bryan wants to drag me back to Virginia to marry me.” I snuggle closer to Tom. “And I don’t want to be dragged.”
“I can’t imagine any man dragging you anywhere,” he says.
This man knows me. I look up at his face. “He’s, um, Bryan’s coming to visit me this Friday.”
He laughs. “You’re having a busy week.”
Aren’t I? “I’m going to break it off completely with him.” This feels right. It has to be done. “I’m going to tell him that I found somebody.”
“Who?”
I hide in his chest again. “You. I hope.”
He runs his fingers through my hair, and I get goose bumps down to my pinkie toes. “You hope correctly, Shari Nance.” He hugs me, kissing my forehead. “I’ve been hoping for someone like you. If I had known that I was talking to the perfect woman for five years, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time.”
“I’ve wasted about twelve years with Bryan,” I say.
His body jolts. “Twelve?”
Why’d he say that louder? “Much more off than on,” I say quickly.
He shakes his head. “Twelve years?”
Yeah. It does sound jacked up. I slide my booty onto his legs and sit in his lap. “I’m cold.”
He surrounds me with great big arms.
I could get used to this. “Yeah, um, since we were kids.”
“I’ve known very few people in my life for twelve years,” he says. “Wow.”
I am sensing Tom pulling away. I can’t let him do that. “I should call Bryan and save him the trip, but ...” I sigh. “He’ll probably come up to New York anyway to hear it from me in person. He’s old school like that.” And why was I holding on to Bryan again? Oh yeah. I was afraid to be alone, even though I was four hundred miles away from him and really didn’t need or miss him.
That’s
jacked up, too. “I, um, kept Bryan around while I was waiting for someone better, someone better didn’t show up, so I held on to almost as good.”
“You have a wonderful way with words.”
“Thank you.” But they’re sad words. Man, I’ve wasted some serious time here. “I, um, Tom, you’re someone better. You’re the best.”
“I’m not the best.”
“Yes, you are. Any other man would have taken advantage of me like I’m sure I wanted you to.” Geez, I told him I was juicy! “And you didn’t. You respected me.” I rub my head on his chest. “You protected me from myself.”
“I would always protect you, Shari,” he says. “But that doesn’t make me the best. I’m really pretty ordinary.”
And he’s humble. That is so sexy. “If I say you’re the best, Mr. Sexton, you’re the best. God blessed you with outstanding good looks, charm”—buns, abs, and body of steel—“and the softest brown eyes... .” I can’t stop smiling. Maybe it’s the effect of the alcohol, or maybe it’s the alcohol’s effect wearing off. Either way, I’m smiling.
He smiles. “I like your eyes, too. How, um, blind are you?”
“Not very.”
“I really do think your glasses make you look sexy. Something about the way they make your pretty brown eyes bigger.”
I look at my hands. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a romantic.”
“You’re pretty romantic yourself.”
I’m just all out of practice. “What do we do now?” I take his hands and hold them to my stomach, which isn’t feeling so hot. “We’re obviously compromised on this competition.”
He squeezes my hands. “No, we aren’t.”
I lean back. “How aren’t we? We’re seeing each other again after tonight, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
That’s right. This isn’t a one-night thing. Man, his hands are so big! I put one on my stomach, and my stomach disappears. “This is kind of like snuggling with the enemy, though, Tom. You can’t go to war with the person you’re snuggling with. It is just not done.” Why do these sound like movie lines? I watch too many movies.
“Ever see Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn in
Adam’s Rib
?”
“No.” I rub his legs. “I’ve seen a lot of movies, though, just not that one.”
“They’re both lawyers, and while he prosecutes a woman who killed her husband, she defends the woman in court
and
at home. And despite their differences and a bunch of verbal fights, they still love each other.”
“Good thing we don’t have any differences.” Inside, where it counts. “So what you’re saying is that ...” I squint. “You’re saying we can still snuggle, and maybe more.” I give myself goose bumps. “And we can still be competitors?”
He pulls my hips closer to him, my booty firmly planted on a very nice, firm spot. “That’s why I wanted you to join me in our own ad agency. Then we can do this ... and maybe more.”
I like that phrase. “Maybe more” has so many possibilities.
“And we’ll work late together,” he whispers, “and travel together and eat out together.”
“We’ll never get anything done,” I whisper. Why am I whispering? Geez, I want to grind on him so badly! C’mon, God, I’m three years from thirty, my sexual peak.

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