Intimate (4 page)

Fell into the
pool.

Caleb had made
it over there by now, and he was close enough to actually feel a few drops from
the spray that went up as Marissa splashed in.

Davison was
staring down into the water in a dazed stupor. “She dove in,” he mumbled.

Not even
bothering to respond to this piece of nonsense, Caleb—after making sure that Marissa
was out of the way—calmly gave Davison a shove, causing the man to topple
backwards into the pool in a clumsy tangle of arms and legs. He let out a frantic
scream as he fell, which Caleb studiously ignored.

He took a few
steps over until he was directly above Marissa, who was by now treading water
and cursing with obscene creativity.

It didn’t take
long for Caleb to realize that most of the curses were directed at him.

“I know, I
know,” he said, in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “You can yell at me to
your heart’s content later, but let me help you out first. It’s too cold for
you to be in the water.”

He extended a
hand to help her out. It was only then that Caleb realized he was in very real
danger.

Davison was
flailing around and wailing about his woeful situation. His initial scream had
brought several people out to the patio, and the fascinated audience had grown
in the last minute to include at least half of the guests.

A good portion
of the orchestra, their dates, and their potential donors were standing around
gossiping about the hilarious situation. They were his colleagues, his
contacts, his professional circle. They all either hated or admired Caleb
Wesley.

Who was about
to get pulled into the pool. By a cursing, sopping-wet brunette.

He could see
her eyes. Knew how to interpret them. “Please don’t.” He tried to find
something to hold onto. “I know I deserve it, but please don’t.”

He could see Marissa
hesitate. Then she let him pull her out of the pool.

She was, of
course, totally soaked. Her hair had fallen out of the French twist and was now
dripping and sticking to her skin in flattened, drenched strands. The thin
fabric of her dress clung shamelessly, revealing her body so clearly she might
as well be naked.

Without
thinking, Caleb took off his jacket and wrapped it around her, as much to hide
her body from leering eyes as to keep her warm.

She was shivering
so helplessly her teeth chattered. “I hope you appreciate that act of grace.
You should be glad I love you too much to humiliate you in public. But, be
assured, my revenge will be all the sweeter for the delay.”

“I never
doubted it for a moment.”

Caleb kept his
arm around her as the watching crowd came over to offer Marissa sympathetic or
amused comments and questions. She behaved with typical good-nature and made a
witty joke about the situation.

But she was
very, very cold. And very, very wet. And the evening was chilly to begin with. Caleb
could feel how uncontrollably she was shaking.

Starting to get
worried, he interrupted the growing hilarity of the crowd to say briskly, “She needs
to get into dry clothes, and someone should make sure Davison doesn’t actually
drown.”

The crowd parted
at his authoritative words, and he urged Marissa forward. They walked back into
the house and—at his request—were shown into a convenient upstairs room.

Marissa
immediately collapsed onto the bed and curled up in a little ball.

Truly concerned
now, Caleb knelt on the floor beside her. “Are you all right?” he asked,
putting a hand on her shoulder. He could already feel the moisture seeping
through the jacket to his tux that she still had wrapped around her.

“No,” she
whimpered.

He moved his
hand to her face, stroked her cheek, and pushed her wet hair back from her eyes.
“Marissa?” he prompted, feeling uncharacteristically helpless.

He didn’t like
the feeling at all.

With a sudden
exclamation, she sat up, pushing his hand away as she did. Then she tore off
his jacket and got to her feet, staring down at her still clinging dress.

Caleb, who
stood up as well, noticed but tried not to focus on her tight nipples, clearly
visible through the wet fabric.

“Look at me,”
she demanded furiously.

His eyes
instinctively shot back to her breasts.

“My beautiful
dress is ruined,” she wailed, apparently failing to notice his sudden
preoccupation with her chest. “And my shoes!”

Caleb glanced
down at her feet. They were bare, her pretty toes neatly painted and the fair
skin glistening with moisture.

“My wonderful
shoes are still in the pool!” Her voice was almost a sob, but it was broken by
her chattering teeth.

He had no idea
how to comfort her. His first reaction was to tell her that he’d buy her new
ones, but he very wisely resisted that impulse. He gave her a sort-of pat on the
back, feeling absolutely stupid and wishing someone would return soon with dry
clothes and a towel so she could get out of the wet, revealing dress.

Just then, their
hostess did return. She explained apologetically that the only women’s clothes
in the household were either hers (she was eight sizes too big for Marissa) or her
daughter’s (who, Caleb had good reason to know, was much taller and much less
curvy than Marissa). So the woman offered Marissa a skirt and the choice of two
shirts—one belonging to the daughter and one belonging to a man.

Then she left
the room.

Marissa snatched
up one of the towels and started to mop at her body. “You have no idea how much
I hate you right now. If you’d been acting like a proper date, this never would
have happened.”

“I know. I’m
sorry.” He spoke reflexively, but he wasn’t thinking about his words.

The sight of her
breasts bouncing around as she vigorously dried her legs was making him very
uncomfortable.

She was still
muttering under her breath, but some of the heat must have worn off because she
didn’t snarl at him again. She turned around to pick up the second towel,
revealing to him the long stretch of bare skin exposed by her dress.

He stared at
her in silence, wondering why everything had suddenly gotten so strange.

Then Marissa,
still standing with her back to him, began towel-drying her hair, and her
energetic shaking caused the fabric of the dress to shift.

Caleb’s eyes
widened and his mouth dropped opened as he caught an unmistakable glimpse of
crease and shadow beneath the very low cut of the back—cleavage of a different
variety.

He turned on
his heel, suddenly feeling as if he’d invaded her privacy. Their relationship
had never been like this. He’d never seen her naked. Didn’t want to know what
her nipples looked like, what her ass…

This was wrong.
She had innocently accepted his presence in this room as a friend and a
comfort. Exactly what he’d always been to her. And here he was, eyeing her like
Kevin Davison at his leering, groping worst.

The shock of
the bizarre situation must have temporarily affected his mind. This was Marissa.
His best friend. His only friend. Not some random body for him to lust over.

He didn’t think
about Marissa that way.

“Keep your back
turned,” she instructed from behind him. “I’m changing clothes.”

Caleb tried not
to picture it. Wasn’t about to turn around.

He heard her
rustling, breathing, and then grunting in exasperation. “Bitch,” she muttered.
“Must not have any boobs at all.”

Caleb tried not
to think about boobs. Particularly not Marissa’s. “Shirt doesn’t fit?” he
inquired, shocked that his voice sounded normal.

“I can get it
on,” she said defensively. “But the damned thing won’t stay buttoned. I’ll have
to wear the man’s shirt.” More fabric rustling. “Hopefully, this one will fit,
or I’ll start to get self-conscious and have to go on one of those no-carb
diets.”

This sounded so
much like the Marissa he knew that Caleb immediately relaxed. He chuckled
appreciatively.

It had just
been a temporary aberration. Nothing that meant anything. Nothing that would
change anything. What they had was so good, and he wasn’t going to ruin it with
some fleeting horniness.

Marissa was a
woman, after all, so obviously she had all of the female apparatus. He’d just never
been confronted with it so abruptly before.

It was
absolutely nothing to worry about.

“Okay,” she
sighed glumly. “I’m decent.”

He turned
around and was pleased to see that the man’s shirt completely covered all the
relevant parts. “Okay?” he asked carefully, looking at her subdued face.

“Tonight
sucked. Can we please go home now?”

It was early,
but they had the perfect excuse to leave. No one could blame them or question
the courtesy of their early departure. “Of course,” he responded, reaching out
to take her arm, but then stopping himself for some reason. “Let’s go.”

“You better be
very nice to me,” she warned, linking a hand around his arm instead. “Not only
did you fail me in my time of need, but I’m also still in mourning for my
shoes.”

*
* *

The trip back to her apartment
was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. Caleb missed their casual banter, really needed
it now to get back to their comfortable relationship.

He rode up in
the elevator with Marissa and then walked into her apartment without thinking.
Just like he always did. When the door shut behind him, she immediately started
to shimmy out of the skirt.

“What are you
doing?” Caleb asked in stunned disbelief. She appeared to be disrobing in front
of him.

“Damned skirt
is too tight.” She kicked it off her legs. “I couldn’t even button it.”

Caleb hadn’t
known this since the shirt almost covered her thighs.

“Here,” she
said, bending down to pick up the skirt and then thrusting it at him. “You can
give it back when you meet up with her later tonight.”

“What are you
talking about?”

She gave him an
exasperated look. “The gorgeous daughter,” she explained, speaking to him like
he was a child. “I saw you flirting with her. It’s her skirt. You can give it
back to her.”

“I’ll do
nothing of the kind.” He tried to convey condescending superiority, but he felt
too awkward to do it well.

Marissa wasn’t
supposed to know whom he had sex with. The thought made him very uncomfortable.

It had ended up
being a very uncomfortable night.

And it suddenly
got a hundred times worse. Because he took a really good look at her just then.
Her long hair was starting to dry in messy, tangled waves. Her skin was flushed
with chill and strong emotions. She wore only a man’s shirt—he knew for a fact
she didn’t have anything on beneath it.

She was glaring
at him with a very familiar impatient scowl.

Something
happened that had never happened to him before with Marissa—not in all the
years he’d known her. But it was happening now, when she was a bedraggled mess
and wearing another man’s shirt.

His body
reacted. He twitched and then started to harden.

Damn it. He was
actually getting hard.

But this was Marissa.
So he couldn’t be. It must just be a temporary aberration. Only not as
temporary as he’d thought.

Now she was
looking at him strangely. “Are you all right?” she asked, taking a step closer.

He shook his
head roughly. Took a step back. “I’m fine. Sorry. Just been a strange night.”
He saw the concern on her face, noticed her unconsciously licking her lips.
Felt himself grow even harder. “If you’re all right,” he said hurriedly, “I
think I’ll go on now.”

“Fine. I’ll
talk to you tomorrow. And don’t forget that retribution is in the works.”

He turned and
walked quickly to the door, wanting only to get away from her so he could
regain his senses.

“Caleb,” she
called out after him.

He halted,
glanced at her over his shoulder. She looked flushed and rumpled and
affectionate. He gulped. Felt another tug from his disloyal crotch.

“I don’t really
hate you, you know,” she said huskily.

And that
completely did him in. He was fully erect and starting to throb. He had to get
out of here. Now. Before he did or said something utterly stupid. Something
he’d regret for the rest of his life.

“I know,” he
mumbled. “Talk to you tomorrow.” And without even giving her a chance to reply,
he left the apartment.

He went
directly back to his place. Decided maybe he should go to bed early, since he
was clearly suffering from some kind of malady.

A malady
affecting his brain. And other parts of his body.

The erection
hadn’t gone away, but Caleb refused to take care of it. Instead, he sat next to
his fireplace, drank two beers in a row, and glared at the bulge in his pants.

It would go
away eventually. Just like these crazy reactions to Marissa would go away. He
supposed it was too much to expect that they could be friends as long as they
had without something like this occurring.

It was nothing
to worry about. Because tomorrow these feelings would be gone.

And he could go
back to the security and comfort their relationship had always been to him.

Caleb didn’t
care if his arousal pulsed insistently. He absolutely refused to jerk off.
Because he knew, if he did, he would be thinking about Marissa.

And he just
didn’t think about Marissa that way.

As soon as Marissa woke up, she
knew something was wrong.

She was too
groggy and disoriented to actually remember what happened, but she knew there
was some reason to not want to wake up.

Then memory flooded
back. The fundraiser. Her new dress and shoes. Kevin Davison and his groping,
sweaty hands. The pool. The amused crowd watching her emerge sopping wet from
the water like some kind of bedraggled Venus.

It was all just
so embarrassing.

She was used to
hanging out with grad students and struggling musicians—not the wealthy and
elite. She’d actually been a little nervous last night and had worked hard to
convey a sophisticated impression.

She hadn’t been
at all successful.

No matter how much
of a sense of humor Marissa had, her pride would always be just as strong.

She simply
didn’t like to be laughed at.

And her
annoyance at having ruined her new dress and shoes nearly equaled the
mortification.

Then there was
something else. Something about last night made her feel…weird.

She reached out
and grabbed her phone.

Caleb answered
on the second ring. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Shouldn’t you
still be asleep?”

“What do you
mean?”

“It’s seven
o’clock on a Sunday morning. Most people are still asleep.”

She felt a
flare of anxiety at her thoughtless call. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think
about the time. Were you asleep?”

“No.”

“What are you
doing up so early? Did I interrupt anything?”

“You sound
hopeful. Did you expect to distract me from a long night of debauchery?”

“Did I?”

“No. Sorry to
disappoint you. No debauchery last night. But tonight’s my night for orgies, so
try again tomorrow morning.”

Marissa
giggled. Then asked, “Seriously, what were you doing just now?”

“Working out.”

“Why are you
working out at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning?”

“I was up.”

“You’re not
doing something that might hurt your hands, are you?”

“Don’t even
start.”

“But I don’t
understand why you’d risk it.”

“I’m not
risking anything. I’m running on a treadmill.”

She listened
for a moment and could hear the truth of his words for herself. He was breathing
heavily, and she could hear a faint thumping from the pounding of his feet.

“Okay. Sorry. Why
don’t you come over this afternoon so we can do something?”

“I’ve got to
rehearse.”

Marissa felt a
hint of unease at his distant tone. “Are you getting all dark and broody on
me?”

It was a very
real fear. When he got in those moods, sometimes he did very stupid things.

“No. I’m just
busy. I’m rehearsing with the others for that trio performance. Plus, my dad’s
in town and we’re having lunch. I told you about it.”

“It sounds like
you might be going into one of your moods.”

“I’m not in a
mood.” Impatience was now clear in his voice. “I told you I’m busy.”

“Okay, okay. You
don’t have to come over if you don’t want.” She paused. Decided to change the
subject. “Did I make a fool of myself last night?”

There was an
unusually long pause before he replied, “So
this
is why you called?”

“I called to
say hi and see how you were, but, while we’re here, did I?”

“No. It wasn’t
your fault. Davison was the ass.”

“I know that, but
I’m the one who ended up in the pool. I guess I’ll be the punchline around the
symphony circles for the next few days, won’t I?”

“More than
likely.”

She made an
outraged noise in her throat. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better.”

“Since when
have I ever done that?”

Sighing, she
admitted, “Never. You’re always brutally honest with me. And I put particular
emphasis on the word ‘brutal.’”

“Emphasis
noted.” Finally, there seemed to be a smile in his voice.

The sound of Caleb’s
smile made Marissa smile too. “You’ve had several failures in the
friend-department over the last two days. I expect you to make up for them
soon. And don’t forget…”

“Yes?” he
prompted, his tone still warm and dear.

“Retribution is
still lurking, waiting for the right time to strike.”

He laughed. She
loved how it sounded.

Smiling, Marissa
said goodbye, hung up the phone, and snuggled back into her bed. It was way too
early for sane people to get out of bed on a Sunday morning.

Caleb had
sounded basically normal after the first minute of the call, so maybe he wasn’t
descending into one of his dark moods after all. She still worried about him,
though.

He really
needed a wife or committed girlfriend.

Of course, a
wife or girlfriend might not understand his friendship with Marissa. Might actually
try to come between them.

And that
wouldn’t do at all.

*
* *

Marissa rubbed her temples as
she stared down at the page of Latin that blurred before her eyes.

Translating had
always been easy for her. She enjoyed it, and she was good at it. It was one of
the few activities that invariably made her feel safe and satisfied.

Latin never
changed. It was a dead language and so was absolutely stable. Translations had
clear answers. If she didn’t know a word, she could look it up. An answer could
always be found. Meaning could always be deciphered.

That just
wasn’t true about most of her life.

It also wasn’t
true of her current project, which was to apply contemporary literary theory to
an ancient text. The assignment was for Dr. Sawyer, the professor who had given
her a B- last semester, so she was determined to do a good job now.

But the whole
thing just gave her a headache.

She hadn’t left
her carrel in the library in five hours. It was almost eleven on a Wednesday
evening, and the paper was due Friday.

She felt
helpless and stupid, and she couldn’t even remember a Latin word she really
should know.

With a sigh,
she dug her phone out of her bag and called Caleb.

She hadn’t seen
him since the party on Saturday. He hadn’t called like he usually did. When she’d
called him yesterday, he’d sounded distant and distracted.

She hoped he
was all right.

“Hey,” he said,
answering on the fourth ring. “I thought you’d be working on that paper.”

That sounded
like a reasonable excuse for not calling as much as normal, so she felt
immediately better. “I’m trying.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s
just hard to write a paper like this when you’re not a creative, conceptual
thinker.”

“The guy is an
ass, and you’re being ridiculous to let him get to you that way. You don’t have
to do everything perfectly.”

“I’m not being
ridiculous, and I’m not trying to do everything perfectly. But maybe I should
have just done plain Latin instead of Classical Studies. Maybe I’m not cut out
for a program like this.”

“Then why don’t
you quit?”

“I don’t want
to quit.”

“Then stop
whining and write the paper.”

She sucked in
an indignant breath at his curt tone. “Why are you in such a bad mood?” When
someone shushed her, she lowered her voice. “Is everything all right with you?”

“Why wouldn’t
everything be all right?”

“Because you
haven’t called me or come by all week, and now you’re acting snotty.”

“I’m not acting
snotty. I thought you’d be busy.”

“I tried to
call earlier and you didn’t answer.”

“I was on the
phone.”

“With who?”

“With my mom.”

She couldn’t
help but smile as she remembered his weekly call. Every Wednesday, he called
his mother. He never forgot and got too busy. They didn’t always talk long, but
he never failed to call her.

It was
incredibly sweet, although she’d never tell him so.

“How is she?”
she asked, when she sensed he was getting annoyed by her reaction, however
silent it was.

“She’s fine.
She told me all about her garden. She expanded it to twice the size this year.”

“Just think how
many squashes you’ll get when she comes to visit you.” She paused for a moment
and made herself ask, “And how’s your dad?”

“He’s fine too.
He’s on his way to Cleveland to catch a couple of baseball games.”

“By himself?
Wasn’t he just here by himself too?”

“Yeah. It’s
nice that they can have their own space.”

Marissa didn’t
think it was nice. Caleb’s father might be fine as a dad, but he was a horrible
husband. It was something she’d never say to Caleb, though.

Caleb thought
his father was great and his parents’ marriage was perfect. She’d never take that
away from him.

“Are you sure
you’re all right?” she asked. “It feels like something is wrong this week.”

“Nothing is
wrong.”

She was about
to ask again—ask if he’d been drinking too much or bruising his knuckle or
doing something else equally stupid—but she bit back the question. He was
sounding annoyed, and her nagging wasn’t going to help. “Okay. Are you busy
tomorrow? Maybe we could have lunch or something.”

“I’ll let you
know. You better get back to your paper.”

“Yeah.”

When she hung
up, she tried to focus on applying narratology to an Ovid elegy, but she
couldn’t think of anything but Caleb.

***

A few days later, at nine
o’clock on Saturday evening, Marissa barged into Caleb’s apartment building—the
doorman knew her—then barged into his apartment with the key she had, and then
barged without knocking into the room he practiced in.

He looked up
from his cello and frowned. “Doors are usually closed for a reason.”

Marissa ignored
his snide tone and perched on the arm of the sofa near where he sat, his cello
between his legs. “You weren’t answering your phone, so I assumed you were
still holed up here playing. And see? I was right.”

“I’m busy,” he
told her, positioning his bow again. He was acting unusually distant.

Marissa wasn’t
going to put up with it. She hadn’t seen him all week, and she’d missed him.
Plus, she was worried about him.

“That’s not an
acceptable excuse. If you ignored me every time you were busy, I’d never get to
see you at all. We haven’t gotten together since the party last week—so I don’t
care if you’re busy or not.”

He raised his
eyebrows and looked very condescending. “Is there something you needed?”

“Why are you
talking to me in that patronizing way?”

Caleb’s face
changed. Softened. He gave her a strange, little smile. “Sorry. But I really
have
been busy.”

Marissa
returned his smile, accepted his apology. “So what’s been going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you mad at
me?”

“Of course
not.” There was no anger in his expression, so she had to assume he spoke the truth,
but something was definitely wrong.

“Are you
pouting?”

He shook his
head impatiently. “Do I look like I’m pouting?”

He didn’t
really. “So that must mean you’re descending into one of your moods.”

“I am not
descending into a mood. Stop obsessing about that.” He put a hand on her knee
in a typical friendly gesture, but he jerked his fingers away almost
immediately.

It was very
strange.

“Deny it all
you want, but I know you too well. Something is wrong, and I’m here to pull you
out of it.”

 “I’m perfectly
fine. As I keep telling you, I’ve just been busy.”

“No, you’re not
fine. You’ve been avoiding me all week. You’re all stiff and uncomfortable
right now—no, don’t argue, I can see it in your shoulders—and you won’t even
meet my eyes.”

He met her
eyes, but something in his expression still looked off, not quite right. Marissa
wished she could put her finger on it.

Shrugging, she
finally said, “I won’t let you brood all night long. Let’s go out and get
something to eat.”

“I’m not
hungry.”

“It’s not about
being hungry. It’s about getting out.” Marissa hopped down and reached to take
the cello out of his hands.

Since he wasn’t
expecting it, she was able to retrieve the expensive instrument and place it
carefully in its case.

Then she
reached for Caleb’s arms and tried to heave him to his feet.

The gesture
usually worked, no matter how reluctant he was. But this time he actually
resisted, holding himself in his chair.

With an annoyed
exclamation, she adjusted her stance and tried to pull him up more forcefully. Caleb
continued to resist. Marissa refused to give up.

They ended up
having an extended struggle, finally resolving with Caleb—who was admittedly
stronger—coming out victorious. She couldn’t get him out of the chair. When she
released him at last, the excess momentum sent her falling backwards. To
counteract this, she flung herself forward.

Ended up in a
heap on Caleb’s lap.

She gasped and
grabbed at his broad shoulders. With her face in his shirt, she complained,
“See what you did?”

He was actively
trying to push her off him, but she was an awkward tangle of arms and legs and
wasn’t going anywhere immediately. “Marissa, get off.” His voice was rough and
rude.

She pulled her
face out of his warm chest and peered at him from two inches away. His body was
stiff—completely at odds with his typical grace and ease. “See? You’re all
weird and awkward.” She adjusted her fingers on his shoulders, started
massaging the tense muscles through his shirt. “What’s wrong with you? You're
worrying me.”

He put strong
hands on her waist and heaved her off his lap, standing her on the floor like
an inanimate object. “Nothing is wrong. I’m not going to argue about this
anymore. You should trust me enough to accept that what I say is true.”