Just About Sex (15 page)

She fiddled with her utensils, not daring to look him in the face, and not the least bit hungry. Shrugging helplessly, she tried to summarize her unhappy childhood in a single paragraph.

“My mother did a little acting. She had a lot of friends and a lot of boyfriends. We spent a lot of time traveling, and a lot of time in London and the south of France. When I got older, we settled in L.A. and that’s where I went to high school. I had a tough time making friends and fitting in. End of story.”

A long silence followed, during which she cut a sliver of tuna and tried to choke it down. The knot in her throat notwithstanding, she’d done a pretty good job with the bare recitation of facts. But saying she’d grown up in Europe didn’t begin to explain their shallow, meaningless existence. Neither did it cover the uncertainty of living at the whim of whichever “uncle” was paying their bills at the moment, or the loneliness of spending holidays cooped up in a hotel room.

“So she was a…socialite,” Greene said carefully.

“A…
socialite.
” If socialite was now a synonym for mistress, call girl, or, let’s face it, hooker, then, yes, that’s exactly what her mother was. Simone tried to smile, but her stiff lips didn’t seem to be in the mood. “I guess you could say that.”

Greene did smile, just enough so the corners of his eyes crinkled. And in his eyes she saw warmth and complete understanding. Not disdain or judgment. A terrible weight, one she hadn’t even realized was there, lifted from her chest. Suddenly she could breathe again, like an asthmatic who’d taken a hit from her inhaler.

“Well,” he said, raising his water goblet for a toast, “here’s to misfits overcoming their humble beginnings.”

Laughter bubbled to her lips and, for the first time with Greene, she didn’t try to block it. He laughed, too, but only for a second before dark, unreadable emotions shadowed his face.

Lowering his goblet to the table, he stared at her with hot, hungry eyes, giving special attention to her mouth. “I really could get addicted to that smile,” he said gruffly.

Something dangerous fluttered deep in her belly, something far worse than lust. Sensual awareness of Greene was one thing. She’d more or less gotten used to his light, compelling scent, slashing cheekbones and flashing eyes. She could handle the tingle of excitement she felt when he walked in a room, or when she caught a glimpse of his long legs and world-class butt.

What she couldn’t deal with was the emotional connection, the feeling that he saw her,
understood
her, better than anyone else ever had. This wasn’t the first time that she’d felt it.

“Greene,” she said on a long, serrated sigh, with no idea what she thought she’d say.

He abruptly looked away and jabbed at his lamb chops, a pulse throbbing in his temple. “I’m still working on my audit, Simone. Did I mention that?”

Flustered by the change in topic, she shook her head.

“I’m not sure my ego can take much more.”

The idea that anything could damage his monumental ego made her laugh. “Oh, you can handle it. You’re underestimating how big your ego is when it comes to women, Greene.”

His troubled gaze flickered up to her. “What will it take for you to call me Alex all the time?”

She grabbed her knife and fork with shaky hands and sawed at her filet mignon. “What did the woman say this time?”

“That I had technical skills in the bedroom, but no warmth.” His brows lowered to a thick, straight line over his eyes. “That I broke her heart.”

“Did you think you hadn’t?”

He shrugged. “She broke up with me, so I thought maybe….”

“It can’t be a surprise to you that you could inflict a lot of damage. You’re not that naive, are you?”

“I prefer to think of myself as clueless,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.

“Hmmm. I think you’re a very scientific person. You need to see it to believe it. You need proof of something, or else it doesn’t exist. Maybe now you have enough proof to know these women’s feelings are real. And the connections you had—or didn’t have—with them are real.”

Tilting his head, he narrowed his eyes. “That’s an interesting theory, Doctor.”

“Why are you doing this to yourself? What’s the point?”

“It’s important.”

“Why?”

Blinking, he shuttered his thoughts safely away where she couldn’t read them. With one long-fingered hand, he brushed a few bread crumbs onto the floor. It took him a long time to speak.

“I don’t want to get into it right now,” he said.

“Women?” she snapped, disappointed and vaguely annoyed he’d rebuffed her after sharing so many personal details.

“Not women.” That dark gaze, as dangerous as it was hot, fused with hers. “One woman.”

Goose bumps rippled over every inch of her flesh. Whenever he looked at her like that, she’d discovered, her mind played tricks. She thought she saw things on his face. Wondrous, meaningful things—emotions and desires that mirrored her own, but couldn’t possibly exist.

She hated to take the coward’s way out, but she couldn’t stand the tension between them. Dropping her gaze, she took a careful sip of water and scooted her chair away from the table as decorously as she could.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she said, hurrying away from Greene before he stole another little piece of her heart.

After they’d duly selected the menu items, Greene and Simone rode in a tense, pregnant silence to see the house. Neither of them dared glance at the other. Simone watched things fly by the speeding car and saw none of them. Streets, trees and pedestrians raced past in a meaningless blur of color; they could drive by an erupting volcano and she wouldn’t notice.

It seemed like she had so much to say to him, but she didn’t know
what.
Why he was so quiet, she had no idea. Every now and then she’d risk a glance at him, only to see the slight pulse of his jaw as he ground his teeth in the back. If he felt half as edgy as she did, it was a wonder he had any teeth left.

At last they turned onto the shady street she’d loved since she first saw it years ago. Fifty-foot oaks and black wrought-iron gaslights marched parallel to the sidewalks. The youngest house on the street was at least seventy-five years old. No one style predominated; colonials sat sandwiched between Tudors, Victorians and Georgians.

Simone
loved
it here—these houses had the roots and history that she lacked and needed.
This
was the sort of street she wished she’d grown up on, and the sort of street every child deserved.

“There it is,” she cried, pointing to the white cottage. There was nothing fancy about the stone house with slate roof and white trim, but it reminded her of a farmhouse she’d once seen outside London, and she loved it. Planters overflowing with purple pansies and dangling ivy hung from each of the front windows, just one more thing to make this the most inviting house on earth. Simone cooed with excitement.

Greene grinned indulgently and stopped the car at the curb. He flung one arm across the back of her seat and leaned closer to look out her window at the house. They both stared up at it.

“This is a great street,” he said. “Nice house.”

“I’ve had my eye on this street forever. I’d love to jog through here in the fall.”

“You jog, do you?”

Simone looked over her shoulder at him, which turned out to be a big mistake. His face was much closer than she’d realized, close enough to see the hint of dark stubble on his cheeks and smell his faint, vaguely woodsy cologne. She wanted him to get away, but not nearly as much as she wanted him to come closer.

She quickly looked back out the window, her pulse in overdrive. “Of course I jog. That’s how my hips stay—what was it?—not as wide as you’d like.”

He chuckled. “I said a whole lot more than that, Simone.”

“We don’t need to rehash it all, thank you,” she said, not daring to face him again, at least not while he was so close.

“I jog too.”

If only he’d stop talking. Every time he opened his mouth, he kindled her powerful, though unwilling, interest. “Really?”

“Seven o’clock every morning. Three loops around my neighborhood are about five miles.”

“Oh.” Her mind’s eye veered off track, tempting her with the vision of a sleepy, early-morning Greene climbing out of a warm, rumpled bed. She shivered and pushed the image far away.

They both stared at the house, as if they expected it to do something interesting, like tap dance and break into song.

“I wish my sister’d find a house like this,” Greene said softly after a minute. “She’s never owned a home. Her ex-husband is a deadbeat dad who doesn’t hold a job long enough to pay much child support. So my nephew has spent his whole life in apartments, just like you.”

“That’s too bad.”

Despite the warning alarm screaming in her head, she sat back in her seat and faced him. He was right there, his long-lashed eyes enormous at this distance. They were dark brown and so clear she wondered if she could see inside his incredible brain if she looked hard enough. Heat shot up her spine and radiated to every far corner of her body.

She licked her dry lips to speak, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“My pleasure.”

Neither of them moved. Simone knew the workday wasn’t over and she needed to get back to the office for something, but she couldn’t remember what, and didn’t much care. Clients? Paperwork? It was all fuzzy right now. Nothing outside this car seemed important.

Greene shifted closer. “I’ve been working on a theory,” he murmured.

“Really?”

His gaze, sensual and heavy-lidded now, with a hint of amusement, flicked briefly up to her eyes and then shot right back to her lips. One long-fingered hand came up and hovered near her cheek as if he couldn’t quite decide whether to touch her or not.

“I think if I could kiss you one time, I could get you out of my system. My curiosity would be satisfied, I could get over this strange fascination with you, and we could both get on with our lives.”

Petrified, mesmerized, her pulse thundering and her chest heaving—
when
would he touch her? Soon? Now?—Simone struggled to put two coherent words together.

“One kiss could do all that?” she asked hopefully. “Do you really think so?”

Whatever faint traces of laughter she’d seen lingering around his eyes vanished and was immediately replaced by unmistakable regret.

“No.” He drew a long, shaky breath. “But let’s do it anyway.”

Helpless as a newborn kangaroo, Simone waited, willing to beg him to put his hands on her if she had to. And then he touched her. The warm palm of one large hand settled against her cheek, cupping her face. His fingers wrapped around her neck, found their way under her hair and massaged her nape. With the thumb of that same marvelous hand, he traced the curve of her bottom lip with a butterfly touch.

Just like that, with nothing more complicated than a look and a touch, Greene ruined the perfectly serviceable body she’d had all her life and replaced it with a new one she didn’t understand and couldn’t control. It closed her eyes and tilted her cheek into his palm. It shivered. It stood helplessly by while her breasts and sex flooded with throbbing sensation and demanded to be touched.

It begged.

“Please,” she whispered, keeping her eyes closed so she wouldn’t see what was surely smug triumph on his face.

His thumb skimmed over her top lip. She gasped, never dreaming such a light touch could bring such exquisite pleasure. Greene exerted a little pressure on the back of her head until she leaned over the armrest and closer to him. “Look at me, bright eyes,” he whispered.

Whimpering and breathless, she somehow dragged her sluggish lids open and looked into his searching eyes. Time slowed, then stopped. She had the feeling he wanted to show her something he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say.

What was it?

Simone saw no signs of smugness or victory in his expression. Only a burning passion that matched her own, and a faint sadness. If she’d been in her right mind, she’d have cringed at the thought of what secrets he could read on
her
face, but for now it didn’t matter.

Finally a faint smile crinkled the edges of his eyes, and for the second time since they’d met, she understood what he wanted to tell her. He didn’t have to say a word. His thoughts, as clear as a Sunday morning church bell, rang in her head.

Trust me. Believe in me.

Strangely reassured, she leaned closer.

And he kissed her.

Chapter 13

T
eased
would be a more accurate description. Those full lips, soft but firm, grazed back and forth over hers, like a dog turning in circles, shifting this way and that before finding the exact perfect position and settling in for a nap. Greene took his time, brushing and nibbling her lips as if he needed to test them from every angle.

And then he settled in. One stroke—one lick—of his tongue across her lips told Simone he was ready. She was more than ready. Helpless to do anything else, she opened for him and sank into the hot silk of his mouth. He explored her mouth and devastated her body. Every caress and suck from his tongue sent a corresponding pulse to some other part of her: her aching breasts, her throbbing belly, her wet sex. How did he do it?

Nothing in Simone’s experience had prepared her for this sensual assault. She’d kissed plenty of people over the years. Boys on the beach in L.A., her older ski instructor in St. Moritz, college men. None of them had ever made her dizzy with need.

Mindless, shameless and whimpering, she surged forward, desperate for him to touch her somewhere—
anywhere—
else besides just the back of her neck. Greene groaned, a wonderful, earthy sound, and deepened the angle of the kiss. One of his warm hands skimmed under her skirt and up her thigh, but on the outside, not the inside where she needed it.

Frenzied now, she rubbed her hands over his short, coarse hair and then stroked the satin of his hot neck. Her own skin was on fire, incinerating her. He—or was it she?—vibrated with barely-controlled passion, and she knew one more touch, one more caress of bare skin would unleash it.