Just About Sex (16 page)

Simone wanted him. Wanted to rip his clothes off, and her own. Wanted his hands on her bare breasts and to feel him moving deep inside her. Good sense vanished. She had to feel him—had to have more. Maybe they could move the seats back, and—

Horror lanced through her and she disentangled herself from him. Crying out, she pressed a hand to her swollen lips, as if that would possibly ever stop them from throbbing with need. Her deprived body didn’t understand and screamed at her to reach for him and touch him again. A burning shame replaced the burning passion she’d felt—still felt—for Greene.

He went rigid and his eyes, blazing and glazed with passion, flew open. Emotions scrolled across his face: frustration, disappointment, and reluctant resignation. He really was very easy to read. Their gazes met and held. Both in a lingering state of shock, they stared at each other.

Over their harsh breathing, Simone heard other, distant sounds. A car passing. A child laughing. The faraway wail of a siren. Suddenly the world came rushing back. Looking around in a blind panic, she saw what she’d forgotten. That it was the middle of the afternoon and she was in a car on a public street in broad daylight, desperate to make love. That the person she wanted so badly was a self-confessed commitment-phobe who had set up a Web site to make her look like a fool. If she’d tried, she couldn’t have picked a worse man.

Mortified, she screwed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to see him. It hit her then. She was her self-destructive mother’s daughter after all, wasn’t she? The apple never fell far from the tree.

Her stomach lurched, threatening to disgorge the delicacies she’d eaten a little while ago. “We have to
stop,
” she said, staring at his unsmiling face and gripping the cool leather seats to anchor herself. “What are we doing?”

“The inevitable.”

She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks, ordering her skin to cool off, to forget about him. “This isn’t going to happen.” But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized that saying them and believing them were two entirely different matters.

“Simone—”

“I need to get back to the office.” Shifting her body toward the window, she stared out and refused to look at him.

He made a frustrated, aborted sound. For a second she hoped, and feared, that he’d argue with her, but he didn’t. She heard the jangle of keys and the engine started.

Simone felt relieved, but empty. Smoothing her skirts, she wished that
this—
whatever
this
was—had never happened.
How
did it happen? Just half an hour ago she’d smugly thought spending time alone with him wouldn’t be that big a deal and it wasn’t as if he’d seduce her in the car. She would have laughed at her own stupidity if her body weren’t still so feverish with lust.

Determined to calm down, she lowered her window, rested her elbow on the door and focused on the cool wind on her face.

A thousand ridiculous schemes scrolled through Alex’s mind as he turned onto Simone’s street and stopped in front of her office building. He could lock the doors, drive her to his house and force her to talk to him. He could lock the doors, drive around town and force her to talk to him. He could follow her into her office and force her to talk to him. He could go to her apartment tonight and force her to talk to him. He could…

He couldn’t.

What kind of hypocrite would he be then? Hadn’t he opened his big mouth and sworn he wanted to change and take things slow? No, he had to let her run away, if she wanted to. He’d give her a little time.

But only a little.

Because he knew what he was missing now, didn’t he? Had he thought he wanted her before? What a joke. The old Alex, the one who’d never kissed Simone, didn’t know the meaning of the word
want.
The new Alex, the one who’d kissed her and knew himself well enough to know he couldn’t live without the taste of her in his mouth, now
he
knew about
want.

Worse, he knew about need—the clawing need for something that shredded his guts from the inside out and wouldn’t let him think about anything else. He thought again of her pliant body under his hands and shuddered with the effort of getting his body under control.

He stopped the car, unlocked the doors and turned to her.

She fished around in her purse for her keys or something, obviously determined not to look him in the face again anytime soon. “Well, I think we chose a good menu for the auction. Everyone’ll be pleased—”

“Simone—”

“—and thanks for taking me to see the house. I hope I didn’t keep you away from the office too long.”

She finally found her jingling keys and pulled them out. With no excuse not to look at him now, she raised her head and stared at him, her face smooth and emotionless. Only her cheeks, stained a vivid red, and her unnaturally bright eyes told him she felt anything at all about what had happened.

“I’ll have to check my schedule about the next meeting, but it’ll probably be in a week.” She put her hand on the door without giving him the chance to answer. “Goodbye.”

“Simone.”

Alex heard—and hated—the neediness in his voice, but couldn’t do anything about it. This cool treatment, when ten minutes ago he’d been so close to her—almost been a part of her—made him feel like he’d been banished to the farthest galaxy in the universe. He couldn’t let her go like this.

She paused but left her hand on the door, poised to flee. Keeping her gaze on the dashboard, she said, “What is it?”

His mouth flapped, but no words came out.

Finally she looked over her shoulder at him, misery in the cool gray depths of her eyes.

If he had to wait a week to see those eyes again, he would die. “D-don’t make me wait a week to see you again. Have dinner with me. Please.”

Her face softened; her sweet plump lips parted in the slightest of smiles. Yes. She wanted to say
yes.
His constricted chest loosened enough for him to suck in a great, head-clearing gulp of oxygen.

But when he reached for her, her expression hardened and closed off right before his eyes. She hid her emotions away from him as clearly as if she’d taken her heart, locked it in a safe, and swallowed the key. So this was how it would be. She’d always refuse him, just as she’d always refuse to call him by his first name.

His gut lurched sickeningly.

“No, Greene.”

“That’s it? Just
no?
”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Her eyes narrowed and a nasty, sneering smile contorted her sweet lips. He instinctively knew he wouldn’t like whatever came out of
that
mouth.

“You don’t think I’m stupid enough to date
you,
do you?”

Of course she wasn’t happy about the blog, and he could hardly blame her. But this sounded…personal, as if she’d sooner date Attila the Hun than him.

“Any woman who dates me is stupid, then? Is that it?”

“
I
would be stupid.”

Stymied, Alex kept quiet for a second. How could he argue? Could he say
trust me
when the blog was still up? Of course not. Maybe another, more logical angle would get through to her. “Look, Simone. I know we’ve got some issues to work out—”

She crossed her arms over her chest and tsked.

“—but we both know the attraction between us won’t just go away. We should explore it a little, see what—”

Something vicious and uncontrollable seemed to break free from Simone. She threw her head back against the headrest and laughed a low, ugly laugh. He flinched, wondering wildly if she’d been possessed by a demon.

Straightening, she stared, a cold, wild light in her eyes. “Why sugarcoat it, Greene?”

“You just had your tongue in my mouth, Simone.” Furious now, he enjoyed the startled, fleeting mortification he saw on her face. “Don’t you think you can call me
Alex
now?”

“Why pretend this is about something profound when we both know it’s just about sex?”

“No.”

“You want me and you wish I’d make your life easier and go ahead and have sex with you,” she cried. “Isn’t that it?”

“No!”

“Well, here.”

Reaching up, she undid several tiny little buttons down the front of her dress. Fascinated and horrified, he watched while she pulled the ruffled edges apart to reveal the tops of her full, heaving breasts, barely contained inside the cups of a sleek black bra.

“Isn’t this what you want, Greene? Well, here I am. Let’s get it over with so we can both go on with our lives.”

Alex groaned. Blood roared through his ears, heated his skin and collected in his groin, pooling painfully. A thousand conflicting agonies writhed in his belly. He wanted sex and he wanted more. He wanted to see her body and he wanted to protect her from the curious gazes of whoever might pass by. He wanted to shake her, and he wanted to pull her to him and kiss her senseless.

Most of all, he wanted to kill whoever had done this to her.

Someone had screwed her up and made her afraid. The bottom line was that the good doctor was afraid of sex. Alex didn’t know why, but he’d figure it out. He’d get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing he ever did.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, he reached out and pulled the edges of her dress back together. Her hands went limp and fell away. Concentrating on the tiny buttons, he ignored the velvet heat of her skin, and how much he wanted to taste it. Finally, when she was presentable again, he looked up into her wide, startled eyes.

She stared, waiting, her harsh breathing the only sound inside the absolute silence of the car.

“Pretend all you want. Lash out, ignore it, lie to yourself…do whatever you need to do.” Despite all his roiling emotions, he struggled to keep his voice calm, quiet and firm. She couldn’t handle anything else. Not right now.

He stroked the side of her face and she shuddered but didn’t pull away.

“But we both know we’re not finished, Simone. Not by a long shot.”

“You look terrible, baby darling! Haven’t you been sleeping?”

“Well, it’s good to see you, too, Mama.”

Girding herself for a night of drama in one form or another, Simone stepped over the threshold into her mother’s apartment, shutting the door behind her. Trapped in her mother’s space, Simone immediately started acting like a twelve-year-old and began the pouty sulks. Mama, who still apparently thought she was Erica Kane, swooped in for an air kiss, and the drama began.

For the occasion of a Saturday night dinner in with her daughter, Shirley wore slinky red mandarin pajamas with stilettos. This week she’d rolled her hair in an elaborate French knot with chopsticks making an X through the roll, and her makeup was, for once, subdued and tasteful.

Simone, who’d stopped trying to dress like Shirley back when she was six years old, wore the most defiant clothes she could find: jeans and a T-shirt.

Familiar smells filled the apartment, and Simone knew Mama, a world-class cook, had made her signature soul-food dinner: fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, collards, macaroni and cheese and corn bread. Simone felt marginally better. At least there’d be some small consolation for sacrificing part of her weekend by coming here for what was sure to be an uncomfortable evening.

Mama took Simone’s face in her hands and—as usual—surveyed her with a critical eye. “Look at these puffy bags, Simone! You need to take better care of your looks.”

“Thanks so much.” Simone didn’t bother to keep the irritation out of her voice. It wasn’t fair to punish her mother for the agitated snit Alex Greene had put her in several days ago, but she was in no mood to be fair.

Pulling back, Simone turned her face away before Mama started a count of how many new fine lines and wrinkles Simone had developed since they’d last seen each other.

“Well, you should try the witch hazel. It really works wonders if you just—”

“Fine. Thanks,” Simone said, disgusted. It would never occur to her mother to ask
why
Simone wasn’t sleeping. That was Shirley, though. Always concerned about the superficial, never scratching below the surface. Some things never changed.

Desperate to get out from under her mother’s eagle eye, Simone passed through the foyer and into the light, airy living room, where candles glittered on the mantle and coffee table. She sat on the chintz sofa, tossed aside a couple of frilly pillows, and wondered how soon she could possibly give her excuses and get out of here.

“Well, here. This’ll make you feel better.” Shirley went to the dining table, which, Simone noticed for the first time, was set with three places, took an open bottle of champagne from the silver ice bucket, and filled two crystal flutes. Coming back, she handed Simone a glass and clinked her own with it. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Simone took a tiny sip—the champagne her mother always drank was much too sweet for Simone’s tastes—and set her glass on the table. “So who’s coming for dinner?”

Mama beamed and glowed as if some unseen director had turned a key light on her. “Clancy Howard from church. You remember.”

Simone couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping with surprise. “Clancy
Howard?
That little gray-haired guy that’s been sniffing around you for years?”

Mama’s smile widened
. “Yes.”

What was this? Clancy Howard was the epitome of every quality Shirley had rejected over the years. A nice, unmarried, moderately attractive accountant who actually seemed to like and respect women. The Shirley she knew would no more go for this kind of man than a squirrel would go for a steak. What was going on? Would Mama next announce that she’d decided to get a job and stop wearing too much makeup?

“So…are you…
dating
him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Mama pressed both hands over her heart as if she needed to keep it from bursting out of her chest. “Oh, Simone,” she said breathlessly, her eyes unfocused and dreamy. “He’s
such
a nice man. He treats me like a
queen.
He calls when he says he’s going to call. He cooks me
dinner.
He brings
me flowers.
He makes me
laugh.
I never thought I’d say this at my age, but I’m so
happy!
I
love
him!”