“What if I did want to go home with you?”
When he looked up again, she would have sworn that he’d gone pale. His eyes were swimming-pool blue.
It was an eternity before he answered. “I’d say it wouldn’t mean anything.” His voice sounded tight. He looked scared.
She frowned. “The sex?”
He nodded.
She felt it suddenly, the thrill of the chase, the revving up of her heart. She reached out, pressed her forefinger along the back of his hand. “What if I said that was okay? That I didn’t want it to mean anything?”
“I’d say that was sad.”
She pulled her hand back, stung by the observation. She felt transparent suddenly, as if those blue eyes could see straight into her. “Do you want to get laid or not? No strings. No future. Just tonight. A little time together.” She heard her voice spike; it was a small, desperate kind of sound, and it shamed her into sudden silence.
Another eternity passed. Finally, he spoke. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”
“I am.” She pressed her lips together to keep from saying something stupid. It was ridiculous, really, but she was nervous. She wanted him to want her, wanted it more than she understood. He was nothing, just another link in the chain of unavailable, ultimately forgettable men she’d slept with since her divorce. As far as she could tell, he had nothing to recommend him, nothing that would account for the odd fluttering in her chest. But she was afraid he’d turn her down. “Maybe we could just get each other through this one night.”
He stood up so quickly the chair wobbled and almost fell. “I live down the street.”
She didn’t touch him, didn’t take his hand or otherwise lay claim to him. None of the usual pretense of affection. “I’ll follow you” was all she said.
Joe felt her beside him, the warmth of her body, the way her hand brushed accidentally against his every now and then.
Stop this now, he thought. Just turn to her and say, “I made a mistake, I’m sorry.” But he kept walking forward, putting one foot in front of the other.
He could smell her perfume. Something musty and sweet and sexy; it reminded him of summer in the deep South. Of fragrant blossoms and hot, dark nights.
He was losing his grip. Must be drunker than he’d thought.
He couldn’t do this. Didn’t even remember how. (Not the sex part—that he remembered; it was the rest of it that eluded him, the talking, the touching, the being with another person.)
Suddenly he was standing in front of his cabin. Three blocks they’d walked, and he hadn’t managed a single word of conversation. Neither had she, and he didn’t know if he was thankful or not. If she’d chattered ridiculously on about nothing, perhaps he would have had the strength to turn away from her, to make his excuses. Her silence was his undoing.
“This is where I live right now,” he said, rather stupidly he thought, as they were standing at the front door.
“Right now, huh?”
That surprised him. She’d picked up on the one thing in the sentence that revealed something. He’d need to be careful around her.
He opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter first.
She frowned briefly, then walked past him, into the darkness.
He followed her, leaving the lights off on purpose. There were photos of Diana everywhere. He didn’t want to explain why he lived this way, not to this woman in her designer dress and expensive gold-and-platinum jewelry. In fact, he didn’t want to talk at all.
He went to the kitchen and grabbed some candles. There were dozens available, kept on hand for winter storms when the power went out. Wordlessly, he carried them into the bedroom and placed them wherever he could; then, one by one, he lit them. When he was finished, he turned around and there she was, standing at the end of the bed, holding her purse as if she thought he might steal it.
He released a pent-up breath. She was beautiful. Jet-black hair, pale skin, green eyes that slanted upward, lips that seemed reluctant to smile. What in the hell was she doing here with him? And what was he doing here with her? He hadn’t been with a woman since Diana.
She reached into her purse for something—
A condom. Oh, God.
—and then dropped her bag on the floor. As she walked toward him, hips swaying slightly, she unzipped her dress. It fell halfway down her arms, revealing a lacy black bra and creamy cleavage.
He meant to say, Go away, but instead he reached for her, pulled her against him. Her body molded to his and began slowly, slowly to move.
When he found the strength to pull back, he was trembling.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He didn’t think, didn’t speak, just swept her into his arms and carried her toward the bed.
They fell onto the rumpled bedding together, she beneath him. His body lay possessively on top of hers, and it felt good. Her hips came up to meet him.
Groaning, he bent down to kiss her. The soft, pliant feel of her mouth jolted him back in time.
Diana.