“Here? But we’re always here, aren’t we? And besides, your place is much roomier. After a thorough study of chapter fourteen of the tantric manual, I’m rather convinced we’ll need all the room we can get.”
Rachel laughed, but she could feel the heat in her face and stole another glimpse of Myron. “But my house is really a mess. Honestly, there’s not that much room,” she said low. “I promise, I’ll have it all cleaned up in time for Thanksgiving. You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” he said. “But can’t we have a preview—”
“Tonight’s really not good,” she said quickly.
He said nothing for a moment, then laughed low. “Are you, by chance, hiding anything?”
“Hiding?” She laughed nervously.
“Bodies, perhaps? Gold bouillon? Brownies?”
Rachel smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Yes, actually, I would. You treat that charming little bungalow like Fort Knox.”
She detected a little irritation in his voice. “Flynn—”
“Right, come here, then. I’ll order up the Chinese, if that’s all right.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you in an hour, okay?”
“Yes and do be quick, will you? Chapter fourteen will take a bit of time.”
“What about special shoes?”
“Couldn’t possibly hurt.”
She laughed. “See you soon,” she said, and clicked off, stood there for a moment, then finally turned around. Myron had finished his sandwich. But he was still staring at her.
He brushed his hands together, removing the crumbs. “So! I guess then, from the sound of it, you’re still seeing that guy.”
She nodded.
He looked down at his shoes and sighed. “That’s great, Rachel. I’m happy if you’re happy. Really. I am. I’m probably going to move to Hilton Head anyway, so it’s not as if we were going anywhere, right?”
“Going anywhere?” she echoed loudly. “We haven’t gone anywhere since I can’t remember when, Myron.”
With a sheepish laugh, he folded his arms. “Yeah, you’re right, I know you’re right. I guess I’ve just been thinking about us lately and I thought maybe . . . well, you know. Maybe we could hook up again.”
Okay, so now the world had really spun right off its axis. She put the phone on the dining table, next to a pair of porcelain candlesticks Myron had left last week. “You dumped me, remember? Honestly, Myron, sometimes I don’t get you at all.”
“Hey, it’s just a thought! No big deal,” Myron said laughingly. “Listen, I gotta run. So what’s the deal with Thanksgiving?” he asked as he strolled past her, as if he’d never mentioned hooking up.
“Nothing,” she said, still perplexed by his last statement. “Just a few friends.”
“Great. I’m not doing anything, so I’ll stop by. Maybe I can check out this dude you’re so hot about,” he said with a laugh. “Okay, see you. Thanks for the sandwich.” He reached for the door.
“Myron!” Rachel called.
He turned, and shook his head with a smile. “Don’t worry, Rach—I’m not going to come back into the picture and screw things up for you.”
Who was this guy? She didn’t know if she should be more appalled that he thought he could actually screw anything up for her, or that he was even contemplating renewing a long-dead relationship. But at the moment she had something more pressing on her mind. “Actually, I was going to ask about my phone. I want it back.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “I still have that, don’t I?”
“Yes. You still have it, you’ve had it forever, and I’d really like it back. I haven’t paid the phone bill, and that may be the only phone I have—”
“Not to worry,” he said, lifting his hand and cutting her off. “I’ll bring it Thanksgiving. Okay, gotta jet. See you,” he said, and with a wink, he sauntered out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter fourteen began with a mutual bath and cleansing, and was supposed to progress to something a bit more athletic, but thanks to some yin-and-yang techniques Flynn had perfected on his own, they never got past the bubble bath and champagne.
Afterward, they lounged in the bath, lying at opposite ends. Flynn’s toes were doing a little postcoital exploration on their own, but Rachel’s were on either side of his head, and wiggled when she talked.
He was admiring her, scarcely hearing her discourse on the intricacies of successful sidewalk pamphlet distribution, or whatever odd job she’d done recently, because he was thinking of their lovemaking and how terribly pleased he was that she was a lustful lover, a woman who was as emboldened to seek her own pleasure as she was to give it.