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  bars, anyway. I'd rather have a real sundae."

  He folowed me into the elevator and watched me push the

  button for his floor. The elevator could hold and had held

  ten people at a time. We had plenty of room but he stood

  next to and slightly behind me, so I was aware of his body

  heat and the soft sound of his breath.

  We barely had time to talk on the short ride to his floor

  and down the hal to his apartment, and I didn't bother

  with smal talk. Eric, to my relief, didn't try to force the

  chatter, either. In five minutes he was unlocking his door

  and ushering me inside by stepping back to alow me to go

  through first.

  "Such a gentleman," I said.

  He paused after he shut the door. "I try."

  Again, we stared at each other. I was used to men who

  made the first move. Eric didn't move, so we stayed stil,

  both of us looking.

  "Ice cream?" I prompted over my urge to taste his mouth.

  "In the kitchen."

  He puled out a chair for me and settled me in it like a

  queen before bustling around to pul out a couple cartons

  of ice cream from the freezer. He set them on the counter,

  then grabbed a jar of fudge from the cupboard and put it in

  the microwave. From another cupboard he puled real ice-

  cream-sundae glasses, and from the drawer two long-

  handled spoons.

  "I had no idea," I said as he turned. I waved at his

  preparations, searching for the words that would keep me

  on top, but found none.

  He grinned. "I like ice cream. What can I get for you?

  Chocolate, vanila or mint chip?"

  "A scoop of each?" It had been ages since I'd eaten ice

  cream. "Extra hot fudge."

  "Whatever you want." Eric's simple words felt anything but simple.

  He brought two sundaes, heaped high with ice cream and

  oozing with hot fudge, to the table. True to what I'd come

  to expect from him, he served me first before taking the

  to expect from him, he served me first before taking the

  chair across from mine. He waited until I'd tasted my ice

  cream before he even lifted his spoon.

  "Good?" he asked.

  I could only make a murmuring happy noise as my taste

  buds, so long denied, practicaly sang. When I scooped a

  mouthful of hot fudge, my low, throaty moan was louder

  than I'd intended. Eric stopped with his spoon halfway to

  his mouth.

  I swalowed sweetness. "It's good."

  He finished his bite, and I watched his lips close over the

  spoon. I watched, too, as his tongue came out to lick

  away the drops of ice cream that had dripped onto his

  hand. Caught up in my lustful fantasy of what he could do

  to me with that tongue, I dropped my spoon.

  Both of us looked to where it had clattered to the floor. I

  didn't move. Eric looked at the spoon on the floor, then up

  at me. And then slowly, carefuly, he slid from his chair to

  his knees in front of me. The spoon clicked on the tile

  when he reached for it, and I saw his hand was shaking,

  just barely.

  just barely.

  He looked up at me. "Let me get that for you."

  This was the second time since we'd met he'd been at my

  feet. This time he was there because I'd put him there,

  though he didn't know it was me. My heart leaped, the

  thudding almost painful under my ribs. My breath lodged in

  my throat, and though a thousand words swirled around in

  my brain, not one of them would come out of my mouth.

  When the heat of his hands cuffed my ankles, I drew in

  another breath on top of the one I hadn't yet released. I'd

  changed into a summer-weight black skirt, the cut loose

  and fabric soft on my bare legs. It hung just past my knees,

  but sitting had puled the cloth tighter and higher on my

  thighs. The pressure of Eric's breath shouldn't have been

  strong enough to move the fabric of my skirt, but I felt it

  move on my shins as he exhaled.

  He didn't look at me as he slid his long fingers slowly up

  my calves. They reached the soft skin behind my knees

  and I let out another slow sigh. When he reached the hem

  of my skirt I thought he'd stop, but Eric, head stil bent, his

  eyes on only he knew what, pushed the material up and

  over my knees. He leaned forward to press his cheek to

  the inside of my knee. I froze. Our breathing sounded very

  the inside of my knee. I froze. Our breathing sounded very

  loud in the silence.

  When I didn't move or protest, Eric gave his head a half

  turn. His breath blew hot on my skin. I tensed, my hands

  clutching the arms of the chair, but my knees opened for

  him and my head tipped back just a little.

  He kissed the inside of my knee with parted lips, and the

  brief wet press of his tongue teased my flesh. I looked

  down at his thick dark hair and wanted to sink my fingers

  into it. Instead, I clutched the chair arms tighter as Eric

  nuzzled higher onto my thigh.

  He would be able to smel my arousal, I knew it, could feel

  my panties getting damp. His mouth moved higher as his

  hands moved up over my knees and rested there. My next

  breath turned to syrup in my lungs and gave me no air.

  I could see his eyes, closed, the dark lashes so long they

  cast shadows on his cheeks. Each feathery kiss folowed

  the next, a micron's distance apart. He would never reach

  my pussy at that pace.

  The only sounds had been our breathing and the squeak of

  the chair as his movements rocked me gently in it. Now I

  the chair as his movements rocked me gently in it. Now I

  heard the low but unmistakable sound of Eric's groan. I felt

  it, too, in a puff of hotter air and the wetness of his kiss

  higher stil but not high enough.

  I looked down at his hunched shoulders and the big hands

  pushing up my skirt. At his dark hair, the fringes tickling

  my thighs. At the sweep of his lashes and slope of his

  forehead, al I could glimpse of his face.

  What the fuck was I doing?

  One hand found its way to his hair and I lost my fingers in

  it, relishing the springy coarseness for only a moment

  before I tightened my grasp and puled his head up. His

  eyes opened, blurred with lust. His lips, moist, parted as

  he focused on my face.

  I could not do this. Not like this. Not because I didn't love

  him, or because he wasn't my boyfriend, not even because

  we hadn't even had an official date. I'd done more with

  men I'd never even seen again. And not because I didn't

  want his face between my thighs, making me come on his

  tongue, because I wanted it so much desire left me light-

  headed.

  "No," I said in a grinding voice, because this wasn't fair.

  Not to him, and not to me.

  Eric pushed away from me at once and I released my grip

  on his hair. He didn't get to his feet but rocked back on his

  heels, his expression stricken. "I'm sorry. Paige. I don't

  know what made me think that was okay. I'm sorry."

  With shaking hands,
I pushed my skirt to cover my knees.

  I swalowed against the lump in my throat and tried to

  breathe slow and easy so I wouldn't embarrass myself by

  fainting or something stupid. I couldn't meet his eyes.

  "Paige, I'm so sorry." Eric's voice broke on my name and

  he cleared his throat but didn't say anything else.

  Would he have gone to his knees for me had he not been

  doing as I'd ordered?

  The chair screeched on the tiles as I pushed to my feet.

  None of my muscles wanted to cooperate. They wanted

  me back in that chair, my legs spread wide with Eric's face

  between them. I shook my head at myself, but Eric

  misunderstood.

  "Please…I'm realy not a jerk." He stood but didn't reach

  for me. "I shouldn't have done it. But I was…" I found my

  voice. "You were what?"

  "I was taken by you." His curiously old-fashioned phrasing sounded just right. "I like you, and I thought…I was

  stupid. I'm sorry."

  I could have said it was okay, but it wasn't, and not for the

  reasons he'd have assumed. "I'm going to go now."

  He nodded and went at once through the living room to

  the front door, which he didn't open. By the time I got to

  him I was able to breathe, though my muscles stil felt

  loose. Eric stepped aside, giving me plenty of room. We

  didn't look at each other.

  "Thank you for the ice cream," I said formaly. Stiffly.

  "You're welcome."

  He held the door open for me, but I didn't look at him as I

  went out.

  I left no note, no list the next morning. Courtesy of the

  schedule he'd sent me, I knew Eric would be off to work

  schedule he'd sent me, I knew Eric would be off to work

  before I roused myself from bed, but that was just an

  excuse. I was awake and could have run down to make

  sure he had something to keep him smiling al day.

  I hadn't slept much, just tossed and turned, so when the

  phone rang I picked it up on the first ring. "Hmm?"

  "Paige?"

  "Arthur." I sighed. "What did I tel you about caling me so early?"

  "But I'm hungry," he whispered. "And Mama won't wake

  up."

  I yawned. "You know what you can have. You don't need

  to wake her up."

  "When are you coming over again?"

  I hadn't realy thought about it. "I don't know, buddy.

  How's school?"

  "My teacher says I shouldn't talk so much in class."

  "Your teacher is probably right."

  "Your teacher is probably right."

  A shuffling squawk came through the phone, then a voice.

  "Who is this?"

  "Mom. It's me."

  "Oh. Paige. Hi, honey." Her relief seemed way out of

  proportion to Arty's early morning dialing. "What's

  wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong. Arty caled me."

  "What's wrong with him?"

  "Nothing that I know of. He cals me a lot on Sunday

  mornings."

  "He does?" She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'l remind him he's not to use the phone without permission. He's been…wel,

  he's been caling Leo."

  I yawned again, blinking. "So?"

  "Leo doesn't live here anymore," my mom said flatly.

  "But he was like a dad to Arthur." I got on one elbow to

  "But he was like a dad to Arthur." I got on one elbow to

  look at the clock. Gad-awful early. Silence told me I'd

  said the wrong thing. "I'm sorry, Mom, but it's true."

  "Arthur is not Leo's son," she said after another half

  minute. "I haven't said Leo couldn't see him, but he can't

  go caling whenever he wants to. He's not my boyfriend.

  And he's not Arty's dad."

  My mom had had a lot of boyfriends. She hadn't bothered

  to tel me al the reasons why she'd broken up with each of

  them, though I had been subjected to the ranting and

  raving on occasion when one had realy pissed her off.

  When I got older, she'd shared more, though I'd never

  asked her to. Now I waited for some revelation about

  Leo, some reason that had turned her against him, but she

  didn't give me one.

  "Arty! Get out of the snack drawer! Have some cereal!"

  She sounded tired and cranky.

  I knew how that felt. "I'm going back to sleep, okay?"

  "When are you coming down?"

  I told her what I'd told Arty, adding, "I've got stuff going

  on."

  on."

  "We'd like to see you. Me and Arty. You could come for

  the weekend, Paige. We could make fudge."

  "Mom…"

  "Don't say no. Just think about it, okay? We miss you. I

  miss you."

  There wasn't anything to say that wouldn't hurt her feelings,

  so I sighed. "Okay. I'l check my calendar."

  "I have to go. Arty just spiled the milk."

  "You know what they say," I tried to joke. "Don't cry over it."

  "I'm not crying," my mother said in a stone-edged voice I

  never heard from her.

  Then she hung up.

  Chapter 26

  The flowers came the next day, a bouquet of thirteen red

  roses tied with a thick satin ribbon and adorned with

  baby's breath. They were delivered early, too, the card in

  my mailbox announcing I had a package at the front desk

  tucked in amongst the bils the way not too long ago the

  notes had appeared. It set my heart to racing the way

  those notes always had, but the flowers sunk my guts to

  my shoes.

  "Someone has a special friend," Alice said when she

  handed me the bouquet with a knowing grin. She leaned

  closer. "I knew it wouldn't take you long, hon."

  I paused with the flowers in my hand, not daring to hold

  them too tight unless there were thorns. "For what?"

  "To get one," Alice said. "A man."

  Being unable to speak is different than not having words. I

  hate not knowing what to say. I goggled at her like an idiot

  and puled the flowers closer to my chest. The look on my

  face set her back a step, her ready smile fading.

  "Pretty flowers." It was the woman from the mailboxes

  stopping to pick up her own package. "From your

  boyfriend?"

  "I don't have a boyfriend," I said shortly for her benefit and Alice's. "I don't know who these are from."

  If they shared a look it was behind my back, because I

  turned away to pul the card from between the stems. It

  was a printed card, not handwritten. Three words.

  I'm sorry. Eric.

  Austin had given me flowers once or twice, sad and

  scraggly bouquets picked up from the grocery store. He'd

  picked me flowers, too, from his mother's garden and put

  them in a beer mug for me to find on our kitchen table

  when I got home from school. These were my first roses.

  I didn't have time to put them in my apartment before I

  headed off to work, so I took them with me. I didn't have

  to worry about getting them into water right away because

  each stem was capped in a smal plastic tube, but I

  arranged them where I could see them from my chair.

  One minute I smiled to look at them. The next, I frowned.

  One minute I smiled to look at them. The next, I frowned.

  Eric shouldn't be apologi
zing to me, but it was sweet he

  had. And he'd done it without prompting.

  "Paige, I—" Paul stopped in his doorway. "Pretty flowers."

  "Thanks." A mouse click saved my document, and I

  looked up at him. He had a paper in his hand. A list, for

  which I held out my hand.

  He didn't hand it over. Paul held it in both his hands and

  rubbed the paper back and forth in his fingers. He looked

  again at my flowers.

  "Is there something you need, Paul?"

  Paul cleared his throat and folded the list in half, then half

  again. "Vivian has asked for a meeting with us today to

  talk about the possibilities of your promotion. We're

  getting lunch ordered in. At eleven."

  He said it like I had a choice, as though he weren't my

  boss. He folded the paper again and tucked it into the

  pocket of his gray suit pants. Today he wore a pale pink

  shirt with a maroon tie and looked very puled together.

  "I'm not sure I realy want to talk about a promotion with

  "I'm not sure I realy want to talk about a promotion with

  Vivian."

  Paul nodded and gave me a smal smile. "It can't hurt to

  listen to what she has to say, Paige."

  He was right, so I nodded and turned my attention back to

  the computer. Paul waited a couple seconds, then left me.

  I stared for a while at my computer but couldn't make

  much sense of the words on the screen.

  At ten-fifty, Vivian click-clacked into the office on her

  expensive high heels. She carried an immense mug, the

  sort you buy at the convenience store and use for refils on

  fountain drinks. It looked out of place against her high-

  profile suit and jewelry, but she clutched it like she'd kil

  anyone who tried to take it.

  "Paige." She nodded. After a second she remembered to

  smile, too.

  "Vivian." I didn't get up from my desk, though I did take

  my hands from the keyboard. "Paul said you wanted to

  meet at eleven. He's in his office. I'l be in when I'm

  finished with this last file."

  My smile stretched the corners of my mouth, but I didn't

  feel it in my eyes. Vivian took a long, gurgling swig from

  her mug and went into Paul's office without more than a

  swift rap of her knuckles on the door frame to announce

  her arrival. My victory was smal but mighty. She couldn't

  complain I wasn't being prompt, but I'd made it clear I

  wasn't going to be rushed, either.

  I'm not a fan of scary movies, especialy the kind where

  the girl knows there's something awful in the basement or