Feel Like Making Love Page 9

  Joel sighed. "Yesterday, after we'd...kissed...all of sudden she didn't want anything to do with me. Said it would be a bad idea for me to be around her daughter since we'd...kissed."

  Morty laughed his raspy chuckle. "Sounds to me like she's got it as bad for you as you got it for her, sonny."

  Joel frowned. "Yeah, right. Turns out she thinks I'm some sort of charming flirt who was safe to...kiss...because I go through women like...like..."

  "Like shit through a goose?" Morty guffawed. "Reputation bit you on your ass, did it?"

  It sure had. Joel shrugged, still stung. "Let's just forget it, Morty, okay? I thought she felt the same way about me, but she doesn't. I just made an idiot of myself, that's all."

  "Well, sonny, I'm sure it wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last."

  Joel had to laugh at that. "Yeah, man, you're probably right on that one."

  "Listen, sonny, if you really like that girl, if you really got your heart set on her, then you got to go after her. Don't take no for an answer."

  "And if she really doesn't want a relationship with me? If she really did only want it to be once? What then?"

  "You don't have a very high opinion of yourself, if you think she could settle for only once," said Morty with a wink and a grin, and wheeled himself out of the conservatory, leaving Joel alone among the Boston ferns.

  * * * *

  "All right, class. Time's up." Professor Beadle got up from her desk in front of the auditorium. "Pass your test booklets to the front, please."

  Audrey closed her booklet with a sigh and passed it down the row. Her last final, and an entire summer off to look forward to. Days by the pool with Lauren, sleeping in late, catching fireflies.

  And no Joel.

  Her eyes searched the class for him, but no familiar grin, no flashing dark eyes leaped into her gaze. Had he skipped it? Missed the final? Was he sick?

  "Ms. Winsom? Everything all right?" The professor had paused at the end of her row, and Audrey looked up, startled.

  "Oh, yes, professor, fine. Sorry."

  "Relieved to be finished?" The older woman smiled. "I'm sure you did very well. You're one of the best students in the class, Ms. Windom. You and Mr. Goldman."

  Audrey nodded at Joel's name. "Thanks, professor. I enjoyed the class very much."

  "See you in September," said Professor Beadle and kept moving up the stairs toward the doors at the back of the auditorium.

  Outside in the bright May sunshine, Audrey took the time to stop next to one of the large metal trashcans to clean out her backpack of the months' worth of scraps, chewed pencils and other garbage.

  She saw him in the distance, recognizing him even from the back. He'd stopped to read one of the message boards. The breeze lifted his hair, and she all too clearly remembered how it felt against her fingers and against her face. Her feet were moving before she knew it.

  "Joel!"

  He turned, his easy expression going tight when he saw her, and that nearly broke her heart. "Hi."

  "That was some final, huh? I didn't see you inside." She smiled at him, but he didn't return it.

  "I was in the back."

  He met her eyes for a moment, then looked away, and fresh shame filled her at how callously she'd treated his feelings. The feelings she'd been too afraid to believe were real.

  "Any big plans for the summer?"

  "Working full time at Country Breezes. They've guaranteed me extra hours. I'll be able to afford school again in the fall anyway."

  "Good." She nodded. Awkward silence fell between them. "What about...the other?"

  "The other job?" He looked up. "Quit."

  "You did? Why?" She took a step toward him.

  Joel looked at her. "Because the money was good, but it wasn't the right job for me. Gives people the wrong impression."

  "Joel, I'm sorry." She was too. "The past couple weeks...have been..."

  "What?" he asked her.

  "Lauren's been asking about you."

  "Has she?" A smile hinted at brightening his face before fading. "Tell her I said hi."

  "You could tell her, if you wanted."

  He said nothing at first. "I thought you said that wouldn't be a good idea."

  Audrey reached for his hand, certain he'd pull away and relieved when he didn't. "Joel, I was wrong to judge you."

  He looked down at their hands. His fingers tightened on hers. He met her gaze.

  "I don't blame you. It's my own fault for not discouraging the rumors. But, hey, what guy can resist being thought of as a secret agent, right?"

  She squeezed his hand in return. "I just didn't want to risk our friendship, and what happened? I ruined it anyway. I'm sorry."

  Joel tugged her hand a little bit and she moved toward him. "Audrey, I would never lie to you. Do you believe that?"

  She did. Completely. "Yes, I do."

  He smiled, finally, like the sun returning from behind the clouds. He slung his arm around her shoulder pulling her close. "So I heard a rumor you were going to make me dinner."

  "Oh? Funny, because I thought I heard it was you who was going to make me some dinner." She looked up at him.

  He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Then he kissed her, and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him back. It was a sweet kiss, full of promise and anticipation. When Joel pulled away, Audrey's heart had started thump-thumping.

  "Audrey," he said, "I want to do this right this time. I want to take you out. On real dates. And spend time with you, and Lauren...but if you'd rather not have me around Lauren, that's cool too. I understand. I just don't want to let this ruin our friendship, but I also don't want our friendship to ruin...this. I just need to know if you trust me."

  He kissed her again, a little harder this time, and she slid her arms up around his neck to hold his mouth to hers.

  "I do," she told him.

  "Can I take you home?" he asked her when he stopped kissing her.

  "Yeah," Audrey said. "I'd like that."

  This time he lifted her as he kissed her, and they laughed together in the bright May sunshine, two good friends who'd finally decided to take the chance at something more. Joel had his arms around her and hers were around him as he twirled her on the sidewalk, but Audrey had no fear he'd drop her. After all, in his arms she had found a perfect fit.

  RIGHT TO REMAIN

  The radio was loud, and the car fast. The night wind rushing in the open window tangled her long hair, but Lina didn't care. She was thinking about Gavin.

  It seemed like she was always thinking about him; that every song on the radio this summer had words which made her remember his smile; that every day had her burning inside with a heat which had nothing to do with the fierceness of the summer sun. She hadn't seen him in an entire year.

  Their affair had ended badly. She'd walked out on him after he'd refused to kiss her in front of his friends at a party. It had been summer then, too, with hot days and cool nights, and she'd shivered so hard the keys had chattered in the lock when she'd tried to open her car door.

  He'd followed her. She could give him credit for that, at least. The sounds of the party had spilled out the open door along with a golden rectangle of light. He'd jumped down the porch steps, taken the keys from her hand and slipped them into the lock for her, but when she'd tried to open the car door his hand had pushed it closed.

  "What's up?" The scent of beer and cigarettes surrounded him, along with the faint undertone of spicy cologne.

  Lina's voice had been cold. "I'm done."

  "With what?"

  She gave a glare as fierce as she could manage with tears burning in her eyes. "With us. With this. With all of it."

  He'd had the gall to chuckle at her and try to brush her hair from her face. She'd knocked his hand away. He took a step back, his own eyes narrowed. "You're serious."

  "Let me ask you something," Lina had said in a low, dangerous voice she barely recognized as her own. "Are you ever going to kiss me when y
ou're not fucking me?"

  His breath had hissed from between his lips. "Sure. On Christmas and your birthday."

  She shook her head, but wasn't surprised by his answer. "Goodbye, Gavin."

  She'd made it into her seat, belted in and put the keys in the ignition before he'd reopened the car door. "What do you mean, goodbye? Why?"

  "It's pretty simple," she'd said. "What have you always told me? 'I will never hold your hand. I will never bring you flowers.' And, apparently, never kiss me."

  "I didn't say never."

  "It's not enough." She'd fixed him with a solid look that denied the maelstrom of her emotions.

  "Lina..."

  She'd given him no chance to reply. "Goodbye."

  She'd driven away and never seen him again, but she'd never stopped thinking about him.

  Now the red/blue, red/blue of lights came on behind her, and she pulled over to the side of the road. Her heart thumped as she brushed the tangled strands of hair away from her face. The spot between her thighs pulsed briefly as she shifted under her seatbelt. She turned off the radio.

  What would fate bring her tonight? Had she tempted destiny enough? Everything felt as though it were coming together...her desire and her thoughts bringing her to this point of no return.

  The tall, dark form tapped on her window, and she obliged by rolling it down a crack. She wasn't stupid, and was reckless in only this one thing. "Can I see some identification, please, officer?"

  He showed it to her without comment, and the ID card with his name on it was like a bolt of lightning to her heart.

  "License and registration," he demanded with nothing like politeness in his tone.

  If he knew who she was before she showed him the documents, he showed no sign. She passed him the papers, knowing as she shifted in her seat to pull them from the glove box that her skirt was shifting also. It rode high on her thighs, perhaps even exposed a quick flash of underwear. He didn't react.

  "Step out of the car."

  She wouldn't have for someone else. She would have insisted he radio ahead and take her someplace safer, not along a dark, deserted, country road. The Internet had taught her something about personal safety, at least. But for him, she opened her door, conscious of the light spilling out and painting a square of brightness on the night-soaked ground.

  She stood a little unsteadily on unfamiliar high heels, and became aware of how much taller she was when she wore them. Her chin reached the curve of his shoulder. She wobbled and reached out a hand to steady herself against the car door. It shut with a click, and gave her back into the red/blue shadowed darkness.

  "How much have you had to drink tonight?"

  He knew she didn't drink. Or he had known a year ago. He knew nothing about her now. Still, the question stung.

  "Nothing."

  He made a noise low in his throat. Like he didn't believe her. And that made her angry, just a little.

  "I haven't turned to drink," she said with an edge in her voice. "If that's what you were hoping."

  "I'm going to administer a field sobriety test to you anyway," her former lover told her, without an inkling of humor in his voice. All business.

  Despite her anger at the insult, her clit throbbed and her nipples peaked against her thin shirt. All business. What other business could she persuade him to put his attentions to?

  He led her through the short series of exercises, and she passed them all. The gravel on the side of the road was slippery and uneven, though, and her heels an inch higher than she was used to. She stumbled again and fell into his arms. He caught her easily, a man used to protecting unsteady women from hurting themselves. Suddenly, she hated him for that ease, that grace, that steadiness, which used to be for her alone and now was for any woman who needed it.

  She cursed and pushed away from him. "Give me the damn ticket and let me go, all right?"

  "Can I take a look in your trunk?"

  "What?" Her outrage, for a moment, covered her desire. Rage made her shake, and she made fists of her hands. "Why?"

  "Are you denying me access to your trunk?"

  "Fuck you." She'd never denied him access to anything he'd ever wanted from her.

  His eyes went hard, his expression fierce. She could see that even in the dim light, though she could've imagined the look just as easily. She'd seen it often enough.

  "Turn around. Put your hands on the hood of the car. Spread your legs."

  Her heart pounded so hard that, for a moment, she saw stars. Even as she obeyed, she felt her breath catch in her chest. Her thighs rubbed together as she turned, and she felt the slickness like oil between her legs.

  Apparently, she didn't move fast enough for him. She felt his hand on her shoulder, pushing her toward the car. Her feet tangled, she stumbled once more, and her hands slapped the hood of the car hard enough to sting. He put his hands between her legs, beneath her skirt, and pushed her legs apart.

  She couldn't breathe. She bent, her fingers splayed on the car's warm metal. She was open to him. The heat of his palm caressed her inner thigh. It burned, and she sighed from the pleasure of it.

  His hand left her thigh and both hands patted her sides, the curve of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach, the roundness of her ass. She shuddered. Her head hung down, long hair obscuring her face, and covering her view. All she felt was his hands on her--brusque, impersonal, harsh, and without the tenderness she'd remembered him capable of having.

  Her body betrayed her. She was angry with him for this treatment, for a year of silence, for allowing her to close the door on him and refusing to ask her to open it. She was furious, and yet his touch had her breath coming close and sharp, her clit pulsing. She could come from a touch, a kiss, a caress, and she hated herself for letting him affect her so violently.

  His hands went beneath her skirt again to cup her ass. His fingers curved along the back of her thighs to the soft inner skin. She felt him brush the elastic edge of her panties, and her knees buckled. She pushed back against him with a moan she tried unsuccessfully to stifle.

  At the sound, he withdrew. "You can go now."

  What? She couldn't speak. Humiliation flooded her, turned her stomach, and made her faint with shame. She'd reacted to him like a bitch in heat, and he'd rejected her.

  She turned and tried to see something of what he felt in his expression, but it was too dark. He was closed to her. Like he'd always been.

  "You bastard," she breathed when she caught her breath. "You...you..."

  But she had no more words. Nothing else to say. Tears stung her eyes and clogged in her throat, but she refused to let him see her cry.

  She got in her car, took back her license and registration, and stuffed them without thought into the glove box. Her keys jangled in the ignition when her fingers touched them, but the roar of the engine drowned out the sound.

  "Don't drive so fast," he told her through the open window, and then he was gone.

  * * * *

  It wasn't until Lina got home that she realized he hadn't given her a ticket.

  She'd tried to play a game, and she had failed. Now she felt the worst sort of fool, but at least she didn't have to pay for her mistake. Not with money anyway. Only her sense of pride.

  As the minutes passed, her anger faded, replaced by a sense of quiet loss. She couldn't blame him. She'd been the one to end the relationship a year ago. The one who'd left. She'd wanted more and been too afraid to demand it.

  Her body had not recovered from the fierce jolt of arousal that had broken through her at his touch. Even now, the memory of his fingers brushing the elastic of her panties made her shiver, and her nipples harden. A memory hit her suddenly like the crash of thunder, and she had to sit down lest she fall from weakened knees.

  The chair was soft beneath her and she gripped the padded arms. Her eyes blinked, not seeing the freshly painted and carefully decorated walls of her apartment, but instead Gavin's face. Lina's head fell back against the chair. Her legs
parted unconsciously, her body reacting to the memory as though it were an event happening to her now.

  She thought of Gavin touching her, his fingers slipping inside her while his mouth teased her nipples. She touched herself, remembering how once his mouth had closed on the hard beads of flesh and suckled while his hand stroked her. Her clit felt swollen and huge with arousal, begging for release.

  Her hand strayed lower and pushed up the edge of her skirt. Her fingers brushed the soft cotton of her panties, over the bud of her clit, which pulsed beneath her fingers as a gasp burst from her parted lips. She arched upward, into her own touch, wishing for the thousandth time it was Gavin's hand on her, his mouth between her legs, his cock inside her.