Let Me Count The Ways (14 page)

“You’re welcome,” she answered warmly. Then her voice turned regretful. “But that will have to wait for another time. I should go now. Good night, Mike, see you Tuesday.”

Tuesday. Three long days away. I sighed, clinging to the regret in her tone, hoping it was genuine. “Good night, Claire.”
My darling.

It was only after she hung up the phone that I thought to wonder what had happened to her plans for this evening, her prior engagement. How, if she had no time to see me, had she found the time to call?

Claire

I don’t know how I made it until Tuesday without losing my mind. No, scratch that, I do know. The several exercise classes I sat in on each day went a long way toward leaving me centered, peaceful, serene and much too tired to think. I even braved one of Derek’s legendary Power Yoga classes, although only after pulling him aside ahead of time to ask a favor...

“Go easy on me today, okay? We both know I’m out of shape.”

Arms crossed, he studied me without speaking. His expression was thoughtful and a little too grim.

What now, I wondered. Is he going to tell me I’m too out of shape to take his class? Too old? Too lazy? “What?” I demanded impatiently.

“What’s wrong?” His voice, so patient, so surprisingly gentle for someone notorious for being a hard ass, only added to my discomfort.

“Nothing’s wrong, Derek. It’s just your classes are not the easiest in the world. I’m out of practice and I don’t particularly feel like being shown up by your regular students. Is a little consideration really too much to ask?”

Dropping his gaze from my face, he shook his head. “If that’s what you want, you got it.”

True to his word, Derek stuck me in the back of the class where my performance was more likely to go unnoticed. Then he left me strictly alone, other than to toss an occasional, ‘that’s good, Claire,’ in my direction, just to make it seem like he wasn’t ignoring me.

Still, even despite Derek’s unprecedented gentleness, by Tuesday evening I felt wrung out and exhausted.

“I’m not in the mood to go out tonight,” I told Mike when I called him with a change in plans. “Why don’t I just order dinner in and we can stay here and relax?”

“Anything you want me to bring?” he asked, after a slight pause.

“Nothing I can think of. Just bring your handsome self. You can leave the whips and chains at home tonight.”

This time the pause was longer. Long enough to make me cringe.

“Mike? You know that was a joke, right?”

“Sometimes jokes are a way of saying what we really mean.”

I sighed. “Sometimes they’re just an attempt at being funny.”

“Which is this?”

“Funny,” I answered as I rang off and immediately dialed the number of my favorite Pacific Fusion restaurant.

Was he kidding, I wondered as I waited for Mike to arrive. If he wasn’t... well, it would be my own fault, wouldn’t it? And hardly the first time my big mouth had gotten me in trouble. “Whips and chains,” I muttered, disgusted with myself. “Jesus, Claire,
what
were you thinking?”

I suppose I was thinking about the way I’d responded to Mike’s little game Saturday night. Having had my fill of controlling ex-spouses, I would have considered myself the last person to find discipline arousing. One bad alpha can spoil more than a bushel--take it from someone who’s been there.

It was a relief when I answered the front door a short while later and found him empty handed, except for a bottle of wine and a showy arrangement of tropical flowers--anthurium, heliconia, ginger, bird of paradise, orchids.

“How lovely,” I murmured, as he handed them to me.

Mike’s eyes lit up as I pinched off a single dendrobium to wear in my hair. “I was hoping you’d like them.”

“Oh, I do,” I said as I kissed his cheek. “Hawaiian flowers have always been my favorite.” He was so eager to please, so easy to be with, I felt myself relax for the first time in three days. I’d been silly to be so apprehensive. What had I been worried about? True, it was a bit uncanny the way he seemed to know my tastes in far too many things. But nothing to be alarmed about. After all, look how many things we had in common--our appreciation for fashion, flowers, similar music, mutual vacation choices, exotic birds. Even our tastes in food were nicely matched. Mike clearly approved of the meal I’d ordered, while I thought his choice of wine was superb.

Our conversation throughout dinner was light, lively, and likely to lead us into bed. Or so I thought, envisioning a long, leisurely night of love-making. But then, as we were finishing dessert, Mike abruptly switched gears.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly, after a brief but pensive pause. I tried to stop my eyebrows from crawling right up my forehead, but failed miserably.

“Not an auspicious opening.” I leaned back in my chair in what had to be a completely transparent attempt at distancing myself from whatever was coming next. “What’s on your mind?”

Mike leaned forward, snagging one of my hands in both of his, as though to keep me from withdrawing. I should have pulled it away, refused to be drawn in, but it felt nice, the stroke of his fingers against mine. “Claire, these past few weeks have been wonderful, probably the greatest couple of weeks of my life. But there are things we should have said, long before now. Issues we should have settled. We didn’t. And I apologize for that.”

“What kinds of things?” I had to ask. “What are we talking about?”

Mike’s lips pursed. “This. Us. Our... our relationship.”

“Ah.” This time I did disengage. Resting my folded arms on the table, I tucked my hands away, out of sight, out of reach. “Look, Mike, I like you. I like spending time with you like this. I like sleeping with you. But, that’s really all I’m looking for. So why don’t we just leave it like that?”

“Because,” he replied. And now it was he who leaned back. And folded his own arms. And gazed at me sternly. A faint chill slithered along my spine. He looked so unexpectedly intimidating it made my ‘mob enforcer’ joke seem just slightly less far fetched. “We at least need to establish certain ground rules.”

I forced myself to speak calmly. “Such as?”

“Such as whether either of us is going to be sleeping with anyone else while we’re together.”

I let ‘together’ slide. There was no
together
, I thought I’d made that clear. Just like there was no ‘us’. We were two people who enjoyed each other’s company--end of story.

I also let all the ugly implications, the snide allusions--things I’d heard too many times before--go unchallenged.
Either of us
rarely meant
either
of us. It usually just meant
me
. Perhaps it didn’t, in this case. But, just in case it did, I let my displeasure show. I glared at him coldly. “Well? And are you?”

To my surprise, a flush colored Mike’s cheeks. “Fair enough,” he muttered gruffly as he unbent just a little. “I wish I could say for sure that I’d have acted differently if I’d been seeing someone else when we got together. But I can’t. I’ve never been a cheater, Claire, but, given the circumstances, I’m pretty sure I’d have caved just the same.” He shook his head. “But, no, as it happens, there’s no one else. And there won’t be. I can’t even imagine wanting to cheat on you.”

And then it was my turn. The expectant look on his face left me with no doubt about that. “Well, thank you, Mike. That’s nice to know. But... why, exactly, is this conversation necessary?” I asked, balking a little. This was precisely the type of complication I’d wanted to avoid. Anger. Hurt feelings. Raised hopes and dashed expectations. Promises that begged to be broken. Who needed them?

“Well, for health reasons,” Mike snapped, sounding annoyed. “If nothing else.”

Shit. Trust him to have a point--and a good one, too, damn it. “You’re right,” I admitted. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m actually kind of a ‘one-man woman’ by preference myself.” All things being equal, which they very rarely were. “Contrary to what you might have heard.” And not counting some of those early movies, where the role required me to fuck practically the entire cast. “I probably haven’t even met half the people the tabloids have linked me with over the years.”

Mike frowned. “Claire, I didn’t mean to suggest--I just...” He gazed at me appealingly, obviously hoping I’d rescue him from the hole he’d dug for himself. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in much of a rescuing mood tonight.

“So there’s no one else?” he asked at last.

“No. There’s no one else.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, looking all too happy to take me at my word. “That’s all I needed to hear.” The expression in his eyes was one of sweet relief, which only made me feel worse. Then he flashed that shy smile I’d grown so fond of seeing. Tonight it made my spirits sink.

Clearly, Mike knew nothing about some parts of my past. And here I’d been afraid he knew too much!

How would the way he looked at me change if he learned the truth? Would he judge me as harshly as others had? Why should I assume anything else? It suddenly occurred to me to wonder if this was what Derek, one of the very few who
did
know and
hadn’t
cared, had been trying to warn me about. Shit.

Unable to sit still any longer, I got up and began to clear the table. “Well,” I muttered, slamming dishes together viciously as I pondered whether to claim a sudden headache, or just ask him straight out to leave. “I’m so glad we got
that
out of the way.”

“I’ve upset you,” Mike said, getting to his feet and standing in my way.

I looked at him pointedly. “Excuse me. I need to get into the kitchen.”

Instead of moving, he took the plates from my hands and put them back on the table.

“Michael,” I said warningly, but he ignored that, too and took hold of my shoulders.

“I’m sorry I handled this badly. I think part of the reason I put it off so long was because I knew I’d make a mess of it. I just wanted to clarify where we stood with each other. That’s all.”

Where we stood? That was easy. “I want a friend, Michael, no more, no less. After six marriages and umpteen relationships I’m through with the drama and the misunderstandings, the betrayal, the
pain
. All I want is a friend.” That and regular sex with a man who knew what he was doing and who I could count on for a good time.

“A friend with benefits--isn’t that what you mean?” he replied, just as though I’d spoken the last part aloud.

“Exactly.”

“Like a... like a fuck buddy.”

The scorn in his voice brought the blood rushing to my face. “If you prefer.”

“If I--? No,” he thundered, looking just as flushed as I felt. “I don’t
prefer
that, Claire. I don’t prefer
any
of it. I think the whole arrangement stinks.”

“I see.” We stared at each other. I waited a beat, but he said nothing more. “So are we through?” I asked at last.

Mike’s brow creased. “What’s that mean?”

“It means are we through? You asked where we stood. I told you. You don’t like it. I don’t see where we can go from there. So, again: Are. We. Through?”

Mike’s eyes widened. His expression went blank. Next thing I knew, I was crushed against his chest. His arms were around me, banding us so tightly together I could hardly breathe. “No. God, no. Claire...” His voice trailed off and he took a deep breath. A shudder ran through him and then he was holding me away, far enough that he could see my face. “Is that what you
want
?”

“I already told you what I want, Michael.” I wanted companionship. A warm body to curl up against when the nights turned cold. A warm smile to wake up to in the morning. I wanted someone who wouldn’t take
my
past and make it all about
him
. Someone who wouldn’t feel insulted by it, disgusted, ashamed. Who wouldn’t use it as an excuse to turn vicious or violent or cold. Someone I could laugh with and joke with. Someone I could eat with, travel with, maybe even shop with. But not cry with--I’d already cried enough.

“A friend.”

“Yes.”

“Someone to spend time with and have sex with and, and... date.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s it.”

I nodded. “No more, no less.” I’d had it with the other kind. Relationships where we’d started out so close it was as though we were in each other’s blood. Only to end with each of us striving to see how much of each other’s blood we could draw. Marriages where we amassed all the trappings--houses, jewelry, cars, all that money could buy--and ended up trapped. With nothing
but
money. Or, sometimes, with not even that.

“Okay,” Mike sighed. “We’ll give it a try.”

I looked at him questioningly.

He smiled. “I can’t promise I’ll like it, but I want you, Claire. And you want a friend. So let’s start with that and see where it goes.”

“It’s not gonna go anywhere, Mike,” I warned. “It’s going to stay the same.”

“Nothing stays the same, Claire. But, for even a few more weeks like these last few, it’s worth it.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, resting my head against his chest, wondering how it would all work out, whether I was stupid even to try.

“So you wanna kiss and make up now?” he asked at last.

I looked at him. Was he purposely reciting the same line I’d used on him last week?

The smile on his face suggested he was. “Well?”

I hesitated. Part of me did and part of me didn’t. Part of me felt bone tired and wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. And, part of me... well, part of me didn’t want to be alone tonight. I grabbed his face with both hands and planted a big, wet kiss on his lips. Not surprisingly, his arms closed around me and he kissed me back, deepening and lengthening the kiss until I started to swoon.

“I’m tired,” I murmured, pulling my mouth away. I wasn’t really. I just needed a break. The sizzle in my blood was too hot tonight, when all I wanted was a little warmth. “Just hold me?”

I suppose I have to give him credit for trying. He held me close for several minutes without complaint, although his hands did rove restlessly, up and down my back and through my hair. And he pressed so many ardent kisses against my head, murmured so many soft endearments, that I soon lost count.