Let Me Count The Ways (20 page)

“Good,” Mike repeated as his arms tightened around me. “Now, come here.”

“Whoa.” I held him off again. “Hello to you, too.” His chest felt warm and solid under my hands and I couldn’t keep from kneading my fingers in the crisp hair that blanketed his pecs. Any more than I could keep my gaze from straying down along his naked torso, past the comfortable bulk of his muscles, to his thick cock--already hard and spoiling for action. “Nice outfit,” I murmured as my eyes traveled back up to his face.

He gave a short bark of laughter. “Thanks. Yours too.” Then he raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “Are you gonna let me kiss you again, or not?”

“Maybe. Are you usually this frisky in the morning?”

“No. That’s your fault. What do you mean
maybe
?”

“
My
fault? Nice try. As I recall, last time I spent the night here you were gentlemanly enough to let me sleep in.”

He nodded. “Exactly. And look what that got me: you left.”

Mike’s words caught me off guard. Yes, I’d left. I’d called a cab and fled. I’d gotten scared. And, this morning, it was happening all over again. “What is it about you anyway?” I grumbled, feeling angry with us both as I remembered how easily he’d gotten me to open up again, to talk so much about myself last night.

Years, damn it. I’d been distancing myself for years. How was it he kept getting to me like this?

“I at least expected breakfast in bed this morning,” I said, desperately seeking a distraction. I needed space.

“An excellent idea.” Mike pulled back the covers and sat up. “That’s just what I’m in the mood for too.”

“Good.” I shivered at the sudden chill of cool air against my bare skin, then frowned as I watched him slide between my legs. “Wait. What are you doing?”

He glanced up at me; eyebrows raised, a faint, sardonic smile on his face. “Eating breakfast.”

His gaze was hot and frank and far too sure of itself. I felt the rush of heat in my cheeks and was appalled. Claire Calhoun was
never
embarrassed by a lover’s attentions. And yet, I had to clear my throat before I could speak and still my voice sounded weak. “Mike, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Really? It’s not?” Still smiling, he spread my legs wider. “It’s what I meant though.”

“Last time you offered me an omelet,” I said, trying again.

“Last time
you
called a cab.”

Irritated now, I frowned at him. “You’re never gonna forget about that, are you?”

Mike shrugged. Burying his face in my crotch he inhaled deeply. “Mm. Never’s a long time, Claire. I’m sure I’ll get over it eventually.”

His lips tugged gently on my labia and it was all I could do to keep from wriggling beneath his touch. I wanted more. And less. Both at once. “And in the meantime you plan to starve me. Is that it?”

Mike raised his head. “You want food?”

Deprived of his mouth on my flesh, that was suddenly all I wanted, all I could think about. Still, “Food would be nice,” I managed to say, faintly.

“Fine.” He nodded toward the nightstand. “Have a grape.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sure. Eat the whole bunch, if you want. Or, better yet, why don’t you pass a couple of them down here to me?”

“Michael!”

Sighing, Mike stroked a hand up over my belly. I shivered at the touch. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” he said quietly.

I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t make the words come out of my mouth.

Mike’s eyes glinted. A smile curved his lips. “Hmm. Didn’t think so.”

Cupping his hand over my mound, he pressed upward, pulling the flesh taut, exposing my clit. Then he used his tongue to flick the little nub, circling, stroking, over and over until I had no choice but to give in. Crossing my arms over my face, I closed my eyes. I focused on the sensations flooding through me and tried hard to let all the rest of it go.

Just give him what he wants
, I told myself.
Stop thinking and do it. Come for him. Let him have you. Get it over with.

It should have been easy. It shouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary, nothing I hadn’t done a thousand times before. The heat went everywhere. My legs fell open wider. His tongue set all my nerves alight.

Then he spoiled it.

“Gosh, you’re sweet,” he murmured. Once again his hand stroked lightly over my belly, teasing, tormenting. Once again I shuddered. “I love that,” Mike breathed, sounding reverent, sounding amazed. “The way you respond... it’s so pure, so hot, it’s almost like you’ve never been touched.”

I groaned aloud.
Great. Just great
.
What the fuck am I doing? I’m in bed with a man who says ‘gosh’. Who thinks I’m the next best thing to a virgin. Who thinks of me as perfect, for Chrissake. What happens when he finds out I’m not?

But I already knew the answer to that one, didn’t I? It was always such a long, hard fall from the top of a pedestal and it hurt like hell all the way down to the ground.

Mike’s fingers trailed circles around my navel and my body arched against his hand. Shivering harder now, I sucked in air. I dug my nails into my palms to keep from crying.

Goddamn Derek. Why’d he have to go and fall in love with that girl? What we had was perfect. We’d both gone into it with our eyes wide open, knowing just what we were getting, just what to expect. And when it ended, even though that wasn’t what I would have chosen, at least it had been quick, clean, honest. A single cut, easy to heal.

This affair with Mike could never be like that. Could never end clean or easy. Could never be anything less than a train wreck, or like taking a shotgun blast to the chest.

“You’re killing me,” I muttered.

I was only barely aware I spoke the words out loud until Mike chuckled in reply, “At least we know you’ll die happy.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him. His expression was sweet and warm and tender. I think that’s when it really hit me how big a mistake I’d made.

I’d looked forward to our appointments every other Thursday. Having Mike around--even though we’d never discussed the matter--had helped to soften the blow when Derek left me. The admiration in his gaze had soothed my wounded pride, my battered ego and, yes, even the bruises to my heart. The ones I’d sworn I didn’t feel.

What would I do when this ended; when the laughter that blazed now in his eyes died out, to be replaced with a look of loathing and disgust?

Get out now. Stop thinking. Just fuck him and leave.

I told myself I could figure it out later. I told myself that naked and on fire was no time to be making decisions that could affect the rest of my life.

“Fuck me,” I ordered, lifting my head, propping myself up on my elbows.

Mike just looked at me, the smile on his face slowly fading.

“Take me now,” I said, changing it from an order to a plea with a whispered, “Please?”

He shook his head. “Not this time.”

“Michael...”

“You had it your way last night,” he said, still refusing me. “This morning it’s my turn.”

“Meaning what?” I groaned.

“Meaning... you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I don’t like to wait.”

He grimaced. “Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

“I don’t know what this game is you think you’re playing, Mike, but this isn’t the time for it.”

“You’re really not a morning person, are you?”

“Michael!”

”Patience,” he murmured soothingly, trailing kisses along my inner thighs. “It’ll be good this way. You’ll see. You’ll like it.”

Well, that wasn’t the problem, was it? I already liked it, just like I liked
him.
Too much. Liking any of it more wasn’t going to help.

I gazed at him helplessly while he slipped one finger, then two fingers inside me, gliding deep and then withdrawing.

“Mm, sweet.” He stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked noisily. “Like honey.”

“More,” I pleaded.

He laughed. “Just what I was thinking.” Then he repeated the caress, dipping and sucking and dipping again, inching me closer to climax at glacial speed, until my pussy was on fire and my entire being was alive with need.

“Now.” I pumped my hips frantically, straining toward his hand. “Fuck me now.”

“So impatient,” he chided, pressing another kiss against the inside of my thigh. “See what you missed last time you were here? See why it was a mistake to call that cab?”

Oh, dear God. “Mike,” I groaned, not sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. I lay back on the bed once more and covered my eyes again. “I swear, if you don’t take me soon I’m gonna call a cab right the hell now and screw the cabbie while you watch!”

I froze. He froze. In the silence that followed my outburst, I could hear the echo of my words, could hear how they must have sounded and I wanted to throw up.

I can’t do this. I’d rather end it now than stay and see the disappointment in his eyes.

I could have tried explaining, I suppose. I could have told him that I had a bad habit of saying things I didn’t mean, that I’d simply never learned to keep my mouth shut. But, eventually, it would all turn out the same. I could see where we were headed and I would
not
go there. Not with him.

I don’t want to beg. I don’t need to beg. I don’t beg.

I pushed him aside and got out of bed, slipping past him without meeting his gaze.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he called after me, sounding amused. “Did I say you could get up?”

I shook my head. “Don’t start.”

“That better have been a joke about the cabbie,” he warned teasingly. “You’d better not be looking for a phone.”

I felt my shoulders start to sag and I straightened my spine. “I’m not,” I answered coolly. “I’m just looking for my clothes.”

He sat up quickly. “Claire? What’s going on? What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing, Michael?” I replied, still not looking at him. “I’m getting dressed.”

“I can see that! But why?”

“I’ve got... things to do today. I’m pressed for time.”

He got up from the bed. “You’re not leaving?”

I nodded. “Sorry.”

“What the hell? Claire... okay, come on, very cute. Now, cut the crap. This is ridiculous. Get your ass back in bed.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Mike. I don’t take orders from you.”

“I don’t get this,” he mumbled, pulling a pair of jeans from his dresser drawer. “What the hell just happened here? This
can’t
be about breakfast. What are you so upset about?”

“You! All right? You’re just... just...”

“Me?” He stopped dressing and stared at me. “You’re angry at
me
? What’d I do?”

“You’re much too controlling, for one thing,” I said, struggling with my voice, which had begun to shake. It didn’t so much matter if I didn’t sound calm, but I
would
sound cool, I
would
sound collected. “I don’t think it’s gonna work out. I’m not used to being treated this way. I think this was a mistake.”

“A mistake.” Mike zipped up his jeans and fisted his hands on his hips. “Okay, fine. What’s a mistake? What are we talking about? Tell me so I can fix it.”

“You can’t fix it. It’s not that kind of thing.”

“Everything’s fixable, Claire. Most things, anyway.”

“Not this.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

He arched an eyebrow . “Because...?”

I sighed distractedly. He looked damn good in those jeans. I don’t know why that should have mattered, or why I was even noticing. But, it was the first time I’d seen him wear them and, somehow, seeing him like that, barefoot and bare-chested, wearing nothing but a pair of softly faded jeans, only made things harder somehow. Even to my own ears, my excuses sounded feeble and weak.

“That’s it?” Mike prompted, after a moment. “That’s all the answer you got for me?”

He looked so... normal, so solid and sane. A little distracted, perhaps, a little vulnerable, but decent, warm, concerned. Patient. He looked like someone I really wouldn’t have minded getting to know better. The kind of person you could grow old with. Someone I could easily have seen myself having breakfast with every morning for the rest of my life. But I couldn’t start thinking like that. Not again.

I shook my head. “Because I’m talking about us, Mike. And I think maybe we... maybe we never should have started this.”

“What?” At that, anger flared in his eyes. Anger, disbelief, or maybe hurt. It was hard to tell at a glance and I couldn’t meet his gaze long enough to be certain.

Moving quickly, I began to toss things into my bag. “Sorry.”

“Sorry? Un-fucking-believable. And what do you mean ‘we’ anyway? Maybe
you
shouldn’t have started something you didn’t want to see through to the end.”

“I don’t think so.” I slid the bag’s strap over my arm and turned toward the bedroom door. “I think maybe you just don’t want to admit that this
is
the end.”

“Is that what you’re saying?” he demanded. “This is it? The end? You’re calling it quits?”

“Yes,” I said as I crossed the living room, intensely aware of him stalking behind me, praying he’d just let me go. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Over what? This is bullshit, Claire. You can’t just--just... what the hell? You can’t do this!”

Oh, yes, I could. “I’m sorry, Mike.” I pulled open his front door and turned to look at him. I forced a small smile. “I’ll see you Thursday, okay? Same as always?”

“Same as always? Are you kidding me?”

I shook my head, closed the door behind me and ran down the drive. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely get the car door open, could barely get it started, could barely drive.

I pulled away from the house expecting every second to see the front door burst open, to see Mike come running out of the house. I was relieved when he didn’t. Mostly relieved, except for the small, obstinate part of me that felt only disappointment.
Stop me
, it called out to him silently.
Tell me I’m wrong. Make me stay.

But he didn’t. And that, I told myself, was Just As Well. All for the Best. A Huge Relief.