Asking for Trouble (15 page)

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” she asked with her last bit of recall.

“I think this is the best idea we’ve had yet,” he answered, nuzzling her neck. “I love this dress.”

She felt his hand on her bare back and melted in slow degrees.

“There ... there isn’t much to it, is there?” she said, wondering if it had been a wise idea to wear the dress after all. This was the reaction she’d wanted, but ... “You’d said to dress casual, and I didn’t know if you meant casual-casual or casual restaurant—casual.”

She sucked in air. Her eyes closed and the strength of her muscles was suddenly on a par with that of a cooked noodle, when he trailed his tongue across her breasts above the bodice of her sundress.

“I meant casual as in anything you don’t have to wear pantyhose with. They make me nuts,” he muttered, working his way back up her neck to her mouth once more. He fumbled with the zipper of the dress that pressed against her spinal cord. “This little dress is fine for what I had—and still have—in mind.”

“What if I’d worn pantyhose with it?” she asked, nervous, needing to distract herself.

“They’re not allowed on my boat. You’d have had to take them off before you came on board.”

Like her friend Judy, Tom was one of those people who could follow two conversations at once without distraction. Oh, how she envied them. The discourse he was having with her body was distracting in the extreme to the little chat he was having with her verbally. And yet he seemed to be right on top of both of them, with a response for everything.

“What ... what if I’d refused to take them off?” she asked, as she listened to the whiz of the zipper and felt her dress loosen around her body. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She shivered.

“Then getting you naked would have taken me a little longer. Nothing you wore could have stopped this,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. He stood back and looked at her. His eyes were bright, like blue fire—consuming, burning, searing away the remains of her doubt.

A gentle, discerning smile curved his lips as he pulled slowly on the straps of her sundress. He was aware of her fears and anxieties. He knew she was as nervous as he was. He took his time to relish the long-awaited moment—to have her naked in his arms—but also to give her one last chance to back away if she felt she had to.

Not that he’d allow her to stay away too much longer, however. And it wasn’t as though he was the sort of man who thought sex was the answer to all the world’s problems. But if she had more questions to ask or more feelings to get off her chest, he could be put off a while for her peace of mind. Because in his heart, from the depths of his soul, he was so certain of their future together that loving and making love seemed inevitable to him.

His body, of course, was telling him that with his heart set, now was as good a time as any to add the love
making
ingredient to this mystical thing called love. It had suffered the tingles, pangs, and excitement long enough. It was demanding gratification. It didn’t care that Sydney was frightened; it was fearless enough for the both of them. It had no tolerance for her qualms and doubts; it wanted her—badly.

And so, with the heart of a man in love and the hands of a man needing to make love, he continued to slowly lower the straps of her dress from her shoulders, waiting for her to stop him, viewing inch after inch of pale golden skin that was too tempting not to touch.

Cool air brushed across her breasts, sensitizing the engorged tissue. The mere thought of Tom’s hands on her breasts was enough to harden her nipples.

Deliberately, with the forethought and intent of a seductress, she took a step forward and began to unbutton his shirt.

Sydney had her problems, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew when she was beaten. They were going to make love, and there was nothing she could do—nothing she
wanted
to do—to stop it. She was damned if she permitted it to happen, and damned if she didn’t. And if she was going to be damned for anything, if she was going to feel sorrow and remorse, it was going to be for an act she had performed—not for what she’d only dreamed of doing. She knew she was asking for trouble. Their loving was impossible. But it was also ordained by fate.

The stress and strain of remaining motionless as he stood and watched her open the front of his shirt and flatten the palm of her hands to the dark spongy hair on his chest radiated from him like waves of heat. She could feel his heart hammering rapidly beneath the smooth corded sinew. It felt powerful.

She shoved his shirt back on his broad shoulders and willfully caught his impassioned gaze. She held it as long as she could as she stepped around behind him to remove the garment from his body. Her hands looked small against the muscled contours of his back. She felt small—small, vulnerable, and eager.

She took the instant needed to lower the sundress the remaining distance to the floor and came to face him in nothing but her best white silk-and-lace panties. Once again she placed both palms to his chest to feel the warmth of his body and the strong, steady beating of his heart.

Their love was a mistake, and yet it was the truest, purest emotion she’d ever known. They had no future, and yet their destiny was to be one through infinity. She shook her head in hopelessness, a prisoner of her own emotions.

“What am I going to do with you?” she uttered in a bare whisper, hardly aware that she’d spoken aloud.

His hands were like fire on ice when they took her upper arms and pulled her closer to him. His face was ablaze with his desire and yearning, but a mere reflection of her own need and longing.

“First, you’re going to make love with me,” he said. “And then you’re going to promise to share your life with me.”

It soon became apparent that somewhere in the universe his words were written in stone. Their passion was slow and giving. In a ritual born with the creation of man, they stoked the sacrificial fires and offered their bodies and souls in homage to their love.

His kisses were deep and drugging, stealing away her thoughts. Each stroke of his hand was titillating and tranquilizing to her inhibitions, banishing their power over her. She gave herself freely, offering all she was or would ever be. His mouth closed over the tip of her breast to suckle, and his hand traversed her abdomen, moving slowly downward.

She was weak and aggressive in turn, wavering between insatiable hunger and euphoria. She clutched him to her and then pushed him away, writhing and gasping, desperate for an end to the exquisite agony.

But over and over he drove her to the edge of madness, cruel in his delay, meticulous in his methods. And when she could take no more, when she was about to explode, he saved her. He took her, driving hard and deep, breaking beyond the formidable flames of sensation and the intractable need that was devouring her. She cried out, and he was there, whispering tender, soothing words she didn’t recognize and holding her close.

She might not have noticed the gentle rocking of the boat if her body was less attuned to her environment. She emerged slowly from a languorous bliss, feeling alive and highly responsive to the world around her. It was as if she could feel every molecule of air as it rubbed softly against her bare skin.

“Sydney?”

“Mm?”

“What are you thinking?”

She couldn’t recall that she
was
thinking. “Nothing, I’m a complete blank.”

They were sprawled across the bed in the bow of the boat, legs and fingers entwined. Bracing himself on one elbow, he loomed over her.

“Good. I can begin your reprogramming.”

She smiled and opened her eyes to look at him. The strange excitement churned in her abdomen once again. Her body quickened. Lazy fingers touched his cheek to make sure he was real.

“In what way would you like to reprogram me?” She would have done anything he asked at that moment.

“Only one way. A minor detail, really.” He kissed her—softly and with deep affection. “Before you have time to start thinking again, I want to fill your head with positive thoughts. I want to firmly fix in your mind how right we are together. There won’t be room for any more doubt ... no more fear.”

“Good luck,” she said as she began to automatically compute the ramifications of their actions. “I hope you succeed. I want you to.”

“But you don’t think it’s likely.” It wasn’t a question.

No, she didn’t think it was likely. They had a great deal in common, and in their differences he zigged where she zagged in an extremely harmonious manner. But the barrier between them was too large to overcome, too tangible to be tolerated, and too basic to their natures to be ignored. They couldn’t change who and what they were, and it was who and what they were that would eventually destroy any happiness they found together.

She sighed heavily as she reached out and pulled him to her. She didn’t want to give him up. She knew she would. She knew she had to for both their sakes, but she wasn’t ready yet. With his arms around her, their being together
was
right. There were no doubts, no fear. He could make her forget.

“No, I don’t think it’s likely,” she whispered, full of sorrow. “But we have here and now. Isn’t it enough that right this minute everything is perfect?”

He pulled back to look at her intently. Here and now was his philosophy more than hers. He knew that even though she lived in the present, she had a careful eye to the future, that she planned for it and counted on its coming. His gaze broke into her soul, and instead of robbing her of anything, he left a deposit. His love. It was like earnest money—collateral on his faith in her good judgment and his trust in her for his own future.

“It’s enough for now,” he said, bending to press a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll live one perfect moment at a time, until we’ve filled a lifetime with them.”

“I hope so,” she said, opening her mouth to his next kiss, opening her mind to his persuasion and her heart to his convictions. More than anything else, she wanted to believe in their future the way he did.

Together, with slow, fastidious intent, they assembled minute after minute of perfection. Misgivings gave way to laughter, ecstasy, and intimate whispers in the dark. They lived the future second by second, forming a past, linking their hearts in time.

“W
HEN I CAN SEE
you again?” Tom asked Sydney early the next morning as they stood outside her apartment door. He had her pinned between the wall and his chest and was determined to have an answer.

“Soon,” she said, in no condition to complain about his closeness. There was a sublime ache in rarely used muscles of her body. She was exhausted from a sleepless night. Her mind was weary from thinking too much. And still his kisses excited her, energized her, and removed all thoughts from her consciousness.

All that night she’d known what she had to do. Yet she’d stayed with Tom and selfishly indulged her heart and body. But while she’d lain awake, listening to the soft sounds of water lapping between the dock and the boat and the softer sounds of Tom’s respirations in sleep, her thoughts would catch up with her. She would begin to feel guilt and shame. She should have ended the relationship as she had intended to. She should have been stronger. She shouldn’t have given in to her desire to make love with Tom. She shouldn’t have given him any hope that there was a future for them. Her recriminations had come fast and furious.

And then, on the verge of tears, she’d turned to Tom for comfort, kissing him awake and taking refuge in his strength and love.

“How soon?” he asked, reluctant to leave her, disinclined to give her time alone to think. She made mountains out of molehills better than anyone else he knew, and now that he’d shaved the mountain between them down to its appropriate size, he didn’t want to give her time to reinflate it. “Lunch maybe?” he suggested persistently. “Or we could still make it over to Catalina for the afternoon.”

“Tom—”

There was a “no” in the tone of her voice, so he cut her off. “Okay, I’ll surprise you. Get some sleep, and I’ll come back for you at two.”

“But—”

This time he stopped her with a kiss. A kiss that left her blurry eyed and stupefied as she stood and watched him walk away. At the elevator he looked back at her and grinned, pleased with his handiwork.

“It’s still like magic, I take it,” Judy commented moments later, a sly smile on her lips as she watched Sydney fall languorously into the cushions of the couch.

Sydney groaned. “It’s worse than magic. I’m in love.”

“Too bad,” Judy said, being facetious. “Now what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She yawned loudly. “He’s an impossible man. He refuses to listen to reason.”

“And you’re exhausted from trying to hammer this
reasoning
into his head all night.” Again, it wasn’t a serious statement.

“Not exactly,” she said, peeking out through one eye.

“We’re not sending the gentleman mixed messages, are we, dear?” Judy asked, back in her role of somebody’s mother.

“They’re the only kind I have to send.” She swallowed the scream of frustration at the back of her throat. Her voice wavered with emotion when she muttered, “I’m so confused.”

“You’re not so confused,” Judy said, draping an afghan across her friend’s body, tucking it under her chin. “Not if you know you love him.”

“It isn’t as easy as just loving him.”

“Loving someone isn’t supposed to be easy. Only the falling part is easy. After that it gets a little tougher to make it work and last forever. Now get some sleep. I have a feeling you’re going to need plenty of energy to keep up with this impossible man of yours.”

Sydney released a long, drowsy sigh. “Mm. I have that same feeling.”

She opened her eyes in the twilight and then let them fall heavily back into place. In a half sleep, she was aware of the absolute silence, the comfort, and the warmth and didn’t want to disturb any of them. Thoughts knocked softly on the door of her consciousness, but she chose the peace of nothingness as her companion. She drifted in a void, oblivious to the world, her mind’s eye a total blank until it suddenly began to flash the message, “Two o’clock. Two o’clock. Two o’clock.”