At Last (17 page)

Jill’s jaw dropped as she looked down at the menu, obviously mentally tallying up the bill.

“And we’re going to want the chocolate soufflé for dessert.”

“Very good, madam.” The waiter scribbled down the order.

Susan waited until he was done before adding, “And two Cosmos. Straight up.”

The waiter disappeared and Jill gave Susan a strange, tense look.

“I don’t know about you,” Susan said. “But I need a drink after all that.”

~*~

An hour and twenty-five minutes later, both women had a nice buzz going as they poured themselves into a taxi. Jill was holding her belly, happily stuffed to the gills. Susan had eaten a few bites of her meal, but mostly she was still lost, thinking about Kevin, and wondering why on earth he was working for a barracuda like Francesca Costa.

She wasn’t a barracuda. She was a cougar. And Kevin was young, fresh meat.

Susan cringed at that thought. It had to be a mistake. There was no way Kevin could be...

Boffing the silicon queen?

Susan groaned.

“You don’t look so hot.” Jill leaned up and gave Susan a closer look. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off and rest.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Jill pulled out her BlackBerry, checking Susan’s schedule. “You only have two meetings this afternoon. They’re not even clients, just a couple of bean counters from legal. I can have them canceled before you get through your front door.” Jill leaned back against the ancient leather seat of the taxi, turning her face to Susan, her smile devilish. “And you could use a nap before you get ready for your date.”

“What date?”

“With Kevin. Remember? Dinner at eight.”

“Oh, yeah...Kevin.” Susan had a sudden, hot, sticky flash of Kevin picking her up onto the kitchen counter of that Cancun hotel room. She remembered how his skin had been moist with perspiration, and his hands had felt so good as he...

Susan gulped. Jill was right. With the way her mind kept flipping onto the Kevin Spice Channel, going back to the office was a bad idea. Maybe all she really needed was a nap.

Then Susan caught what Jill had said. “It’s not a date.”

Jill snorted. “Sure it’s not. I thought you two were going to set off the smoke alarms from just the way you were staring at each other.”

“We’re just friends, that’s all.”

“Okay. But a nap will still do you good, and I’ll give you a wake-up call around six. That’ll give you four hours to rest, and another two hours to get ready.”

“Sure?” Susan asked, leaning back against the rather comfy seat of the taxi cab. “I do own an alarm clock.”

“Yeah, but you’ll either forget to set it, set it and then forget to turn it on, or you’ll set it, make it to your date on time, but forget to reset it for the morning. This way will leave much less of your schedule up to chance.”

As usual, Jill made perfect sense.

The cab dropped Susan off at her apartment first, and then whisked Jill back to the office. Susan didn’t stumble trekking up the steep stone stairs of her apartment building, but her path was nowhere near straight. She didn’t fumble with the key to the front door, but getting herself through the door seemed to be a perilous act. Not only did she snag her brand new Prada sling-backs on the damn door, but she accidentally closed the door on her skirt, causing a small, though loud, rip.

Now she had a damaged Gucci portfolio case, gnarled Prada shoes, and--she gave her suit a quick look to see which one she was wearing--a ruined Donna Karan suit.

She would be able to get the suit mended by her tailor easy enough, and if she had the gumption she could find a cobbler to mend the snagged shoe, but her prized portfolio case was beyond repair. Maybe she’d file her taxes in it for the next twenty years?

She shook her head in disgust as she headed up the stairs to her second floor apartment. Once she was through the door, she trudged blurry eyed back to her bedroom, stripping off her ruined suit as she went and wobbling as she took off her shoes.

She fell face-first onto her unmade bed, the sheets cool and soft, wrapping her loosely in their soporific embrace. Her body went limp, her eyes sag shut, and with a sigh she slipped off to sleep.

For exactly five minutes.

Five minutes later the thought of Francesca Costa diddling, boffing, or fucking Kevin snapped her eyes wide open and she rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling.

As if the answer is etched in the stucco
.
This wasn’t the goddamn
Da Vinci Code
, it was her life...her love life.

Again, with that word!

Susan covered her ears, as if that would keep out an inner voice. She rolled to her side and clamped her eyes shut hard, making green clouds of light float through the blackness behind her eyelids.

Then another thought occurred to her: Kevin wanted to see her. Actually, he seemed verging on desperate to see her, and tonight. Of course, she was desperate to see him too, so maybe she was just projecting her desperation onto him?

But he wanted to see her.

Susan rolled onto her back again, luxuriating in the sudden warmth that thought filled her with.

He wanted to see her.

She stretched, the cool cotton sheets caressing her as she sank effortlessly into thoughts of Kevin naked on top of her, in this very bed. She breathed in deeply, and the warmth from before intensified to a prickly heat. She trembled as that heat moved through her body, inflaming her neck, then moving to her breasts, and slowly settling lower--much, lower.

When the realization that Kevin wanted her hit her, Susan’s eyes snapped open.

And though it was obvious she wanted him back, she was still filled to exploding with nervous terror.

What if he wanted more than she was able to give right now?

What if they did it again and this time he didn’t call her for a year?

What if he was just looking for one more time, a closing roll in the hay?

And what if she ended up wanting more?

And what if--

“What if you shut the fuck up!” she screeched. “Get a hold of yourself!”

She was acting like some spoiled pre-pubescent princess whining about the pea under her fucking mattress. It was degrading. She was supposed to be a smart, worldly, take-charge woman. Those kind of women don’t whine, they bitch.

They scheme and plan. They knock out their competition and take what they want. They don’t just lay around in the middle of the goddamn afternoon and swoon over some boy until they roll themselves right off their bed...

And just like that Susan felt herself falling off the edge of her bed. She was rolled up like an enchilada in her blanket and hit--
thump!
--unceremoniously onto the floor.

Stunned, she blinked up at her stucco ceiling again.

So, what would a smart, worldly bitch do in this situation?

She’d ask herself what she wants.

Kevin
...

Did she want him for a night, a week, a month?

I don’t know
.

So she wanted Kevin in her bed for an indeterminate amount of time?

Susan cringed at the thought.

Y
es
! I want him in my goddamn, motherfucking bed!

The first thing she needed to do was get up off the floor and start getting ready. She looked like broiled shit, and she had a lot of work to do.

Susan fought her way out of her cotton cocoon and used the bed to pull herself to her feet. She didn’t feel drunk anymore, but she did feel a surge of energy start to wash through her as she looked at the clock.

It was four o’clock already. She had gotten some sleep. Now she needed to go into serious grooming mode. She wanted to look good. No, she wanted to look goddamn irresistible. Way better than Francesca Costa!

~*~

An hour and a half later Susan had scrubbed the remains of her roller coaster day from her body and out of her hair. She’d touched up her manicure, defused and scrunched her curly locks, did her makeup extra sexy, and had on a pair of nearly nonexistent black lace panties, and an equally not-there Wonder-Bra.

It was the first time since Cancun that she’d dug through her naughty-wear, and she had to admit that she looked pretty good in them. Now she just had to find a dress that wouldn’t completely cover up all that lacey-underwear sexiness.

She scanned her closet, flipping through out-of-date power suits, rummaging back past her winter wardrobe, and then literally running right into the exact garment bag she needed.

It was a dress of Liz’s that she’d borrowed almost a year ago and had not only never worn, but had completely forgotten about. If memory served her right, it was black and sheer, and so silky that she’d had an orgasm just putting the damn thing on.

After easing the dress over her head, she examined the fit in her full-length mirror. How it hung on her--more like how it adhered to her every curve, leaving her arms naked, and most of her back, showing just enough cleavage to tease, but not so much she’d get picked up for solicitation. The flowing silk skirt came up above the knee to show off her legs.

And black was slimming, even when it was tight.

Just wearing the damn thing made her feel pre-orgasmic. The way the silk slid over her flesh as she turned to check herself out in her full length mirror.

Susan sat down at her bureau to check her makeup one more time. Glancing at the clock, she discovered that it wasn’t even six yet. She had over two hours to kill. Kevin had texted where they were going for dinner, and it really wasn’t far.

Suddenly she was seized with nerves again.

Was she making a complete fool of herself?

Would he be bringing a date to dinner...Francesca Costa for instance?

“Oh God. I need to talk to someone.” But it couldn’t be Liz--that was a story too long for the telling. And Kevin was the problem. So that left...

Dr. Garvin?

Just then Susan’s cellphone rang--it was Jill making her wake-up call. She never let her down.

“Hey, I need a quick favor from my computer genius assistant,” Susan answered the phone.

“What’cha need, boss lady?”

Susan took one big breath, held it for maybe ten seconds, then just started talking, spilling her guts about the whole devastating, hot flash inducing mess. It didn’t take nearly as long as she’d thought it would, even when she started crying, and when she started cursing Francesca Costa’s name…and her surgically enhanced chest.

When she was done she sat there in silence, waiting for Jill to say something. For a moment she wondered if she’d finally gone too far, if laying all her sordid romantic trials on her assistant was the last straw. What if Jill quit and left her like Dr Garvin…or like Kevin had?

Then she heard a low whistle coming from Jill’s end of the line. “Damn, boss lady, you really stepped in it.” She asked a couple of seemingly random questions, like had Susan ever had sex or even kissed Kevin before the Cancun incident, and when his birthday was. After clucking her tongue for a few agonizing beats she said, “I’d say you’ve got it bad. And if he’d been just some guy you’d dated, or had been even remotely unattractive, I’d say cut and run. But he’s a honey, and you’ve known him forever, so I say…”

Susan held her breath waiting for Jill’s verdict. Finally she exclaimed, “What?”

“I’d say go seduce the bastard. If it’s meant to be, then great, if not, then you’ll have some nice hot, sweaty memories to keep you warm until Mr. Right shows up.”

Thank God for Jill. She really did know everything.

Maybe she
was
God. Or a goddess? Whatever she was, she was better to talk to than Dr. Garvin. Cheaper too.

~*~

Seventeen minutes and counting until she’d see Kevin.

When she got in the cab she told the driver the address of the restaurant, a sudden thought flamed in her mind. Twelve times. She and Kevin had had sex twelve freaking times in two and a half days.

Yikes! She felt herself start to hyperventilate, so she forced her breathing to slow.

So what if she had picked her outfit out for the specific purpose of seduction? It didn’t mean she would do it. After all, he’d left her there in Cancun. He’d made her feel...he’d made her feel way too many things, and then he left, taking all those new wondrous feelings with him.

And now he was back.

She relived the thrill getting that text--just a lousy four word message--had given her. Her entire nervous system had shorted out when she’d seen him there, looking so handsome, even with that over-the-hill shrew hanging off him like a designer ensconced alley cat.

But now, trying to recall the memory of just that afternoon, Susan couldn’t remember who else had been there, who had talked to her, if anyone, and she couldn’t even remember what he’d said. All she could recall was how near he’d been. How his suit fit, hugging his lithe, muscular body, and how she could so easily imagine him naked. And the way his eyes had mesmerized her, and his smile sent hot waves of want through her body.