Can't Touch This (7 page)

“Rory, I...”  I look up and see my blush reflected in the elevator door.

“Actually, Gene and I are sharing, so...”  His eyes cut deep into mine and he doesn’t have to utter another word.  I’ve apparently turned off the “sensible thinking” button as we step into the elevator.

Quite frankly, I don’t remember asking him to my room or saying he could come in.  Next thing I know, though, we’re standing at the end of the bed with my arms wrapped around his neck and his tongue down my throat.  I haven’t been kissed like this in a long time, if ever.  There’s nothing like a first kiss when strange lips blend together for the first time.  Yet, there’s a heat and desperation to this one.  His hands are everywhere, circling my waist, and moving up my sides to touch my breasts.  Waves of concern crash around me.  Part of me wants to give in and let the floodgate of sexual tension rush forward at this handsome man.  However, the sensible girl that I am—the one who doesn’t want to get a reputation as someone who’s “easy—breaks loose from his searing kiss.  He pulls my bottom lip gently through his teeth, playfully nipping at me, before letting go.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I breathe, trying somehow to get ahold of the situation.  “I don’t even know if you’re married or engaged or—”

He holds up his left hand and laughs.  “Do you see a ring?”

Actually, I don’t.  So I mentally open the door to the floodgate and go for it.

We fall back onto the bed.  No more thinking.  Only action.  A need to touch and be touched.  My hands work up under his company shirt, dragging along his firm, hardened chest.  Man, this feels amazing.  It’s been a
really
long time since I’ve felt special, wanted, and sexy.  My ears ring and my head spins madly.  I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to stop.  All I know is my actions are completely insane, wanton, and delightful.

Rory’s tongue sweeps inside my mouth, circling and diving for more.  My fingers plunder through his thick hair, pulling him closer.  I’m aware of his noticeable erection on my right thigh and wonder if I should take this any further—or let him?  I’m not kidding when I say it’s been a
really
long time since I’ve been this... well, this intimate.

“Do you... you know...
have
something?” I ask between kisses.

“Like a condom?” he responds.

“Yeah,” I manage to say in a wisp of a breath.

“No, I’m not a playboy.”  His laugh is warm on my throat as he nibbles at the top of my collarbone.  “Do you?”

“No!  Certainly not.  I didn’t plan on anything like this.”  I squirm away.  I have to take control of my senses and this situation.  I don’t care how attractive he is, I only met him a few hours ago.  And, I’m not the one-night stand type.

He sighs.  “Then don’t worry about it.  We’ll cuddle.”

And with that, he rolls over and gathers me next to him.  His body presses into my rear and I fear such close contact won’t do anything to subdue his desire.

Last thing I remember is his hand closing over my breast.  Then I fall into a deep sleep.

Okay.  I pass out.

When my wake up call comes at seven, Rory is gone, but there’s a note.

“You’re beautiful when you’re sleeping.  R.”

Okay, he’s forgiven for not being here.  Besides, since he’s sharing with Gene, I’m sure he wanted to get back before too many questions got asked.

I sit up and run my fingers through my messy hair, massaging the dull wine and Kamikaze ache.  I rub my eyes hard and look over at the other bed where my briefcase and laptop sit.  The blue glow from the monitors reflects on the shiny purple bedspread.  I don’t remember leaving my computer on, but then again, a lot of last night is a virtual blur.

However, as I power the machine down and snap the cover closed, I can’t help but recognize the niggling sensation in the back of my head that wonders if Rory messed with it.  No.  He wouldn’t.  But then again, if he had, I would have heard him and awakened.

I rub my head again and laugh in spite of myself and my overactive imagination.  I’ve obviously watched one too many TV crime shows.  The shower’s calling, and I’ve got work to do.

*****

O
ur booth is
overrun with people lining up for demos of The Director software.  We’re almost out of brochures and I’ve gathered tons of business cards.  People love the free Slinkies and stress balls I brought as giveaways.

Kyle is the perfect picture of professionalism.  He showed up five minutes early, freshly showered, wearing a suit and tie.  I know he had a lot to drink last night, but he doesn’t seem bothered at all.  Ted, on the other hand, is the worse for wear.  His eyes are bloodshot and he has a clear case of the shakes.

I could use about eight more Tylenols and another twelve hours of sleep, but it’s show time.  I only have myself to blame for the circles under my eyes that my concealer doesn’t cover.

“You look great, Vanessa.  What’s with the glow?” Kyle compliments.  His words set my heart racing like some foolish schoolgirl and I smooth my hands over my white blouse and black mini skirt that has always flattered my rather ordinary figure.

“Glow?  I’m not glowing.”

He tilts his head and smiles.  “You look different today, that’s all.  Must be the light in here.”

Maybe Kyle senses my early morning activities with the competition.  I bite my lip and hope he doesn’t know anything about my romping around the hotel room with Rory.

I change the subject.  “Your meeting go well last night?”

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”  Kyle flashes a bright smile and goes back to work as soon as more attendees filter into the booth.  Okay, so now I really am glowing.  It’s because I’m appreciated.

Around noon, Ted and I leave Kyle to slip out for lunch at the California Pizza Kitchen.  We order one with roasted chicken and extra cheese to split.  I wash it down with a large Dr. Pepper—my college hangover cure-all.  I almost puke when I see Ted’s remedy:  chocolate milk and root beer together.

Our table by the window overlooks the Boardwalk.  As I struggle with a long string of dangling cheese, I hear a tap on the glass and look up to see Rory’s smiling face.  My heart skips a beat finally seeing him after what happened.  What should I say?  How should I act?  How will he behave?  I know Ted doesn’t like—or trust—Rory because he’s our competition, so I don’t say anything about my brief tryst last night.

Rory stops by our table.  He has two men with him who are engrossed in their cell phones.

“Slow going in your booth, huh, Spencer?”

“No, Ellery,” Ted says with a slight chocolate milk mustache on his upper lip.  “I’ve got an excellent colleague who’s taking care of things.  Enough time for me to grab a meal.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got prospects with me and all you’ve got is your marketing girl,” he says with a teasing wink.

“Who are you calling a girl?” I speak up.

“I’m just messin’ with you,” Rory laughs.  “Enjoy your lunch, you two.”

Ted misses the affectionate pinch Rory gives my arm before walking off.  I don’t know how to handle this.  I mean, I like Rory.  He’s sexy and a hell of kisser, but I don’t know where I stand with him.  Don’t know where I want to stand.  Wasn’t I merely on a fishing expedition?  Seems like I caught a live one.

*****

A
fter a long
day on the tradeshow floor swamped with prospects and interest in The Director, we finally pull our booth down and pack it up.  I struggle to be ladylike in my skirt as I reach overhead for graphic pieces and roll them up into their tubes.  I hear a whistle, but ignore it.  Men don’t usually whistle at me.

But it
is
for me.

Stepping down from the chair I’m standing on, I say, “Hey, Rory.  How’d the show go for you?”  I want so much to sidle up to him and nab another taste of his lips—I’ll admit it, I’m into him—but Kyle is standing there disconnecting his laptop cables.

“It’s been hectic,” he says, looking around.  “The show go well for you?  How many leads did you get?”

I haven’t actually counted them yet so I say, “Five hundred.”

He nodded.  “Impressive.  So, can I get your card?  You know...in case we’re doing other shows at the same time?”

This is the business equivalent of asking for my phone number, so I dig out my purse and nab an ivory business card.

Rory glances at his watch.  “My flight leaves in two hours.”

“Are you headed straight back to Seattle?” I ask, not knowing what else to say at this point.

Kyle glances over at me and lifts his eyebrow.

“Yeah, gotta get to work on these leads,” Rory, the ever-dedicated salesman, says.

I press the cardstock into the palm of his hand.  He takes it and then grasps onto my hand for a couple of seconds.  No words are exchanged, but I understand the look in his eyes.

He likes me.
 
He likes me a lot.

“It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Virtue.  I hope to see you again soon. 
Real
soon.”

I drop my eyes briefly, coyly, and then say, “I’d like that.”

“I’ll be in touch.”  Before he strolls out of the ballroom, he turns back.  “Count on it.”

“O
h my God! 
What
happened
to you?  Were you in a car wreck?” I ask Griz on Monday morning.

“I wish it were something that normal,” she notes.  I brace the office door open as she hobbles in on crutches.  There’s a Band-Aid on her right cheek and her wrist is in an Ace bandage.  I follow her through the office to her desk.

Helping her ease into her seat, I ask, “Is this story as good as the one about when you parked in a handicapped zone, your wheel got booted, and you tried to drive away with it?”

Poor Griz has the worst luck of anyone I’ve ever met, always getting into ridiculous situations.

“Almost, but more painful.”  She tries to get comfortable in her standard issue Compass chair.  “I was walking to the Green Line train when this
wicked
cute guy jogged past.  He wasn’t wearing a shirt and oh, you should’ve seen the pecs on him.  I turned to watch him and I fell off the curb and twisted my ankle real bad.”

I wince.  Only Isabella Perry would gawk at some guy and fall on
her face?

“Tell me you didn’t land on your—” I say, covering my mouth with my hands.  “Oh Griz!  You poor thing.”

“How else do you think I got this?”  She points to her cheek.  “I put my hand out, my wrist buckled and I landed—wham!  Lord, you should have heard me scream.  And here’s the worst part...”

I sit on the edge of her desk and rub her shoulder.

“...he didn’t even stop to help me.”

“Who?  The guy with the great pec?”

“Yeah.  He saw me fall and kept going.”

What a jerk.  “Oh, Griz, only you,” I say.

“There you are, Vanessa,” Jack interrupts.  “Come on, we’re having bagels and coffee for Aislin in the Bobby Orr room.”  The renaming of the conference rooms has gone from bad to worse.  Now, instead of having meetings in Natural Wonders we’re having them inside men...rooms named for famous Boston athletes:  Bobby Orr, Ted Williams, Larry Bird and four others I’ve never heard of.  Guess they didn’t like my seven dwarfs idea.

“Be right there,” I say, eyeballing Griz.

“I still have to hear about your trip and whether you and that hunky Kyle got it on,” Griz says in a stage whisper.

Why does she keep doing this to me?  I know I’ve had your stereotypical bad date syndrome in the past, but she’s not doing anything to help by pushing me at a work guy.  “Would you be quiet?” I say shushing her.  Down the hall, Jack signals for me to hurry.

“We’re not done, Vanessa,” Griz calls out after me.

“I’m sure we’re not,” I mutter.

I step into the room full of sales and client service people there to send Aislin off into motherhood.  There are presents lining one table and piles of fresh bagels and cream cheese down the middle of another.  There’s also a sheet cake with a picture of a stork on it.  Aislin, about to burst at the seams, starts to cry over the gesture.

I covet a slice of cake, but move back into the corner of the room so Jack can give a quick speech.  “We’re going to miss her, but Vanessa and I can hold down the marketing fort while she’s gone,” he says.

“Think you can handle it all?” Ted asks me.  There’s a blob of pink icing in the threads of his goatee and I find it hard not to focus on it.

“Hey, it’s my opportunity to prove my worth, right?” I say.

“Jiles likes team players.”

“Well, that’s who I am.”  I’m going to be one of the company’s best.

Aislin sits in front of me and scoops a bite of cake into her mouth, then says, “You’ve talked to Kyle Nettles about his client services plan, right?”

“We talked a little bit about it on the plane,” I say.  “He’s a nice guy.  Wicked cute, too.”  I lick cream cheese off my fingers and hope Aislin didn’t catch the last bit.

Did I really say that out loud?  I have to watch myself.

“Did I hear my name?”

I smell him before I see him.  A tangy, citrus scent that mixes lightly in the air.  Panic zips through me as I wait to see if he heard what I said.  It doesn’t look like he did, so I let out a relieved sigh.  It’s true, though.  I bet the girls back in research already have the skinny on everything Kyle-related.  I’m still afraid he’s just a Jiles Wannabe.  Plus, he’s for looking, not touching.  A no-fly zone, so to speak.  Good thing for company rules, otherwise, I’d be obsessed with this guy.  But I’m Vanessa Virtue, marketing professional.  I’m focused.

I swallow hard and say, “Aislin and I were talking about your customer service plan.”

Kyle nods his head and presses into worker-bee mode.  I notice he’s wearing the same color scheme as Jiles and the Willies and wonder if they called each other this morning to see what the others were wearing.  Is he really this much of a suck up or is it just dumb luck?

He explains.  “We want to do this ten city tour with client round-table discussions to address concerns they have.  We’re trying to be pro-active and start a dialogue.  I can’t worry about booking the room, making sure there’s water on the tables, what’s for lunch...so, that’s where Vanessa comes in.”