Just About Sex (21 page)

Just that quickly, everything changed. Alex froze, his grip tightening around her tiny waist and then sliding to the delicious flare of her hip. He told his hand not to slide under her sweatshirt to touch her hot skin, but it didn’t listen.

Startled, Simone raised her head and stared at him with wide, glittering eyes. She seemed to realize they’d crossed over into a danger zone. Flustered, she squirmed against him and tried to break free.

“Come on, Greene,” she said halfheartedly. “Put me down.”

If she’d had the faintest idea how much her writhing body excited him, no doubt she’d have gone limp and played dead. He pulled her even closer, a mistake.

The intoxicating weight of her soft, full breasts against his chest made him harden to the point of pain. More dizzying was her musky smell, layered on top of the usual floral scent. Control slipped away from him, inch by inch.

“Put me down,” she said again.

“Not yet.”

They’d played around long enough. Groaning, he caught her tender mouth beneath his for a hard, hungry kiss. She stiffened and squirmed once, weakly, but seemed to think better of it. Whimpering, she kissed him back, her arms locking around his neck.

Desire exploded inside of him, threatening to turn him into an animal capable of dragging her behind the nearest bush to have his way with her. Whatever else happened, he knew he couldn’t lose control with her, or else he’d scare her off again.

Putting her out to arm’s length—her lips seemed reluctant to let go and did so with a protesting, sucking sound—he dropped her. Simone’s feet hit the ground and she wobbled a little before getting her legs under her.

She looked as stunned as he felt. Turning, she trotted off a few steps, and he thought she meant to finish her run. But then she stopped, keeping her back to him. Fascinated, he watched while she shook out first one leg, then the other, and then jogged several steps in place. If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost think she was having a tough time getting herself under control. Goodness knew
he
was.

Suddenly, she whirled and strode back to him. Cursing, she reached out, grabbed the front of his jacket, jerked him down to her level and planted one on him.

But this was an entirely different kiss. This time she opened for him, inviting him into the silkiness of her mouth, searching as he searched. Groaning, he reached for her. He’d meant to take things slow and give her time, but he was only a man. But before he could grab her, she twisted out of reach and was off again, jogging up Kilimanjaro.

Her voice, happy and breathy, called after her. “Get a move on, Greene. I don’t have all day.”

They didn’t talk much after that, and he didn’t mind. It was all he could do to focus on finishing the five miles when he was so acutely aware of the woman beside him, matching him stride for stride.

Would they do everything together this perfectly?

Yes, came the answer from somewhere in the region of his heart.
Yes.
The thought scared him, as did the way his heart overflowed every time he looked at her. But what could he do? Walk away?

Not a chance.

Too soon, they’d looped back around to his house and loitered at the intersection of the bricked walk to his front door and the sidewalk. He snuck a glance at his watch. Seven-fifty. He needed to get to the office—millions of things sat on his desk, waiting for his attention, and the pile would grow to billions if he didn’t get there soon.

Wiping his sweaty face on the hem of his sweatier shirt, still panting slightly, he looked at her, intending to tell her he had to go but would call her later. But when he saw her gaze, hot, wanting and riveted on the exposed triangle of his belly, all he could think about was getting her inside, where he could touch her.

“Come inside with me,” he said in a soft voice hoarse with longing. “We can…have coffee.”

Her gaze jerked to his face and her cheeks, already flushed from the jog, went an even brighter shade of red. “Sorry. I’ve got clients at nine—”

“Have dinner with me, then. Tonight.”

She stiffened and he choked back a frustrated moan. “It’s just dinner, Simone,” he said, a lie if he’d ever told one. If he spent much more—
any
more—time with this woman, he would not be able to keep his hands off her. Worse, he would fall in love with her.

Wasn’t he already halfway there?

Their gazes locked for so long he wouldn’t have been surprised to look up and see the moon high in the dark sky.

“Dinner wouldn’t be just dinner, Greene,” she said. “We both know it.”

Stupid to deny it. Better to try another approach. “Well, you could come the next time I have Laurel and Keith over. They loved you, by the way. I thought Keith was going to hit me when you left early.”

She laughed, feeding his soul. “I loved them.” Her gaze flickered up and past him, to his house. “And your beautiful home. You’re very lucky.” A new tension straightened her lips and removed all traces of her smile. “I’d kill to have a house and a family like yours.”

“Then you have to come back. Soon. And…maybe I can come to yours.”

“Yes. I’m going to bid on it. Did I tell you?”

“Congratulations,” he said, but he didn’t really mean it. The thought of Simone off alone in that big, permanent house didn’t sit well with his gut. Far better was the idea of her with him, at his house.

For how long?

The question, from deep in his psyche, was faint but insidious. More dangerous was the immediate answer:
A very long time.

Turning, she took a slow couple of steps away from him, her gaze on her shoes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess. I’ll be one of the fools getting bid on like a drug dealer’s repossessed car at a police auction. Please don’t laugh if no one bids on me, okay?”

No one bid on her? Had anyone ever uttered a more ridiculous sentence in the history of the English language? The real question was whether anyone would bid on the other women, who, as far as he was concerned, all looked like trolls next to Simone.

“Oh, I think you’ll do fine. I saw your picture in the catalogue, right between—what was it?—Bengals practice with the coach and a helicopter tour of the city with the mayor. Oh, and lunch with Miss Ohio.”

“Yeah.” She smiled sheepishly. “They made all us faux celebrities come down and pose for those stupid glamour shots. We’ve all been retouched, airbrushed and digitally enhanced.”

Clearly she didn’t have the faintest idea of how beautiful she was. The picture, which he’d stared at for what seemed like weeks, was a perfect likeness of her. At some point he’d have to check the poor woman’s eyesight and make sure she didn’t need glasses, but he wouldn’t argue the point now. Right now he wanted to know about the activity she’d selected for the date.

“Scuba diving with the sharks at the Newport Aquarium, eh?”

“Well, where else can we dive in the Midwest?” she asked.

“Where would you go if you had your choice?”

“Phuket.”

“Thailand?”

“They have manta rays.”

Minutes seemed to tick by while they stared at each other, each second heating his blood by another degree. He’d actually started to wonder how much she’d protest if he just picked her up and carried her inside, when she looked away.

Backing up a step or two, her face redder now than it had been during the jog, she managed half a smile. “Well…bye.”

With a little wave she was off, and Alex swore to himself, as he watched her trot up the street to where he presumed she’d parked her car, that one day, before he died, he would take Simone scuba diving in Thailand and see the manta rays with her.

Saturday night, Simone, her arm linked with Clancy Howard’s, walked into the ballroom and gasped. From Mr. Clancy’s other side came a similar sound. “Oh, baby darling,” her mother said in breathless little pants. “You did a
wonderful job
on this auction.”

Simone dropped Mr. Howard’s arm and the three of them turned in a loose circle, gaping like first-time visitors to the Great Wall of China.

“I didn’t do it,” Simone told her, grateful for all the subcommittees and countless unnamed minions who’d pulled this event together. “But it sure looks great.”

They’d decided on a simple theme for the night:
Romance. Magic
could have worked just as well, because it filled the room. Beribboned white cloths covered the round tables and chairs. In the center of each table sat a large goldfish bowl filled with fragrant pink peonies. Flickering tea lights flanked the flowers and were reflected in the huge domed windows.

Outside in the gardens, dozens of red Japanese lanterns glowed and swung gently in the balmy air. Inside, a few eager guests had already hit the dance floor and swayed to the irresistible flute and guitar rhythms of the bossa nova band on stage. The lead vocalist had a silky, sultry voice and sang the perfect song for the breezy, dreamy mood: “The Girl from Ipanema.”

A shiver of excitement fluttered over Simone’s skin. What a night this promised to be. Surely every couple here would end the evening making love, sliding across their sheets and whispering to each other deep into the night. If only…

“Where’s our table?” Shirley asked, looking around the room as Mr. Howard moved ahead of them.

“Up front somewhere. I think it might be over—”

Suddenly Shirley’s breath hitched sharply and she grabbed Simone’s arm, her nails digging painfully. Her other hand flew up to cover her heart. “Oh, my—” she whispered. “It’s him. It’s
him.
”

“Who?” Simone looked wildly around, expecting Jesus Christ, or, at the very least, Bill Cosby.

“Earl!” Shirley pointed toward one of the doors leading to the gardens. “Over there with his wife! That
witch.
” Frowning, she took two hurried steps in the couple’s direction. Earl looked up, saw Shirley, started, and then gave her a sly smile behind his oblivious wife’s back.

Aghast, Simone grabbed her arm and Shirley jerked away, her cheeks now flushed with another kind of excitement altogether. “You can’t talk to him, Mom!” Simone cried. “You can’t make a scene here! What’re you doing? What about
Clancy?
”

Hearing her boyfriend’s name, Shirley seemed to come to her senses. She took several deep breaths and adjusted the overflowing bodice of her dress, although her gaze remained locked with Earl’s. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m okay.”

Simone was not reassured. “Mom, please, I’m begging you,” she said, grabbing Shirley’s arm again and squeezing it for emphasis. “Please don’t embarrass me tonight—”

“Simone.”

At the sound of that deep voice, Simone’s heart flittered foolishly. She instantly forgot all about her mother and her mother’s various boyfriends, as Greene materialized to her left.

Chapter 18

E
ven though he wore the plainest black tuxedo and tie ever sewn, he still managed to take her breath away—as if he’d reached down her throat and yanked it out of her lungs. “Hello, Greene,” she managed.

His glittering gaze locked with hers, heating her skin like she’d hugged a radiator. The three hours she’d taken to get ready this afternoon suddenly seemed like the best investment she’d ever made.

He stared, openly and appreciatively. The neckline of her sleeveless purple full-length dress was rimmed with a black sequined braid and dipped low over her breasts. More braiding ran right under her breasts, giving the dress an empire waist and emphasizing her best feature for the night: cleavage. A string of black beads looped once, tightly, around her neck and then dangled to her waist.

“Simone,”
Greene murmured, looking stunned. “You won’t even give me a fighting chance, will you?”

Smiling seductively, she felt a vast, feminine power she’d never felt before. “You can hold your own, Greene.”

“Not against you, I can’t,” he said, drifting closer.

“Simone!”

Shirley’s brassy voice barged in, breaking the intimacy between Simone and Greene like a wrecking ball through a brick wall. The speculation in her sharp gaze knotted Simone’s stomach. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Sighing, seeing no graceful way out of the situation, Simone held out a hand to Shirley and Clancy, who had returned. “Mama, Mr. Howard, this is Alex Greene, my cochair for the auction. Greene, my mother, Shirley Beaupre, and her boyfriend, Clancy Howard.”

Greene shook both their hands, smiled and said all the polite things he was supposed to say. Still, when his discreet gaze flickered over Shirley, Simone died a thousand deaths.

What must he think of her mother, whose look tonight could best be called
Vegas Stripper Goes Conservative?
Garish makeup and red lips. Long fake hair—surely a fire hazard around all these candles—tousled and teased. An outdated, strapless fire-engine red dress, so heavy with beads and bangles it had to weigh thirty pounds.

Sure enough, Greene shot Simone a veiled, vaguely perplexed glance, as if a zebra had just introduced a tortoise as her mother and he couldn’t quite figure out the genetics. Simone wished one of the heavy crystal chandeliers would drop on her and end her mortification. Why couldn’t she have had an actress who aged gracefully as a mother? Say, Lena Horne or Diahann Carroll?

“Cochair?”
Mama, always classy, always tactful, gave Greene her most flirtatious leer. “Is that
all
you are to Simone, Alex?”

Greene laughed good-naturedly. “Yes, but not by choice.”

Sidling closer to Greene, Shirley snorted with laughter. People from other tables turned to see who was making so much noise. Mr. Howard, bless him, seemed to sense some of Simone’s embarrassment. Taking Shirley’s arm in a firm grip, he said the only thing that could ever divert her mother’s attention from a handsome man: “Let’s get some champagne, Shirley.”

The couple moved off and Simone couldn’t look Greene in the eye. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Mama has a more serious version of your little
say whatever you think
problem.”