Just One Look (7 page)

"Well if he's not married," Alva said glumly, "then he must be gay. Damn. Seems like all the best looking men are either married or gay."

The last time he'd perspired like this, Matt thought, had been during football drills in college. If merely looking at his reference books on sexuality had him sweating bullets, what made him think he could discuss the subject with Jennifer Monroe?

Matt slammed closed the textbook on female sexuality. The dry reference book had almost put him to sleep when he'd read it years ago. Now, however, he felt as if it blistered his fingers. After going through the books in his personal library, books he'd have recommended to any patient who came to him with sexual problems, he'd decided that it was the only one he thought he might be able to discuss with Jennifer.

He sighed and reached for the phone. Last night when Jennifer had asked him to see her today, he'd completely forgotten that he was supposed to go to the Dallas Cowboys game with Kevin and a couple other guys.

Kev was really going to be ticked off about this. Matt didn't think Kev would appreciate being dumped because of a woman. Especially when Kev had finally had the guts to stand up to his own overly possessive girl friend and tell her that he was going out with the guys to a Cowboys game.

When Kev came on the phone, Matt broke the bad news to his former college roommate. He was right. Kevin didn't understand.

"Well, Penrose, exactly what is it you've got to do that's more important than watching the Cowboys kick some New York butt?"

"I told you, something unexpected came up."

"What? A baby to be delivered?"

"No, there's a woman that I've got to see."

"Great!" Kevin interrupted, disgust evident in his voice. "You finally decided to make room in your life for fun, and you want to waste the time with a woman?"

Matt laughed. "Get over it, Kev. Besides, I'm not dating this woman. I just need to talk to her."

"Couldn't it wait?"

"Sorry, buddy. I've got to see her." Matt realized as he spoke that he did feel an incredible need to see Jennifer again. But not as a patient. He wanted their encounter to be as a man and a woman. And that was going to be a problem.

"Geez! If you only knew the hell I went to with Wendy over this," he grumbled.

"Sorry, pal," Matt said and meant it. Before they ended the conversation, they made arrangements to go to the next home game if they could score some tickets.

Matt grabbed his keys and the heavy book. Feeling like a traitor to poor downtrodden men like Kevin, he left his apartment. Despite his anxiety about the afternoon ahead, he also felt anticipation humming through his bloodstream.

As he backed his caramel-colored Jaguar out of his garage, he selected the
Doobie Brothers
greatest hits album and turned up the volume. Call him a throwback, but he loved classic rock from his parents' generation. All the way to Jennifer's condominium, he tried to convince himself that the excitement he felt at the prospect of an afternoon with the lovely Dr. Monroe was intellectual, not physical. All the same, he feared it was going to be a hellishly long afternoon.

* * *

"Alva, I'm sorry about this afternoon. I completely forgot that I had set up a, uh, session." Jennifer felt bad about lying to her friend, but she couldn't tell her the truth.

"But, Jen, you've never seen patients at home."

"Well, this isn't exactly a patient. It's just a thing I have to do.

"But you promised to go to the fashion show with me."

"I know, and I am sorry." Jennifer gnawed her bottom lip. "Alva, is everything all right?" There was a note in her friend's voice that she hadn't heard before.

Alva laughed half-heartedly. "Oh, sure. By the way, how would you like to go to the symphony next week with Bill Dixon?"

"I thought you liked Bill. Why are you trying to palm him off on me?"

"Bill's a nice guy," Alva said indignantly. "I'm not trying to palm him off. But you both like fishing so I thought you'd click. He and I don't seem to have anything in common. He bores me to tears when he starts talking about millies and catawba trees."

"That's mollies and catawba worms. They come from catawba trees."

"Whatever. It's not my cup of tea. I still can't believe you like that stinky, smelly kind of thing."

Jennifer grinned. "You ought to try it. You might like it."

Alva snorted. "That will be the day when you catch me out in the hot sun putting some poor defenseless worm on a dirty hook. Personally, I think the animal rights people should look into this fishing thing."

"Alva, maybe if you don't like Bill's topic of conversation, you should change the subject."

"To what? I can't think of anything to say when I'm around him."

"You can't think of anything to say? Well, that's a first."

"I know. It's as if I look at him, and all I can think of is jumping his bones."

"Alva Hernandez! Let me get my diary out so I can record this day."

"Go ahead. Laugh, make jokes at my expense. Do you know how mortifying it is to stare dumbly at some guy while he's telling you about fish guts?"

Jennifer laughed. "I think he's just as intimidated by you. That's why he runs off at the mouth about fishing because he doesn't know what else to say. Last night was your second date with Bill. What did you talk about on your first date?"

"His dark blue BMW sports car that he was driving when I pulled up next to him at the stop sign. After that evening, I know everything about that damned car. Just ask me how many cubic centimeters the engine has. Or what kind of brakes and suspension system. Ask me anything. I know it all. Oh, Jen. I fell for him hard. Hook, line, and sinker." She sighed. "Listen to me. I've had two dates with the guy, and I'm talking fish talk too."

Jennifer looked at the clock and realized she needed to get off the phone. Matt would be here any minute.

"Well, if you won't take Bill off my hands, what do you suggest I do with him?" Alva asked.

"Gee, I don't know. That's your problem."

"Look, Jen, there has to be some benefit in having a psychologist for a friend. Seriously, what do I do with the guy?"

"Tell you what," Jennifer said, playing for time. "I'll mull it over and talk to you tomorrow about it. In the meantime, I want you to do a favor for me. Okay?"

"First tell me what it is."

"I want you to stop by at seven o'clock for dinner. The timing is extremely important. You must ring the doorbell at seven. Don't forget, or there'll be hell to pay."

"I won't forget, Jen. What's this all about?"

"I'll tell you some other time. Just be here at seven. Got to run now." Over Alva's squawking protests, she hung up. She should be able to have Matt Penrose on his knees by seven. Then with Alva's sudden appearance, she could boot Matt out the door before he decided he wanted to give her a practical demonstration of sexual freedom.

Hastily she looked around at the stage she had set. Everything was ready. She'd set the music where Ravel's
Bolero
would play endlessly in the background. She was wearing as slutty an outfit as she could put together, including black thigh-high stockings banded with lace. All she needed was for her victim to make his appearance.

Jennifer refused to listen to her conscience when it said she wasn't playing fair with Matt. She also turned a deaf ear to the little voice inside that suggested maybe she was going to such lengths because she wanted to be with Matt. Not to punish him. But to act upon the desire she felt for him. Truth be told, she found him even more appealing now than when she'd fallen in love with him in high school.

She straightened the books she'd stacked on the coffee table. A volume of erotica written by women, for women, lay next to a copy of the
Kama Sutra
and and old copy of Alex Comfort's
The Joy of Sex
. Prominently displayed was a hardback edition of a volume on women's sexual fantasies from a historical perspective to contemporary western culture.

Though Jennifer didn't actually do very much counseling for sexual problems, she liked to stay abreast of all the research. She couldn't wait to see what kind of books Matt brought for their little session.

When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, Jennifer checked her appearance in the beveled mirror hanging over the console table in the small foyer. The short black dress was cut shockingly low. Actually, she'd never worn the dress for that reason. It was perfect for today's encounter.

She sniffed appreciatively. The body lotion and perfume that she'd layered on after her shower wafted gently through the air. It was a definite presence in the room but not overpowering. She leaned over from the waist and shook her head, messing her hair. When she popped up and looked in the mirror, she nodded. Perfect. Her hair looked tousled and sexy as if she'd just gotten out of bed.

When the bell rang again, she quit her primping and hurriedly threw open the mahogany door. "Matt." Her heart pounded in anticipation.

He looked so good that she didn't have to fake the breathlessness in her voice. He wore a black and ivory patterned sport coat and an ivory knit pullover shirt and black slacks. His hair was so perfectly combed that she wanted to run her hands through it, mussing it as she absorbed the silky feel of it.

"Dr. Monroe." His eyes betrayed him as his gaze locked on her chest. He frowned fiercely.

Uh oh. He didn't look like a happy camper. And he was back to the formality of Dr. Monroe. She smiled. "Won't you please come in?"

She led him into her comfortable living room and indicated the plump couch. Matt looked at it and frowned then sat down in the very middle of the scarlet sofa.

Jennifer turned away so he wouldn't see her smirk. He'd obviously thought she'd sit in one of the two club chairs positioned at right angles to the couch. She walked over and sat next to him. Deliberately, she brushed her breasts against his arm as she settled onto the plump cushion.

By the time she'd finished the seductive business of sitting, Jennifer felt curiously breathless. Unexpectedly, her nipples tightened with longing. So rattled by the sensation, she couldn't properly relish the knowledge that Matt had jumped away from her as if jolted by an electrical shock.

Matt slowly let his breath out. Over and over, mentally, he sang the French national anthem
La Marseillaise
which he'd learned in high school French class in an effort to control his body. Eventually, the muscles in his arm quit jumping. He closed his eyes, glad for the camouflage of the oversized reference book in his lap.

"May I take that?" Jennifer asked.

"No!" His eyes popped open and delighted in what they saw. "That is, I'll hold it for a while," he said, drowning in her beautiful gray eyes. Her messy hair had an odd effect on him. He wanted to muss the short strands even more. He imagined holding her head still as he kissed her.

When she leaned forward, he could see down the neck of the dress she wore. He groaned, unable to help himself. Her breasts were large, perfect spheres, barely covered by black lace cups. Her skirt slid up, and he saw black lace at the top of her stockings peeking out from the hem of the dress. He imagined pressing hot, wet kisses to the skin above the lace band of the stockings. He bit back a groan. Sweat popped out on his forehead again. He wiped it with his sleeve and hoped she didn't notice.

"Would you like something to drink? I opened a really nice white zinfandel. Or I could make some coffee if you prefer."

"No, don't go to any trouble. I'll have whatever you're having." Immediately, he thought of the scene in that Meg Ryan movie
When Harry Met Sally
where Meg Ryan fakes an orgasm. Then the woman at the table behind her says, "I'll have what she's having." God help him, but it was all too easy for him to imagine Jennifer in the throes of an orgasm.

When she rose to get the wine, Matt leaned his head back and inhaled an agonizing breath. Damn, even with her gone, he could smell that perfume she wore. He'd caught a whiff of it last night too. It was the same perfume she'd worn to his office that day. Against his will, he breathed deeply, tormenting himself with deep lungfuls of the sensuous scent.

He wanted her, he finally admitted to himself. And definitely not as a patient. He hadn't been this bad off since he was a kid. What was it about the woman that affected him so?

"Here we go," Jennifer said. "I also brought in a bowl of strawberries. I love the succulent red fruit with white wine," she said, smiling. "Most people think they only go well with champagne, but I find they're positively scrumptious with any white wine."

She set the oval silver footed tray on the glass-topped table. Matt found himself watching her lips as she formed the words. He'd never realized speech could be so sexy.

"First, you dip the richest," she paused and looked into his eyes, "reddest berry you can find in this little crock of thick," she paused again, "luscious cream."

Matt curled his fists so tightly that the nails left white half moons on the palms of his hands.

Jennifer chose the largest berry in the silver bowl and did as she'd described. With cream dripping from the ripe fruit, she said, "Then you dip it in this brown sugar, and then you devour every last bit of it." Her mouth opened and enclosed the ripe berry.

Matt watched as a bit of juice dribbled over her bottom lip. It was all he could do to keep from licking her lips. Then when the tip of her tongue darted out, he thought he would explode. He imagined that tongue on his body, tracing the delicate designs that her lips would sear into his skin. He'd never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Jennifer. He was royally screwed.

"Next, you sip the wine and let it slowly trickle down your throat." She closed her eyes and tilted her head back while she demonstrated. Then she pressed the chilled glass to the rosy skin of her breasts. As if lost in the sensual experience of drinking the wine, she rolled the glass back and forth across the curves of her breasts.

Lucky glass, he thought, squirming on the couch to ease the pressure in his pants. He'd like to replace the crystal with his face, his mouth, his hands. With her eyes closed, he seized the opportunity to commit her face, the creamy skin of her throat, her slender arms, and her breasts to memory. How could a woman this appreciative of the sensual pleasures of wine and food be sexually repressed? It made no sense.