No Need to Ask (5 page)

“If you’re going to use that as an excuse I need to know how long it’ll take you to get this place to not look like this,” Ethan had said as showered her breasts with soft kisses, his tongue darting out to circle her nipples when she least expected it. “I can’t hold out for too long.”

“Is that a challenge?” Jillian had asked, arching her back to bring her breasts closer toward his mouth and tongue.

“I’ll give you a week,” he’d said. “But I’m a nice guy and won’t include the bathroom.”

“Thanks, considering it’s a total gut job,” Jillian had said as she began making mental lists of what needed to be done.

“If you’re nice to me, I might give you a week and a half, but only if you’re good.”

Jillian knew he was kidding, sort of, but there was nothing that she loved more than a deadline, and she was determined to make it.

There wasn’t time to have something custom made. From what she knew about the man she had just shared a passionate night and morning with, he didn’t seem like the type who would demand it just because he had the means to pay for it.

Ethan took another turn around the bed, running his hand along the headboard. It was low, but Jillian knew the bed wouldn’t be dwarfed by the loft’s 11-foot ceilings and would still leave room for a good-sized piece of art above it. The bed balanced the masculine (stainless steel legs, clean lines) and feminine (a soft upholstered headboard and frame) and, better yet, it could be delivered by Tuesday if they went with the charcoal headboard that was in stock.

“It’s a nice bed,” Ethan said as he sat down on it. “Are you thinking king?”

“You have space for a California king,” she said, taking his long lean body into account. “But if you want to keep your McRoskey, you’re going to have to go with a king.”

“I’ve suddenly become very fond of that mattress,” he said as he put his hands on either side of her waist. “Let’s go king. What’s next?”

“Lunch,” Jillian said as she signaled the clerk whose day she had just made. In under an hour they’d purchased enough pieces, including a couch and side chairs, to make his loft livable. “We’ll take it. King, in charcoal.”

“Wonderful,” the woman said as she rushed off with Ethan’s credit card. “It’ll all be delivered on Tuesday.”

Jillian took a seat on the bed, pleasantly exhausted, but hungry. She’d grabbed them each a bottle of water and a granola bar from her place when she ran in to change into the outfit Trudy had put together for Saturday, but her night (and morning) with Ethan had worked up her appetite.

“Tired?” he asked as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“A bit,” she admitted, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Jillian’s heart thumped in her chest as his arm went around her to draw her even closer. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Part of that might be my fault,” Ethan said. “But you’re going to have to take full credit for the scratches down my back.”

Suddenly Jillian was anything but tired. She felt her spine stiffen as embarrassment took the place of the happy lull she’d been feeling just moments before.

“I just want to make sure that you know… that… I mean… I’ve never…” she started, her voice sounding strained even to her own ears. “I mean I have, but I’ve never…”

“Jillian.” Ethan lifted her chin so she could look directly into her eyes. “Don’t.”

She felt herself flush at the intimacy of the moment and realization that Ethan was just as emotionally naked as she was.

“I’m just being silly,” she said as she felt a tear escape from the corner of her eye.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he said as he wiped it away, gently, with the pad of his thumb. “Not ever. Not with me.”

Not knowing what to say, Jillian leaned into him and kissed Ethan deeply, her hands cradling his strong jaw. He returned her kiss with just as much passion, making her forget they were sitting on a display bed in the middle of Room & Board.

From behind the headboard, Jillian heard a discreet cough from the saleswoman, who’d returned with Ethan’s credit card. Reluctantly, she broke away from their kiss, knowing from last night and this morning that, when Ethan’s attention was on her, his focus was complete and total.

“Of all the vintage furniture stores you had to walk into…” Jillian trailed off, giggling as a tear, a happy one, escaped down her cheek. “We better get out of here before someone whips out their cell phone and puts this on YouTube.”

****

Jillian adjusted a throw on the couch of the
Maisy York
living room set, trying to make it look real, not staged. Minutes before, a hyperventilating production assistant had run into her office, gasping about Ms. York not being happy with the color of the throw because it clashed with what she’d be wearing for the scene. Instead of feeling annoyed, Jillian felt sorry for the production assistant who, if she wanted to keep working on the show, would have to develop a better set of lungs to deal with all of Ms. York’s non-emergencies.

“What are you so damn happy about?” Trudy asked as she collapsed on the couch and on top of the throw. “Wait, I can guess. That’s the look of a woman who has had a weekend full of sex with a guy who’s double-jointed.”

“Who’s double-jointed? My grandmother said that was a mark of the devil,” Valerie said as she took a seat next to Trudy. “My grandmother was a mean bitch.”

“Speaking of bitches, sorry about having to send the production intern over.” Trudy took a bite of one of the half-dozen chocolate Twizzlers she was holding. “She’s been super jumpy all morning.”

“Tell me about it.” Valerie yawned and curled herself around one of the throw pillows. “I could barely get her to hold steady for the false lashes she denies she wears.”

“She must have a lot on her mind,” Jillian shrugged. She adjusted the framed photos of cast and crew members on the table behind the sofa. It had been Jillian’s idea to replace stock images as an inside joke, one that Maisy either hadn’t gotten or hadn’t bothered to notice. “You know how it is.”

“No, I don’t.” Trudy heaved herself off the couch, pulling Valerie along with her. “Come on, you, we better get back for one last primp. If this scene goes well, we can leave early.”

“I’m leaving early anyway,” Jillian said, trying her best (and failing) to sound casual. “I have an appointment.”

“What, did all the sex you had this weekend break your vagina?” Trudy asked over her shoulder as she walked away.

“Wait! You broke your vagina, Jillian?” Valerie asked as Trudy pulled her away toward Maisy’s dressing room.

Jillian laughed as she smoothed out the throw and set the pillow back where it belonged. She took a few steps back to make sure everything looked as it should. She knew people wouldn’t notice small details like the stack of carefully-chosen fashion and news magazines next to a model of an iPad (made after the real iPad walked off the set in someone’s purse or messenger bag), but to Jillian they made the set feel like a real room, not a set of a living room.

Satisfied everything looked as
Maisy York
as possible, she rushed into her office to grab her purse and discovered Owen sitting at her desk, her purse next to his battered carry-on bag.

“What are you doing here?” Even to her own ears, Jillian sounded guilty.

“I’m here to see you,” Owen said in his patented (and overused, in Jillian’s opinion) sexy pilot voice as he looked her up and down. “You look good.”

“Yes. I mean, thanks,” Jillian said as she self-consciously smoothed the white, gauzy tunic top she’d slipped on over her skinny jeans instead of her usual boxy t-shirt. “It’s just something I got on sale. A long time ago. Yeah, so, anyway… what are you doing here?”

“My ears are full of fluid. No flying for me until they clear up. I’m stuck in LA until then. I got a room at the W.” Owen reached out to pull Jillian onto his lap, but she skittered out of the way. “So we have plenty of time.”

“Okay! Well, I’m kind of booked,” she said. “With a job. I’m helping a, uh, friend redo their place.”

Jillian cringed at the obviousness of trying not to reveal that her
friend
was of the male variety and maybe much more than a friend. Owen had never been the jealous type, but he had a competitive streak in him that Jillian knew could be triggered by the most minor things. She’d once had to drag him home from a dinner party after a game of charades had turned into an endless marathon of one-upmanship between him and the hostess’s boyfriend.

“I’ll come with you.” Owen stood up, grabbing his bag.

“Actually, I can’t bring you along,” Jillian said, growing annoyed with her ex-husband.

“What’s wrong, Jilly?” Owen asked, his brow furrowing. “Are you still mad at me about  that waitress?”

“No. No, I’m not,” she said, trying to control her emotions before she said something she’d regret. “I don’t want to be rude, but I really have to go.”

“Cool beans, Jilly,” Owen said as he gave her a full body hug that made it clear he, or at least the part of him below his waist, was okay with her being abrupt with him. “Call me later and we’ll grab a drink.”

“Thanks for stopping by.” Jillian gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek, moving her hips away from the hard bulge in the front of his pants. “Maybe, if I have time, we can meet at that same place. You might get lucky with the waitress again.”

“Her?” Owen rolled his eyes and he shouldered his bag. “She was nothing compared to you. She totally faked it, too. I’m man enough to admit that and that I was offended by it. And after she wanted to snuggle and talk. So nothing like you, Jilly.”

“Yeah. Well. Maybe I’ll see you later.” She reached around him for her purse and turned toward the door.

“That’s it?” he asked with an exaggerated pout.

“Try to stay out of trouble, Owen,” she said as she gave him another sisterly kiss goodbye. “For once.”

****

Jillian stood back as she took a good look at the careful selection of accessories she’d pulled from all around Habitat, including a few pieces that Ives hadn’t had a chance to price.

She was most happy about the perfectly-sized, cream-colored vintage bowl she’d found. It was large enough to hold a good amount of fruit, but not so big that it didn’t invite a passerby to grab an apple or pear, and it would look perfect on the marble island.

While her focus was on Ethan’s loft, she’d taken a few minutes to look around for that elusive bedside lamp, but nothing had seemed right.

“Another day,” she sighed. “I know it’s out there.”

“I found it,” Ives declared triumphantly as he gingerly made his way down the stairs with a matching platter. “I knew it had a sibling. A rare best.”

“Perfect,” Jillian sighed. She’d always taken pleasure in finding the exact right thing, but buying for Ethan and his home made the process that much more gratifying. “And guess what else I’ve figured out is perfect.”

“What?” Ives asked, as he took an appreciative look at the items Jillian had put together.

“This table.” She gestured to the solid walnut 10-foot long farm-style table that had been in the basement of Habitat as long as she’d been coming to the store. “It’s the right size, color and has the kind of character I know Ethan will love.”

“I’m rather fond of it,” Ives admitted. He’d once told her that while he loved surrounding himself with beautiful and special things, other than family photographs, there was nothing he couldn’t bear to part with for the right price or person. “No one has ever tried to buy it.”

“That’s because no one appreciates it as much as you and I do,” she said. “I promise you it’s going to a good home.”

“And to a good man?” Ives teased her.

“A very good man.” Jillian smiled. “One of the rare best.”

Six

Jillian let herself into Ethan’s loft and set the key he’d given her on top of the still-wrapped sideboard by the front door. She took a moment to peel back a piece of the plastic to make sure the color was the same rich, toasted walnut she remembered.

Jillian pushed the sideboard to where she wanted it, stopping to push a rolled-up antique Persian rug off to the side.

Ethan had been happy with her plan to use only a few large area rugs and showcase the wide, worn planks as much as possible. She unwrapped the sideboard, bundling up the plastic wrap into a ball.

“Now to deal with those boxes,” Jillian said to herself as she shrugged off her jacket.

She was due to meet Ethan at her place, where he was cooking her dinner, and she’d barely make it on time, even if the traffic gods were on her side. For the past couple of days, Jillian had juggled her work on
Maisy York,
decorating Ethan’s loft, meeting him for dinner at Alimente before heading to her place where they did everything but get much sleep. She’d banished him from his loft and he’d practically moved into hers. Ethan had offered to extend the one-week deadline, but Jillian wouldn’t hear of it. He’d issued a challenge and she was having too much fun getting closer to her goal of meeting it.

Jillian carried boxes marked “kitchen” to the table Ives had parted with after much sighing, hoping that they did indeed contain items for that part of the loft and not a mix of odds and ends that were just tossed in a box.

Just as she was about to open a box, her phone rang. Jillian sank down onto one of the white Eames molded-seat, dowel-legged chairs she was still debating for the table with a grateful sigh.

“Hey, Trudy,” she said.

“Don’t tell me, you’re at his place again.” Trudy’s voice was muffled and Jillian knew she was talking with pins in her mouth. “Your love life is really making mine look like dog food.”

“Thanks, I guess,” she answered around a yawn.

Jillian looked around the apartment. The biggest job left was making sure the window coverings were ready and installed before the weekend.

“So when do I get to see this place and this guy?” Trudy asked. “I’m starting to think you’ve made it all up.”

“Saturday, and wear something comfortable,” Jillian answered as she reluctantly stood up to begin unpacking boxes.