Any Way You Want Me (3 page)

.
. .

           
The last vision Gatlin had before falling asleep that night were coal-black
curls spread across crisp, white pillow cases.

Chapter
3: Will You?

           
"I
have a confession to make," Gatlin said as they shared a meal in
Chinatown, a few blocks from a police station. They'd spent all morning there
working sources to find out what was going on with the real boyfriend of the
starlet who'd died just over two weeks ago. He'd finally been located and was
being questioned by police.

           
"What's that?" Kylie said, tucking into her fried dumplings.

           
"I seriously underestimated you and was not pleased to be assigned this story
with you. I usually work alone, and I don't usually report on celebrities, so
wasn't looking forward to it."

           
"But I have to say, your investigative skills are second to none and your
intuition is as sharp as any cop's I've ever met. I'm not ashamed to admit it,
but I was wrong; dead wrong about you. And if you'll forgive me, I'd like to
take you out on a formal date."

           
The dumpling in her mouth went down the wrong windpipe. Much to her
embarrassment — and gratitude — Gatlin performed the Heimlich maneuver and
dislodged the delicacy.

           
It was lunch time, so the dingy little restaurant was crowded. Her only saving
grace was that it was small, so there weren't a whole lot of patrons to view
her embarrassment.

           
"Here, drink," Gatlin ordered, putting a glass of water to her mouth.

           
Kylie drank and coughed a few more times.

           
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

           
"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said, wheezing a little, wiping the water
from her eyes brought on by her chocking incident. "I can't believe that
just happened."

           
"What? That you choked, or that I asked you out?" Gatlin said, trying
to make light of the situation.

           
"Both," she said, and burst out laughing with him.

           
"Well? Will you?" he said seriously. "There's something about
you Kylie that's … well, that's captured me."

           
"Well I do declare sir," Kylie said in her thickest southern accent,
"I'm very, very flattered and would be delighted to be escorted out by you
on some fine evening here in New York City."

           
Gatlin laughed until his sides hurt, drawing glances from the other diners, but
for a whole different reason this time.

           
Truth be told, he'd captured her too, as he so suitably termed it. Her every
waking thought was of him these days. He'd even invaded her dreams.

           
Signaling for their check after he somewhat regained his composure, Gatlin
quipped, "I think we'd better get out of here before we're politely asked
to leave."

.
. .

           
"I took a chance that you'd still be awake when I passed by your building
and saw your light on. Can I come up?"

           
Kylie buzzed him into her building.

           
Coming through the door, Gatlin grabbed her and pushed her against the wall in
her tiny foyer, kicking the door closed with his other foot.

           
"I've wanted to do this every since you stood before me in the newsroom
that night slowly drying your hands on that paper towel after you'd come from
the ladies room."

           
"And I've wanted you to do this since I spotted you at your desk two years
ago talking on the phone."

           
Gatlin cupped her jawline in his large, rough hands and lowered his head to
press his lips to hers. Kylie's arms took on a life of their own, finding their
way around his neck.

           
The cool, exposed brick in the hallway pressed into her back, while the front
of her was encased in heat — the heat of his body pressing into hers, as hers
struggled to get even closer to him.

           
Kylie closed her eyes and gave in to the eruption of hunger between them. She
felt weightless as he lifted her into his arms, instinctively finding his way to
the bedroom.

           
His lips were warm, so warm.  Afraid he'd release her as he laid her on
the bed, her arms tightened around his neck. Grabbing the back of her head, he
kept their mouths perfectly melded together as he somehow maneuvered them both
to the bed.

           
Pressed together — mouth to mouth, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis — Kylie
could feel the blood rushing through every part of her body. She felt like a volcano
that was about to erupt, so hot and molten was her womanly center.

           
His right hand tugged the strap of the camisole she was wearing down over her
right shoulder. Sucking in his breath, he simply gazed at the beautiful brown
heated mound before devouring it.

           
Kylie's entire body sprang upward as electric desire flooded her. It had never
felt like this. Her body had never responded to a man's touch like this.

           
She held onto him, sliding her hands in eager anticipation from the blade of
his shoulders to the small of his back above his buttocks.

           
Moving his attention from one breast to the other, Gatlin's other hand slid to
the top of her silky night shorts, moving inside to the top of the most
intimate part of her. Kylie opened her mouth, moaning in anticipation of the
pleasure to come. 

           
A smile spreads across his lips as he drank in her passion-filled profile.

           
Wordlessly, he admired her as his fingers slowly parted the silken,
lust-swollen lips of her womanhood. Slowly, he inserted one finger inside me,
as if to search for hidden treasure.

           
Kylie's legs opened to him like the petals of a drought-thirsty flower to
sudden rain. He stroked her as if he had a guide to every pleasure point she
possessed, all the while reveling in the tossing of her midnight-black curls as
her body rocked in unison with the chorus of the passion he was eliciting from
her.

           
His strokes were gentle at first. As her moans increased, so did the pressure
of his fingers.  She was literally riding his hand, thrusting her hips to
every move he made.

           
Sensing she was near the peak, Gatlin eased his finger out of her and reclaimed
her mouth, slipping out of his jeans as he did so.

           
Mounting her, he wordlessly plunged his manhood into her waiting, slippery
cavern.

           
Now it was his turn to moan, as she locked her legs around him, pulling him
deeper into her. She held him by his hips and ground hers into him — first
round and round, then up and down.

           
Dear God, how did she know to move just like that
, he thought as he took
pains to control his strokes in and out of her.

           
"It's so good … so good, soooo good, …"

.
. .

           
Kylie woke up with her hand between her legs, drenched in sweat. She'd heard
about erotic dreams like this, but had never experienced one herself.

           
She was slightly embarrassed, even though she was alone in her bed.

           
Sweet Jesus I don’t think I've ever craved a man as much as I do this one
,
she thought to herself as she toweled off after a quick shower a few minutes
later.

           
Knowing she was going to have a hard time falling back asleep, Kylie fixed a
cup of chamomile tea, using two bags to ensure she wasn't awake for the rest of
the night.

           
Tea finished and back in bed, she picked up her book,
The Mastery of Love —
one
of her favorites which was always by her bedside —
to read until sleep
kicked in.

.
. .

           
"It's about time," Katrina said, when Kylie told her about her erotic
dream the night before. "I can't believe you're 29 years old and never had
one."

           
"Well I'm glad I hadn't. Talk about being sexually frustrated. It's easy
not
to think about sex when you're not getting any on a regular basis, but when
you're not getting any and then you have dreams about getting it — and having
it be amazing by the way — well that's just torture," Kylie responded.

           
"Well he asked you out. So it looks like you're about to come out of a
drought my friend," Katrina threw back at her.

           
"No ugh," Kylie said. "I really like him Katrina. I don’t want
to sleep with him too soon and fog up my judgment," she said to her friend
seriously.

           
"Then put on your big girl panties …" Katrina said.

           
"I know, I know, put on my big girl panties and deal with it. … Can't you
be a little sympathetic you man eater," Kylie turned on her. "Not all
of us can take'em and leave'm like you do," she said, frustrated with her
friend.

           
"Calm down, Kylie. I didn't mean that," her friend said, encasing one
of her hands in hers.

           
"What I meant was to literally put on big girl panties — as in, unattractive
granny draws —when you go out with him. That's what I do when I go out with a
guy I really like that I'm tempted to sleep with right away. I put on the
ugliest, biggest pair of panties I have. I keep a few pair just for those
occasions."

           
"It works. I'd be mortified to let any body see me in them, and not to
mention what a mood killer it'd probably be for them. Although, most men will
overlook anything if they think they're about to get some.
"

           
Laughing, Kylie said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you Katrina. I
think I'm just nervous about going out with Gatlin."

           
"It's ok. I'm living vicariously through you with this one. It's nice to
see love blossom right before your very eyes."

           
"I don't know about love, but lust is definitely in season!" Kylie
instinctively hugged her friend. "You're the best," she said.

           
"Now I'd better knock out this story or my love life will be the least of
my worries!" she said, going back to her cubicle.

Chapter
4: It's a Love Thang

           
Kylie bent over, shook her riotous curls and whipped her head up and back. It
was a trick she often used to get her hair to fall 'just right.'

           
Popping a mint into her mouth, she took one last look at her face in the mirror
in her living room and grabbed her purse to meet Gatlin downstairs.

           
Ah, first date jitters. Romantic soul that she was, she didn't abhor them like
most women. The butterflies in the stomach feeling, the nervous anticipation of
the first kiss, the first grab of the hand across the dinner table, the first
touch of the shoulder in a movie theatre — Kylie lived for all of this.

           
She'd seen what true love was every day of her life growing up. Her parents had
been married for 38 years, and to this day, they looked at each other like they
were still teenagers.

           
Kylie had known how blessed she was to have parents like hers since she was in
grade school. Many of her friends didn't have a mommy and a daddy at home.

           
"But why doesn't your daddy live at home with you and your mommy?"
she'd asked her friend in first grade. The little girl had started crying.

           
Years later in middle and high school, she'd fully grasped the concepts of
divorce, two-parent homes, child custody and visitation. So the fact that her
parents were still together was somewhat of an anomaly. The fact that they
still actually liked each other and were very much in love — which was on
display for everyone to see — was rare indeed.

           
As she grew into adulthood and had her first serious relationship in her early
twenties, she really understood what a gift they'd given her and her older
brother. She knew what real loved looked liked, acted liked and felt like — and
she could never settle for less.

           
As she descended the three flights of stairs and saw the handsome reflection of
Gatlin standing on the stoop of her brownstone in midtown Manhattan, the butterflies
in her stomach fluttered wildly. Kylie felt she was on the verge of something
special with Gatlin. She hadn't experienced this many butterflies since she'd
been home last spring and spent time gardening with her mother.

           
All Gatlin could do was stare as Kylie opened the door to greet him. That
radiant smile lit up her face as bright as the Christmas tree did Rockefeller
Center every year. The voluminous curls framing her dewy, heart-shaped face
took his breath away.

           
"Ready?" he said, and thought how insipid that sounded.
Of course
she's ready silly, she's standing right in front of you
. "I selected a
restaurant a couple of blocks from here so we could walk. I hope that's
ok."

           
"Great!" Kylie said, feeling like she was sixteen and on her first
date ever all over again. "I didn't have time to eat lunch today, so I'm
famished."

           
Kylie had worked straight through lunch to get her story filed in plenty of
time just in case there were revisions her editor wanted. It didn't happen
often, but she didn't want Murphy's Law kicking in — not tonight. She'd wanted
plenty of time to get ready for her date. 

           
Even though she and Gatlin had been in each other's company at least a dozen times
over the last few weeks working on the hot celebrity death case, tonight felt
different. All of a sudden, she was shy. She sensed the same shift in his
behavior.

           
Yep, this was definitely a turn in their relationship — a happy one.

.
. .

           
"The lady will have the Chicken Marsala with a glass of your house
Beaujolais. I'll have the rib-eye steak, rare, with spinach. And give
me a glass of that Beaujolais as well," Gatlin said to the waiter.

           
"Red wine with chicken. I never would've figured you to be a culinary rule
breaker," Gatlin remarked as the waiter left with their order.

           
"Pshaw! I love red wine and I love chicken. Who says the two can't be
enjoyed together? Besides, something about the
vibrant fruitiness
of this particular red just makes Chicken Marsala better. I think it's the way
it mixes with the Marsala wine the chicken is prepared with. Anyhow, I don't
question, I just enjoy."

           
"Now there's a life philosophy. You should put that on a t-shirt."

           
The waiter set their wine before them, along with water and warm rolls and
butter. Kylie heard her stomach growl … and apparently Gatlin did too.

           
"You weren't kidding when you said you were hungry, were you?" he laughed.

           
Mortified, Kylie responded. "Nope … and I can't believe how I seem to
embarrass myself every time we eat out." The light sheen of nervous
perspiration on her forehead only added more to the dewy appearance of her face.
Highlighted by the candlelight of the low-lit restaurant, she literally glowed.

           
"You are a very beautiful woman Kylie Andrews."

           
"And you are a very handsome man Gatlin Matthews," she added almost
shyly.

           
"Salud," he said, as they clinked glasses.

.
. .

           
By the end of that first date, Kylie knew she was in love with Gatlin —
hopelessly, irrevocably in love.

           
They'd discussed everything from politics to economics to travel, literally
closing down the restaurant — they were the last couple to leave.

.
. .

           
Successive dates had been equally stimulating. The more time Kylie spent with
Gatlin, the more things she found to love about him.

           
His work ethic was out of this world, as was his intellect. A voracious reader,
he inspired her to make more time to get back into it. As a child, she'd read
at least a book a week. She was the only child she knew who got into trouble
for reading.

           
Her mother would actually be calling her to complete some chore or other, and
she'd have her head buried so deep in a book that she wouldn't hear her.

           
His compassion was genuine. He always showed the human side of the crime
victims he wrote about, ensuring that readers connected to them as fellow human
beings — not a person in society no one was was supposed to care about because
of what they might have done or how they lived.

           
He had goals and ambitions, and an active plan to reach them, which really
impressed her. Gatlin Matthews was a doer. If he said he was going to do
something, you could bet that it'd get done. This was the trait Kylie admired
most about him.

.
. .

           
"So, did you finish editing the book yet?" Kylie asked.

           
Back on their first date a couple of months ago, Gatlin had told her that his
dream was to be a crime novelist. His first book was already in the works. He
had a friend who was a screenwriter, and had introduced him to an agent. He'd pitched
it, the agent had liked it and sold it
on its first submission.

           
"The grittiness of it just jumps off the page. You could be the next
Mickey Spillane," the agent had said.

           
Gatlin was shocked when the novel had sold so quickly. When he thought of all
the trips to the morgue; the ride along in police cars; and the mangled,
disfigured bodies he'd seen over the last 15 years or so, he knew it hadn't
been in vain.

           
Kylie was the only other person he'd told about his book deal, other than the
friend who'd introduced him to the screenwriter, who'd introduced him to his
eventual agent.

           
"But why haven't you told anybody?" she'd said to him. "It's so
exciting!"

           
"Because it keeps the pressure down. I don’t want every body asking,
'how's the book going; when's it coming out; are you gonna quit your job; etc.,
etc., etc. … By keeping it to myself, I get to just focus on the writing, ya
know. And that's the real fun — and torture — for me."

           
When he'd said that, Kylie had thought,
talented and humble … and smart!

           
Coming
back to the present, Gatlin responded to her question about finishing the
editing, saying, "Yeah, I managed to get through the last chapter early,
early this morning. I have to go through it a couple of more times, of course.
… Anyway, that's kinda why I'm calling."

           
"Kylie, would you mind giving the book a read before I turn it in?
Somehow, I'd feel better knowing a second pair of eyes I trust has been through
it before I hand it off to the publisher, who's going to do goodness knows what
with it," he said nervously.

           
"Oh Gatlin, I'd be honored to. Truly, truly honored."

           
As a reporter, Kylie knew that writers didn't share their personal works with
just anyone. She hadn't asked him to read his book, although she was dying to.
She figured if he wanted her to, he'd come to her. … And now he had.

           
Gatlin was a naturally guarded person. It's was one of the things that made him
a great crime reporter. He'd developed trusted sources over the years, because
everyone from cops to drug dealers to prostitutes knew that he knew how to keep
his mouth shut.

           
Kylie instinctively knew that this emotional wall he'd built had something to
do with his childhood. They'd shared a lot over the last eight weeks or so
since they started dating, but Gatlin never discussed his childhood. It was as if
everything that happened before he went off to college was off limits when they
talked about their lives.

           
 This bothered Kylie, but he was so fascinating and open in every other
way — and she was crazy in love with him — that she just thought she'd give him
time, figuring he'd open up to her when he was ready.

           
But what if he never is?
her subconscious would whisper. She ignored it
— for now. It was way too early in their relationship to even think about what
this might mean.