Friendly Persuasion (12 page)

“I don’t want to quit being with you yet,” he said earnestly. “There’s so much more to explore. Look what you just learned about self-pleasure.” He ran his hand possessively along the curve of her hip. “This is good for you.”

“Good for
me?
” she asked wryly.

“Well, me, too, of course.” His wicked grin split his face, his teeth white in the dim room. “This is the hottest sex I’ve ever had,” he said, low and hoarse.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You don’t realize how amazing you are. I feel sorry for the next guy you take to bed. He won’t know what hit him.” He frowned briefly, as if the idea of the “next guy” bothered him. Good. Maybe Ross was more involved than he thought he was. She clutched that idea, dangerous as it was, close to her heart.

“So, are we on?” he asked, pulling her close, throwing a leg across her thigh in a very intimate gesture. This would be the beginning of slow, personal sex, the kind you had in the big R. Bad idea. Where was the ground rule for this situation?
If we need a new rule, we make one.
Of course.

“On one condition,” she said, sitting up. “We make more ground rules.”

“More rules?”

“If we want to keep doing this, we have to be more careful.”

“Okay, what rules?”

“We set a limit.”

“A limit?”

“Yes. Only so many more dates.” She had her heart to protect. “Like say four more.” That didn’t sound like enough.

“Four more? What about all the fantasies we have left? I have lots of new ideas.”

“Four more should be plenty,” she said sternly, dying to hear what he had in mind.

“How about if we make a list? You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine and we’ll see how many weeks we need. Maybe we could even double up and go for two nights a week.”

“Stop,” she said, loving every word coming out of his mouth. “We’re setting a limit, not expanding the action.”

“Okay, but I still think a list is a great idea. You know how you love lists. A sex checklist.”

“Ross…”

“Okay, okay. We set a limit, but only after we’ve done our major fantasies. Don’t you have fantasies you still want to try?”

“Not really.” Her heart began to pound.

“Yes, you do. Come on. You already mentioned doing it in a taxi. We’ll put that on the list. What else?”

“I don’t know.” She flailed about for something. “I guess I like that idea of covering each other in chocolate and, you know…”

“Licking each other clean?” he finished eagerly.

“But maybe that’s too clichéd?”

He took her hand and placed it on his penis, hard as stone. “Does this feel like I think it’s too clichéd?”

“I guess not,” she said on a sharp intake of breath.

He curled her fingers around his shaft and moved her hand slowly up and down. “Imagine we’ve got chocolate…nice and warm right here, and say I put some all over here.” He cupped her breast.

“Oh, please…I…don’t…”

“Any Hershey’s in the house?”

“There’s whipped cream in the fridge.” Then she caught herself, released his penis and rolled away from his fingers. “We’re finished for tonight. No overtime, no extra innings. That’s another new rule. One fantasy a week.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” If she used control now, she might still have it later—when things got worse, which they just might.

Whatever made her think she could play with this kind of fire and not get burned?

Why hadn’t Kara told him about this? Ross felt that twinge in his bones, as though he was about to lose something he wanted desperately to keep.
Stop it. You don’t own her.

He studied his hand, not really seeing the cards. “So, what’s this Baylor Jones like?” he asked, trying to sound casual. He remembered him as kind of a slick guy. Definitely a squash player.

Tina froze in the act of picking up a card and looked at him with suspicion. “What’s he
like?
”

“I mean, will he go along with Kara’s campaign ideas?”

“Oh,
that’s
what you mean.” She grinned—she was on to him, dammit. “You’re so dedicated all of a sudden. Sure you’re not going for Lancer’s job?”

“Forget it. Just prepare to sacrifice your life savings to my superior strategy.”

They played the first game in silence. Ross lost, distracted by the thought of Kara aiming her gorgeous eyes at that marketing geek in a dimly lit restaurant, while he tried to impress her with his knowledge of wine.
Forget it, pal. Kara can’t be bought off by flashy, materialistic bullsh—

“Focus here, friend,” Tina said, slapping the deck into his hand. His deal. He felt her eyes on him as he shuffled.

“I hear the sex lessons are going well,” Tina said.

He nearly shot the cards across the table. “What did Kara tell you?”

“Relax, chief. Not much. Just that she’s learning and that you’re good.”

“That’s exactly right. I am good. Tell your friends.” The old cocky Ross routine didn’t feel right just now, and he wished he hadn’t said that.

“I’m a little worried about her,” Tina said, unusually thoughtful. “She gives out these daydreamy sighs and practically walks into walls. Slow it down a little, would you?”

“Slow it down? Did she say she wanted that?”

“I mean the shuffling,” Tina said, laughter in her voice. “You’re practically throwing cards.”

“Okay. Sorry.” He gathered up the far-flung cards. The week between adventures had become an eternity for him. The minute he had convinced her that the game was safe for her, it started feeling touch-and-go for him. Maybe it was that stupid new rule.
Time limit, my ass.

They’d been getting together on Thursday nights at his place to talk about things—and for him to create a sex checklist, over her objections. Describing the exotic-dancer-and-kid-from-a-small-town fantasy had gotten them so hot that Kara had just run out the door without saying goodbye, leaving him with a distinctly unsatisfying session with Mr. Hand.

His next assignment was to be a cop arresting her for indecent exposure. Maybe he’d get some handcuffs. Soft ones… His mind drifted.

“Hello in there, Ross,” Tina said, calling him back from his plans.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“Are you sure you two know what you’re doing?”

“God, yes. Every time I turn around Kara’s making a new ground rule. This is just about sex. We’re very clear about that.” Except even as he’d lain there in Kara’s bed and convinced her how different they were, how impossible they’d be together, he’d felt this perverse urge to give it a try. Nothing like being told something wouldn’t work to flush out his stubborn streak.

“As long as you’re sure, and you’re in as much trouble as she is.” She smirked at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Enough with the chitchat. I’m going to kick your ass here.”

“Not with the king of diamonds and the seven, eight and ten of spades, you’re not,” he said, throwing down the jack of spades.

“You looked at my cards!”

“You were hanging them in my face,” he countered. “What’s up with you anyway? You’ve lost your edge.” Tina seemed as distracted as he was.

“I’m preoccupied, I guess.” She looked at him speculatively. “Let me ask you something. How long would you wait to have sex with someone?”

“That depends on who.”

“A month? Would you wait a month?”

“If she was worth it.” For Kara, he’d wait as long as it took.

She looked glum, stared at her hand, then lifted her eyes. “Do you think Tom Sands is gay?”

“Tom from the Upside? Nah. At least he’s never slipped me his phone number.”

“Pul-eeze. You’re not well-groomed enough to be gay. I don’t really think he’s gay. It’s just…hell, I’m giving him one more week.”

“Before you jump him?”

“If it comes to that.”

“No man is safe when the mighty Miss Tina sets her sights on him.”

“Watch it, pal. You’re in no position to criticize.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “That’s a pretty long lunch Kara’s been on with Baylor Jones.”

“It’s a working lunch,” he said, but his gut clenched.

“Sure it is.”

Tina was good. She knew just where to poke around to drive him nuts. Why the hell
was
Kara out so long with the guy? He’d love to be a cork crumb in their cabernet right now.

It shouldn’t matter, of course. Even if Kara wanted to date the guy, he and she still had their arrangement until they got through his checklist, which he intended to extend as much as possible. This afternoon, he’d find a way to remind her how great this was going, so she’d forget all about Mr. Faucets and Stoppers.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. She’d had such a pleasant lunch with Baylor that she’d lost track of time. She’d been frankly relieved to find she still found him attractive. The experience had reassured her that she was still okay having sex with Ross on the side. As long as it stayed on the side.

“Okay then. The media buy…” Saul said, evidently picking up where he’d left off when she entered.

Ross caught her gaze. Something about his expression—possessive and demanding—shot her with sexual adrenaline. He slid a piece of paper across the table to her, letting his fingers cover hers for an instant.

She read the note:
I’m undressing you…with my tongue.
She looked up and found him staring at her with naked desire.

A hot knot tightened between her legs.

Tina leaned over and whispered in a singsong. “You’re being ob-vious.”

As soon as the meeting was over, Ross grabbed her hand and dragged her into the copy room, slamming the door with her body and crushing her into a kiss. “I can’t keep my hands off you,” he said. One hand pushed up her skirt and reached for her panties, already wet for him, while the other held her tightly to him, as if he owned her. “Wear that blue dress on Saturday. It’s hot.”

Even as flames licked her insides and she wanted Ross to throw her onto the copy machine and make love to her in its green glow, her mind took charge. They were in the office, for God’s sake. Where they
worked.
This was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Someone tried the door from the outside, then exclaimed when it wouldn’t open.

Kara slid away from Ross, straightened her skirt and pretended to be checking out the copier, while Ross opened the door. “Musta stuck,” he muttered to the secretary, who gave him and Kara a puzzled look. No wonder. The tiny room fairly vibrated with sexual energy. What the hell were they doing?

She also wanted to talk to Ross about applying for Lancer’s job. More and more, she’d felt driven to help him. It seemed stupid for him to stall his career. He was more than equipped to take over. If he wouldn’t apply for the job, she might just do it for him. As a friend, of course.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she knocked at his door. He called for her to come in and she did, prepared to start her lecture. Except he was playing his guitar on the sofa, wearing the Love Thief’s tight black jeans with just a black leather vest over his bare chest. He looked so good with his muscular arm over the guitar, his skilled fingers on the strings, that she stood there, bags dangling, her speech stuck in her throat.

“What’s in the bags?” he asked softly, his magical fingers still working the strings.

“Stir-fry,” she choked out, mesmerized. “What’s with the outfit?” If he was planning a swooning groupie fantasy, she was
there.
Let the bok choy wilt on the terrace.

“I have to pretend to be a rock star for Lionel and Lucy’s daughter Abby. She’s turning five and having a little birthday party. It’ll just take a few minutes. Mind coming with?”

“Not at all.” Anywhere, anytime.

The more time Kara spent with Ross, the more she saw of his thoughtful side. She knew he picked up groceries and took out trash for the elderly couple two doors down—he claimed it was so they wouldn’t call the cops when he played his stereo loud, but she knew he was just concerned about them. And he did minor electrical repairs for the landlords and painted all their signage. And here he was serving as entertainment for their daughter’s birthday. Things about Ross sneaked up on you.

Ross helped her bring the bags into the kitchen, then she followed his rock-star-caliber butt down the stairs. Outside the landlord’s door, he started in on a popular rock song.

The door flew open and a little squirt with bright red hair chirped, “You came!” then threw her arms around his knees.

“I couldn’t miss the big five, could I, buckaroo?” he said. He squatted down to her level. “You’ve grown up since yesterday—a whole year’s worth, I think.” He pretended to measure her with his hand.

“I told my friends all about you,” Abby said. “Will you play…” She rattled off a list of songs, to which he nodded, then they all went inside.

Six little girls sat in a rapt circle around Ross while he played and sang, making eye contact with each of them in turn. Kara could practically see the crushes developing on their little faces. She felt a tightness in her chest and realized she had a bit of a crush, too. Temporary, of course, and lust inspired, no doubt.

When Ross finished, Lucy brought out a homemade cake with a lopsided top layer and erratic frosting.

Abby proudly presented two pieces to Ross and Kara.

“You make this yourself?” Ross asked, taking a bite of his.

“Just the frosting.”

“That’s the best part,” he whispered. “But don’t tell your mom I said that. Might hurt her feelings.”

Abby just beamed, then ran off with her friends to play games. Her mother hugged Ross. “She’ll be talking about this for weeks,” she said, then turned to Kara. “I hope you know how special this guy is.”

“I think I do.” The more special he seemed, the more trouble she was in.

“Just trying to rise to the company I keep,” Ross said, grinning at Lucy, then Kara. God, he made her feel good.

They headed up to the apartment and Kara’s thoughts turned to The Talk—no more hot looks at work and Ross ought to get serious about going for the creative department manager’s job.

Ross put his guitar in his bedroom and she was dismayed to see he didn’t put a shirt on under that damnable leather vest. Her attraction was a low-level hum of electricity, sparking now and then when he looked at her or their bodies accidentally brushed.

He helped her unload the bags—a monstrous pile of food—bok choy, green onions, cabbage, peppers in three colors, cherry tomatoes along with peanuts, hot Thai peppers—and a brand-new wok with utensils.

“You bought a wok?” Ross asked.

“You like Asian food. I’ll show you how to use it and you can do some cooking for yourself instead of takeout all the time. Better for you.”

“I’ll pay you for it.”

“It’s a gift—from a friend.” His bewildered gratitude embarrassed her. Was she doing too much?

Now was the time to talk about being civilized at work, but she just didn’t feel ready. Instead, she opened a cupboard to see what he had in the way of dishes. Just some souvenir Arizona Diamondbacks glasses, a few coffee mugs and three stoneware plates, all chipped. “Is this all you have?”

“Plenty for me.”

“I just bought a new set of dinnerware. I’ll bring you my old stuff.”

“Not necessary.”

“I’d rather give them to you than have you buy them from Goodwill later.”

“Okay,” he said, puzzled by her generosity. “You’re doing too much for me.”

She was just making his place more homey and complete. Right? Something about her motives bothered her, but she ignored it.

“Check these out,” Ross said, opening a cupboard to reveal shelves crammed with mugs and tumblers of cartoon characters, comic book superheroes and movie stars. “Now these are worth something.” He held out two mugs with the Three Stooges garishly shaped into their surfaces. “I’ll trade these for your plates.”

“No thanks. You keep them. Drinking out of Curly’s nostril kind of kills my appetite,” she said. She thrust a bag of celery at him. “Clean and chop the vegetables, okay? I’ll work on the meat. That’s assuming you have decent knives.” She pulled open a drawer that should have held silverware, but instead contained watercolor paints and felt markers.

“To the left,” he said.

She opened the drawer he’d indicated and lifted out a huge wrench. “You have tools in here? Next to eating utensils?”

“What do you want? They’re in separate compartments.”

“I’m scrubbing everything. And you need a new drawer organizer. Look at all these crumbs.” She removed the plastic tray and began taking out the utensils, relieved for an excuse to delay The Talk.

Then Ross’s warm hand stopped her. “Kara,” he said softly, taking the silverware organizer out of her hands and putting it on the counter. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m just fixing dinner and getting you organized.”

“Kara.”

“Okay. I just…I think… We need to be careful at work, Ross.”

“This is about slamming you against the door at S&S yesterday, right? I know. Something came over me. It won’t happen again.” His eyes held hers. “I swear.”

“Okay,” she said, relieved that they could keep their little boat afloat a while longer.

“So no more critiquing the natural habitat,” he said. “Deal?”

She nodded, waiting to scrub the knife blade until he left to put on some music.

Heated blues filled the air and Ross came back whistling along. His meltingly tuneful whistle reminded her of how good he’d sounded at the birthday party. “You played really well for Abby and her friends.”

“Hell, they’d have been happy with the Barney song,” he said, chopping away on the bok choy.

“No, I mean it. You’re very good. Your voice is nice and your guitar work is…subtle. Have you ever considered being in a band?”

“I sit in with friends on some gigs. But just for fun. I don’t need to make money at something for it to be worthwhile.”

“I’m not saying that. It’s just that if you performed in public, then other people could enjoy you, too. Like I do.”

He turned to her in the warm glow of the stove light. “You always want to push, don’t you? Raise the bar? If you’re good, be better?” He gave her that look—as if he thought she was crazy but liked her anyway.

“Why not? And, while we’re on the subject, I’ve been thinking about you and Lancer’s job, Ross.”

“Not that again.” He whacked at a celery stalk.

“You’d be great. I saw how you steered Julie away from that extreme design for Plain Jane without wounding her. Not to mention the overlapping deadlines with Rich in production. He gets testy on a dime, and you manage him so well.”

“I appreciate your concern, big sis, but I don’t want the job—and you’re turning that stir-fry into frappé.”

She looked down and saw she’d whipped the vegetables into a froth of oil. Pure frustration. Why wouldn’t Ross even
try?
He was letting everyone down.

Why does this matter so much? It’s his life, not yours.
She took a calming breath and focused on the way the steam rose around them, aromatic with garlic, peanuts and onions. Their easy teamwork felt nice. At least that. And she hardly felt sexual at all.

Before long, the food was ready and they sat at the table set with the chipped plates and the Three Stooges mugs, into which Ross had poured her pricey chardonnay. At least the wine could breathe in the huge mugs. The still-sizzling wok rested on a towel between them—Ross didn’t even have hot pads—and they were face-to-face, sharing a cozy meal for two in an uneasily domestic scene.

Through the window behind Ross, the sky was a gorgeous backdrop of sunset streamers in pink, gold and purple.

“Well, let’s dig in,” she said briskly, dishing out rice, then adding mounds of stir-fried chicken and vegetables.

Ross scooped a forkful into his mouth. “Mmm,” he said, chewing slowly, oil glazing his lips like an invitation. “This is great. You can do this anytime you want.”

How about every night for the rest of our lives?
She pushed away that thought. She was skating on the thin ice of her resolve again. Imagining something permanent with Mr. Fleeting. And it had only been two weeks since they’d lain in her bed and agreed that Ross was absolutely wrong for her—out of the question as a relationship prospect, perfectly safe for sex alone.

But coming to his house the past two Thursdays had intensified her feelings for him, especially as she saw more of his lovable side. He’d been so good with Abby tonight. What a great father he’d make.

Stop! What was she doing? Even worse, she could feel herself making a little shopping list—new shower curtain, dish drainer, hot pads, toilet seat cover, maybe some inexpensive bookshelves…oh, and bring over the vacuum….

“So,” Ross said, calling her away from her dangerous plans, “I talked to my friend with the cab. He’s off a week from Saturday, so taxi-driver-and-fare is a go.”

Ross had been more than willing to hail a cab and just go at it to fulfill her cab sex fantasy, but she was too embarrassed to make love with a real cabbie watching them in the rearview, so they’d compromised—Ross would borrow the taxi and pretend to be the driver and they’d go at it in private.

“Good. That should be fun.”

“Fun? I hope it will be sexy as hell,” he said.

She gave a nervous laugh. At least they were talking about this in a civilized way—over the dinner table and far from the couch, where they’d nearly lost it last week.

“And here’s my next one,” Ross continued. “Virgin cheerleader with the football captain. What do you think?”

“I
think
that’s the last one. Didn’t we agree?”

He shrugged. He always had a new idea. Too bad they were such good ones. “Here’s how it goes,” he continued. “I checked out the high school and no one’s around after about ten. Say the cheerleader’s practicing her cheer and the football star comes out to run the field and he seduces her on the goal line. Sound good?”

“I don’t know,” she said, feeling a little rush as she imagined making love outside under the stars. “Do I have to be a cheerleader? That’s a little too rah-rah for me.”

“Okay, let’s see. What I like about that one is the virgin part. The first time…going very slow, very gentle, savoring every little movement.”

She felt the tingle in her belly start up. “That could be nice.”

“You always respond so intensely—like it’s the first time every time.” His voice reminded her of his fingers under her flight attendant uniform stroking her into heat.

“Oh,” she said, trying to clear her head.

“So, how about a virgin on her wedding night? We rent a tux and a gown—all that tight, gauzy stuff to peel off. What do you think?”

“I can’t,” she said, abruptly snatched from her haze by the picture he’d painted. “Not a bride. It’s too…”

“What? Expensive?”

“Swear you won’t laugh?”

He crossed his heart.

“It’s too symbolic. A wedding dress means two people promising their lives to each other, taking that huge leap of faith.” She swallowed hard. “I just think that the wedding moment means something. Sorry.”

“Sure. I get it. Forget that one,” he said, looking extremely uncomfortable. He played with his food a moment, then looked up, cheerful again. “How about the virgin brainiac and the jock failing chemistry? You can be my tutor. Or I could be the virgin. That might be even hotter.”

“Possible,” she said, hiding an unexpected and stupid sting of disappointment. What did she think he’d say?
I understand completely. Maybe someday we’ll wear that tux and gown for real?
Absolutely crazy. She was definitely losing control of her attitude.