I’m In No Mood For Love (17 page)

She unzipped his pants and slid her hand inside his boxer briefs. Within her palm she felt his pulse beating and squeezed. “You’re hard.”

“I’m going to make you come.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Instead of pulling her panties from her legs, he slid the thin strip of fabric to one side. Then he pushed into her, thick and enormous, and she wrapped her calves around his behind until he was buried deep inside. His flesh felt hot and she tightened her muscles around him. The kiss he gave her was soft and sweet as he began to move, withdrawing slightly and easing himself back inside. “You feel as good as I remember,” he whispered just above her lips. “So slick and tight.”

Clare’s head fell back against the mirror, and he kissed the side of her throat just below her ear.
“I want you so much,” he said. “I want to kiss all the good parts like I did last night.” He ground his hips against her and groaned deep in his throat. He pulled out, then thrust hard. If there’d been anything in the drawers of the vanity, it would have made a lot of noise. Thankfully, it was empty, and the only sound in the room was that of heavy breathing.

Steadily he pumped into her, stroking the inside of Clare’s wet walls and massaging her g spot. It didn’t take long for the first wave of orgasm to crash into her and wash her body in intense white heat. It stole her breath and curled her toes inside her black boots. Just as it eased, it started all over again.

“Oh my God!” she gasped as a second orgasm grabbed hold. In the midst of her own amazing pleasure, she felt his powerful ejaculation inside. He groaned deep in his chest, his knees buckled a little, and his grasp on her thighs tightened to keep him from falling.

“Christ Almighty,” he managed through a rough, hoarse whisper.

When it was over and the last pulsation subsided, she dropped one leg from around his waist as he struggled to find breath. She’d never experienced anything like it in her life. When she could finally
speak, she looked up into his green eyes and said, “That was amazing.”

“I thought so.”

She blinked several times. “I had a multiple orgasm.”

“I could tell.”

“I’ve never had one before.”

One corner of his mouth slid up. “Merry Christmas.”

A few days after Christmas, Clare met her friends for lunch at their favorite Mexican restaurant. Over a huge combo platter they discussed books and brainstormed plots. Lucy was deep into deadline, as was Clare, and Adele had just finished a book. Maddie’s books didn’t come out as often as the three genre writers, and she was taking several months off to relax and get her head right after her last true crime novel. Well, as right as was possible with Maddie, Clare thought.

They chatted and laughed as they always did. Shared bits and pieces of their lives. Dwayne was still harassing Adele, leaving random stuff on her doorstep; Lucy was thinking about starting a family; and Maddie had just purchased a summer home in Truly, a small town a hundred miles north of Boise. The one thing that Clare did not share
with her friends was her relationship with Sebastian. Primarily because there was no relationship, just sex, and she wasn’t the type of person to talk about her sex life. Not like Maddie—if she’d had one to talk about. Another reason was because it was still all so new that she didn’t know what to think about it herself.

Sebastian had left town the day after Christmas, but not before driving to her house and waking her up one last time. She’d never met a man who wanted sex as much as he did. No. Strike that. It had been a while since she’d been with a man who wanted sex as much as he did, but she’d never met a man who was as good at it as he was. A man who said, “This is what I’m going to do to you,” and then not only did it, but exceeded all expectations.

When she got home from lunch with her friends, there was a message on her answering machine from Sebastian.

“Hey there,” he began as she took off her coat, “I have a big New Year’s Eve party here in Seattle that I need to go to. I was thinking that if you didn’t have plans, you could be my date. Give me a call back and let me know.”

New Year’s Eve? In Seattle? Was he insane? She poured herself a Diet Coke and phoned him back to ask him that exact question.

“It’s an hour’s flight,” he said. “Do you have plans?”

If Sebastian were actually her boyfriend, she might play harder to get. Pretend she did have plans but was willing to break them just for him. “No.”

“I’ll pay for the ticket,” he said.

“That won’t be cheap.” She grabbed her Coke and walked upstairs to her office. “What’s your ulterior motive?”

“I get to spend time with a beautiful woman.”

Just a few days ago she’d been thrilled when he said she was beautiful. The little part of her that still resided down deep. The part that had followed him around as a child. Now, she wasn’t so sure how she felt about the compliment. Now, it seemed like something a man would say to his girlfriend, and Clare felt she could not afford to let the tiniest hint of a relationship past the wall she’d built to protect her heart. She dismissed it as meaningless. Something men always said to women. It meant nothing. “Don’t tell me there aren’t any women in Seattle you could ask.” She waited for the first jealousy pinch. The gnawing on her heart. When she felt nothing, she smiled. She liked him as a friend. A woman couldn’t be jealous of a boy friend who wasn’t a boyfriend. Especially when he lived in another state.

“A few, but they’re not as interesting as you. Not as much fun.”

“Meaning they won’t have sex with you?”

“Oh sure, they’ll have sex with me.” His laughter carried across her phone line. “But since you brought it up, bring something sexy because I think we need to make love a few more times to get it out of our system.”

Make love.
What they did together was not making love. They had sex. Hot, wild, unbelievably good sex, but it was different from making love. It was purely physical. The earth did shake, and her heart didn’t feel as if it might burst. That was making love, and she knew the difference. “Ah. Like ipecac.”

“More like sex therapy. I think we could use the workout. I know I could.”

Which she had to admit sounded good. After feeling undesirable for several years, having a man want her as much as Sebastian did was addictive. And right now in her life, hot, wild, unbelievably good sex was better than love. In the future, she would once again look for a soul mate. Someone to spend her life with. She wanted a husband and a family. She wanted a “happily ever after” with a “happily ever after” man. It was in her DNA to want those things, but for now she just wanted to have fun with a “good time” guy like Sebastian.
Who could never, ever be confused with “happily ever after” man.

“Okay,” she agreed. “But I have to shop for something to wear when I get there. Are you up for that?”

There was a long pause, and then, “I might need extra therapy to get over the trauma.”

She laughed and began to tick off the stores in her head. Beside the regular list of suspects like Nordstrom, Nieman’s, and Saks, she’d hit Club Monaco, BCBG, and Bebe.

Wow, a shopping
and
sex binge. Just a few months ago her life had sucked, but what a way to start the new year.

S
ebastian picked up the knife and cut several turkey sandwiches in half. He placed them on a plate and grabbed a tube of Pringles. He’d never flown a woman in just so he could spend the day in bed with her. But then he didn’t think he’d ever been with a woman quite like Clare before.

Wearing only his underwear, he grabbed lunch and walked from the kitchen. He’d picked Clare up that morning from Sea-Tac, and it wasn’t until he’d watched her come down the escalator toward him, looking gorgeous in her black coat and red scarf, that he realized how much he liked being with her. They had a lot in common. She
was smart and beautiful and didn’t make demands. More important, she was just easy to be with. In his experience, once a man had sex with a woman more than twice, they always brought up the R word—relationship—which was always followed closely by the C word—commitment. Women just couldn’t seem to relax. They always had to complicate things.

He walked into his bedroom and his gaze went to Clare, sitting in the center of his bed, a tangle of white sheets pulled up beneath her armpits. “There’s nothing to watch but football,” she said with disgust as she flipped through television channels with the remote. “I hate to watch football. I dated a guy once who taped all the games.”

Her hair was a mess and there was a pink sucker bite on her shoulder. “I watch football if there’s nothing better to do.” He set the plate on the edge of the bed and crawled toward her. He handed her half a sandwich and kissed the mark. He liked the way her skin smelled and the taste of her in his mouth.

“I broke up with him when I caught him watching football while we were having sex.” She took a bite, then swallowed. “He’d turned on the television but kept the sound on mute so I wouldn’t know.”

“Sneaky bastard.” Sebastian popped the top of the Pringles can and ate a few.

“Yeah. I’m a sneaky bastard magnet.” She turned off the television and tossed the remote on the bed. “Which is why I’m taking a break from men.”

He paused mid-chew. “What am I?”

“You’re just a friend with benefits. And believe me, after Lonny, I need the benefit of benefits.” She laughed and took another bite.

Which was one more reason he liked her. He handed her some chips and grabbed half a sandwich for himself. “Tell me something. If you’re a girl who likes lots of benefits, and we both know that you are, how did you end up engaged to a gay man? Wanting to please your mother only explains it to a point.”

She thought a moment as she scarfed several Pringles. “It happened little by little. At first the relationship was fairly typical. He was less sexual than other boyfriends, but I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. I loved him. And if you love someone, you have to be accepting. Then once you’re that deep in denial, you really don’t see anything. Actually, you probably don’t want to see it.” She shrugged. “And other than sex, there really wasn’t one huge sign. Just lots of little signs that I ignored.”

“Like that lacy, girly girl crap hanging over your bed. A heterosexual guy wouldn’t have put up with sleeping under that.”

She looked at him and pushed her hair behind one ear. “You did.”

He shook his head. “I have sex under it. I don’t sleep under lace.” Which reminded him of the sex they’d just had. It started by his front door and ended in a naked tangle on his bed. She’d been as hot for him as he had been for her, and for a man to know a woman wanted him as much as he wanted her was a powerful aphrodisiac. The sex would have been even better if it hadn’t been for the condom she’d asked him to wear.

“I thought you trusted me without a condom,” he said and ate a chip.

“I did trust you.” She tilted her head to one side and looked at him. “But I assume you are seeing other women now and I have to be careful.”

“Seeing other women? Since last weekend? Thanks for the compliment, but I don’t move that fast.” He’d
assumed
she hadn’t seen anyone, and the thought that she might have bothered him more than he wanted to admit. “Have you been with another man?”

She recoiled. “No.”

“Then why don’t we keep it that way?” He
reached for a bottle of water and unscrewed the cap.

“Are you saying you want to be sexually exclusive? Both of us?”

He took a drink of water, then handed to her. He liked the idea of Clare only having sex with him, and he didn’t want to have sex with another woman. “Sure.”

“Can you do that?”

He scowled at her. “Yeah. Can you?”

“I just meant that you live in a different state.”

“That’s not a problem. I’ll be visiting my father a lot, and believe me, I’ve gone without sex before. I didn’t like it but I survived.”

She took a drink and seemed deep in thought before she handed him back the bottle. “Okay, but Sebastian, if and when you find someone, you have to tell me.”

“Find someone? Find someone to what?”

She simply stared at him.

“Okay.” He leaned forward and kissed her bare shoulder. “If I get tired of you, I’ll tell you.”

She slid her hand up his chest and scattered goose bumps across his skin. “I noticed you didn’t mention what happens if I get tired of you first.”

He laughed and pushed her down on the bed. That wasn’t likely to happen.

After they finished lunch, they showered and left the apartment for what Sebastian had thought would be a quick trip to Pacific Place Mall. He wasn’t big on shopping and he didn’t own a lot of clothing. He had a few Hugo Boss suits and some dress shirts, but he much preferred cargo pants, where he could stash gear, and comfy cotton T-shirts from Eddie Bauer. In fact, shopping was one of his least favorite things to do, but for some reason he allowed himself to be dragged around downtown Seattle while Clare tried on racks of clothing, inspected numerous handbags, and got a crazed look in her eyes when she discovered silver shoes in Nordstrom.

After the fifth store and numerous bags, Sebastian relaxed and just took it all in. He couldn’t say he had fun, but it was interesting. Clare had a definite style and knew what she wanted when she saw it. By the time they walked into Club Monaco, he could predict what would draw her attention.

That morning when he picked her up from the airport, he’d wondered why she’d brought two big suitcases for such a short trip. Now he knew.

Clare was a classic shopaholic.

Later that evening Sebastian took her to the New Year’s Eve party of his former college friend, Jane Alcot-Martineau. He’d known Jane long before
she’d gotten herself hyphenated. They’d attended the same journalism classes at the University of Washington, and while Sebastian had taken off after graduation to freelance across the country and eventually the globe, Jane had stuck around Seattle. She’d eventually landed a job at the
Seattle Times
, where she’d met and married hockey goalie Luc Martineau. They’d been married for a few years and lived in an apartment not far from Sebastian’s. They had a one-year-old son, James, and Luc’s sister Marie lived with them while she attended school.

“Are you sure Clare’s just a friend?” Jane asked as she handed him a Pyramid ale.

Sebastian stared down at the five-foot-one woman beside him, then turned his gaze to Clare, who was talking to a tall thin blond woman, her red-haired boyfriend, and a beefy Russian defenseman. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Clare wore a shiny silver tube of a dress that looked like she’d been wrapped up in tinfoil, then had someone take their hands and press it against her body. The dress wasn’t exactly scandalous, but several times during the evening, Sebastian noticed a few muscle-necked hockey players unwrapping her with their eyes. When they found out she was a romance writer, their interest intensified. He knew what the bastards were thinking.

“’Cause you look like you’re ready to cross-check Vlad,” Jane said.

Sebastian carefully unfolded his arms from across the chest of his blue dress shirt and took a drink of his beer. “Do you think I can take him?”

“Heck no. He’d kick your sissy reporter butt.” Jane had always been
almost
as smart as she was a smartass. “He’s ‘Vlad the Impaler’ for a reason. Once you get to know him, he’s a nice enough guy.” She shook her head and her short black hair brushed her cheek. “If you didn’t want these guys to hit on her, you shouldn’t have introduced her as your ‘friend.’”

Jane was probably right, but introducing her as his girlfriend seemed too soon. And Clare probably wouldn’t have appreciated it if he’d said, “This girl is mine so back the hell off!” Clare might not be his girlfriend, but she was his date, and he didn’t like watching other men move in on her. “You do know that I was kidding, don’t you?”

“About taking on Vlad? Yeah. About Clare being ‘just a friend,’ I think you’re kidding yourself.”

He opened his mouth to argue but Jane walked away to join her husband. Later that night as he watched Clare sleep, he wondered what it was about her that drew him in and refused to let go. It wasn’t just the sex. It was something else. All that shopping she’d subjected him to should have cooled
his interest. But it hadn’t. Perhaps it was that she had no expectations. She didn’t seem to want anything from him, and the more she kept her distance, the more he wanted to pull her closer.

At six the next morning Sebastian woke, restless, and yanked on a T-shirt and a pair of cargo pants. While Clare slept, he started a pot of coffee, and as it brewed he called his dad. It was seven o’clock in Boise, but he knew Leo was an early riser. His relationship with his father was improving slowly with each visit. They weren’t exactly close, but both of them were making a real effort to repair the damage of the past.

He hadn’t spoken with his father since Christmas, but he was fairly certain Leo didn’t know about his guest asleep in his bed. He hadn’t mentioned it, and he didn’t know how the old man would feel about what he had going on with Clare. Okay, that was a lie. Leo wouldn’t be thrilled, but of course, he’d known that going in. He knew it the first time he kissed her, and he knew it the last time he made love to her the night before. He’d come to the conclusion that he and Clare were consenting adults and what they consented to do was between them and no one else.

After he got off the phone with Leo, he moved into his office. The last few months he’d been toying with the idea of writing fiction. A series of thriller/mystery novels with a recurring central character much in the vein of Cussler’s Dirk Pitt or Clancy’s Jack Ryan. Only his main protagonist would be an investigative journalist.

Sebastian sat down at his desk and booted up his computer. He had a sketchy plot outline and a vague notion of character, but after two hours of solid writing, it became more concrete in his mind.

A noise from the kitchen drew his attention from the drama taking place in his head, and he glanced up from his computer screen as Clare walked into the room wearing a plain blue nightgown that matched her eyes. It was short and had little straps and was sexy as all hell simply by virtue of not trying too hard. A lot like Clare herself.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, and stopped in the doorway. I didn’t know you had to work.”

“I don’t.” He stood and stretched. “I’m not really working. Mostly just playing around.”

“Solitaire?” She moved farther into the room and took a drink of coffee from the mug in her hand.

“No. I have an idea for a book.” It was the first time he’d been this excited about writing anything
in a while. Probably since before his mother had died.

“On a story you’ve covered recently?”

“No. Fiction.” It was also the first time he’d mentioned what he was doing. He hadn’t even told his agent yet. “I was thinking more along the lines of an investigative journalist who uncovers government secrets.”

Her brows rose up her forehead. “Like Ken Follett or Frederick Forsyth, maybe?”

“Maybe.” He came out from behind his desk and smiled. “Or maybe I’ll become a male romance novelist.”

Behind her mug her eyes got wide and she started to laugh.

“What are you laughing at? I’m a romantic guy.”

She set the mug on his desk, and somehow her laugher turned into a choking jag that lasted until he threw her over his shoulder and carried her back to bed like Valmont Drake from her latest book,
Surrender to Love.

On the third day of March, Clare turned thirty-four with real ambivalence about becoming another year older. On one hand, she liked the wisdom that came with age and the confidence that came with that wisdom. On the other, she didn’t like the
ticking time clock in her body. The one that kept track of every day and every year and reminded her that she was still alone.

A few weeks ago she’d made plans to celebrate the day with her friends. Lucy made dinner reservations for the four of them at The Milky Way in the old Empire building downtown, but they were expected to meet at Clare’s house first for a glass of wine and to give Clare her birthday gifts.

As Clare dressed for the evening in a Michael Kors jersey dress she’d picked up on sale at Nieman Marcus, she thought of Sebastian. As far as she knew, he was in Florida. She hadn’t spoken to him in a week, when he told her he’d decided to write a piece on the most recent wave of Cuban immigrants to hit Little Havana. In the past two months she’d seen him at least every other week when he’d drive or fly into Boise to see his father.

Clare hooked a pair of silver hoops in her ears and sprayed Escada on the insides of her wrists. For now, her nonrelationship with Sebastian was working. They had fun together and there was no pressure to try and impress him. She could talk to him about anything, because she didn’t have to worry about whether he was Mr. Right. He clearly wasn’t. Mr. Right would come along. Until that time, she was happily spending time with Mr. Right Now.

When he came into town, she was glad to see him, but her heart didn’t race or pinch, and her stomach did not get light and queasy. Well, perhaps a little, but that had more to do with the way he looked at her than what she felt for him. She did not lose her ability to breathe or think rationally. He was just easy to be around. The day it no longer worked was the day she would end it—or he would. No hard feelings. That was the deal. They might be exclusive for now, but she knew that it wouldn’t last forever, and she didn’t let herself think too far ahead.