Intimate (3 page)

“True. But why
can’t I have everything else with you, and then just fulfill my sexual needs
elsewhere? Believe it or not, sex and relationships don’t have to go together.”

“I know that,
but I just don’t think it makes you happy to separate them the way you do. Personally,
I think you should consider embracing abstinence like me. Then we could live
perfectly happy lives together and grow old in a blissful platonic union.”

Caleb laughed. “Absolutely
no chance of that. I actually have a libido.”

Marissa
swallowed hard, a little hurt despite herself.

“Hey, I didn’t
intend that as an insult, you know.”

“I know. My
feelings weren’t hurt.”

He was watching
her skeptically, as if he didn’t believe her. “There’s no reason why you can’t
change your mind. I know dozens of guys who would be happy to help if you
decided to give sex another chance.”

“No, thank you.
My life is much less stressful this way. I’m more convinced than ever that sex
is overrated.”

Caleb gave her
a half-smile. “Can you honestly tell me you have no sexual desires?”

“Occasionally,”
she admitted, shrugging her shoulders and tucking her legs underneath her. “But
it’s actually a lot easier than you might think. Once in a while, I’ll have a
passing whim, or I’ll see an attractive man who will spark
something
,
but if you don’t entertain those ideas, they go away pretty quickly. Once sex
is no longer part of your pattern of thinking, it lifts right out of your
life.”

“I know it
wouldn’t be so easy for me, and I promise I’m never going to give it a try. By
the way, do you have plans next Saturday?”

Marissa thought
over her schedule. “No. I’m free. Why?”

“The symphony
is having a big fundraising, cocktail-party thing. I thought maybe you’d go
with me.”

She frowned.
“Why don’t you ask Karen?”

“Don’t start
nagging.”

“Fine.”

“Fine, you
won’t nag? Or, fine, you’ll go with me?”

“Fine, I’ll go
with you. I’d never promise not to nag.”

“I thought that
might be too much to hope for.”

She’d been
scowling at him—mostly for effect—but she perked up as she had a sudden
thought. “I can wear my new shoes. Did I tell you about them?”

She knew she
had, but she liked to see his expression.

“Yes, you told
me. You woke me up this afternoon just to tell me how amazing they are.”

“It’s good for
you to be woken up. You shouldn’t sleep all day.”

He had such a
strange schedule, with so many late evening performances, that he’d never
developed a normal sleep routine.

Just one of the
many things she worried about for him.

She reached
over to pat his left hand, and for the first time noticed it was damaged. “Caleb,”
she gasped, snatching up his hand and holding it in both of her own. “What the
hell happened to you?”

He tried to
pull his hand away, but Marissa resisted, bringing it up closer to her face so
she could inspect the bruised knuckles. It looked terrible, now that she saw
it. How could she have failed to notice it earlier?

“It’s nothing,”
he mumbled, managing to retrieve his hand at last. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big
deal. Your
hands
are a big deal.”

He needed his
hands to play the cello.

Without his
music, the world would be a much less beautiful place.

He didn’t
respond, so she sighed and got up. When she returned with an ice-pack, Caleb
was scowling.

“Damn it, Marissa.
I don’t need you to fuss over me. It’s not a big deal.”

Ignoring his
silly complaints, she regained possession of his hand. Held it in her lap while
she placed the ice-pack over his slightly swollen knuckles.

 “I’m not a
child. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of my own minor injuries.” He
pulled his hand away again. “I don't know why you always insist on making me
suffer through your noble impulses.”

She reached for
him again. This time, when she grabbed his hand, they had a small scuffle until
he relented and let her put the ice-pack on his knuckles again. “What happened
to it?”

“It’s just from
working out.”

“Working out?
It looks like you punched something. How did you hurt it working out?”

He didn’t
answer.

“You’re not doing
a stupid sport, are you? Like boxing or some sort of martial arts thing that
might damage your hands?

Still no reply.

That was answer
enough.

“Caleb, it’s
crazy. Your hands are too important. What are you think—”

“Let it go,
Marissa. This is in my space.”

His space
.
Those were the words he always used to tell her she was invading his privacy
too much, treading on territory he didn’t want her involved in.

She usually
backed off as soon as he said it.

She didn’t want
to let it go this evening, though. Something about the sight of his damaged
hand bothered her more than she would have expected. Removing the ice-pack, she
held his hand up closer and studied the damage again. “How can you even play
with your hand like this? Why would you—”

“Marissa, drop
it. Now.” His voice was sharp, unrelenting, almost cruel.

She dropped the
subject. Dropped his hand. Looked away and picked up the ice-pack—mostly to
hide her face. Without speaking again, she got up to take it to the kitchen.

As she stuffed it
back in the freezer, she tried to compose herself. Caleb’s rejection of her
care and concern had hurt her feelings. She had a lump in her throat, and her
eyes burned painfully.

But she was
being overly sensitive. It wasn’t a big deal. She needed to get over it. Now.

 “Marissa?” He’d
wandered into the kitchen and caught her staring glumly at the open freezer.
“Are you sulking in here?”

“I’m not
sulking. I was just putting the ice-pack away.”

“You
were
sulking,” he said softly, using one finger to brush away the tiny tear that leaked
out of her eye.

“I was not.” She
jerked her face away from him. “I got something in my eye.”

“Surely you can
think of a better story than that.”

Marissa
released a strange sound—something between a laugh and a sob. “I’m sorry. I
don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Too much
studying and not enough sleep,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m sorry I snapped
at you.”

Marissa nodded
her acceptance. “I’m sorry I was prying.”

“Good. So
should we start the movie?” He put a hand on her back to push her toward the
living room.

“Yeah.” She
collected the remains of their dinner and hauled them back to the kitchen. Things
left undone—like dirty dishes—bothered her, so she preferred to take care of
them before she relaxed. “It’s old musical night tonight.”

When she
returned to the couch, Caleb appeared decidedly nervous. “I’m almost afraid to
ask.”

“
Meet Me in
St. Louis
,” she announced, and then was delighted by his horrified
expression. “Just wait. It’s wonderful. And you have no right to complain. We
watched that ridiculous samurai thing last time. So now it’s time for some
old-fashioned singing, dancing, and sentiment.”

He groaned.

“Keep an open
mind. Maybe you’ll even get into the spirit and cry a little when they learn
that they have to leave St. Louis.”

“Don’t hold your
breath.”

Marissa started
the movie, and Caleb reached over and turned off the lamp beside the sofa,
dimming the room. Glancing over at him and noticing how relaxed he looked, she scooted
over until she was pressed up against his side.

He groaned
again. “Please don't tell me you’re in a cuddling mood tonight.”

“Yep,” she
admitted, pulling his arm around her. “You were mean and snapped at me. So now
you have to cuddle. It’s only fair.”

She giggled
when she heard him grumbling under his breath. Despite his complaints, he
adjusted to get more comfortable and kept a friendly arm draped around her
shoulders.

She tried not
to take advantage of his friendship and make him cuddle too often, but one of
the consequences of her decision not to have sex was also not having much in
the way of physical comfort. And, though she was fine without sex, she still
needed a hug now and then.

She didn’t
think Caleb hated it quite as much as he claimed.

She really
was
very tired after spending most of the week studying, and she only ended up
watching a half-hour of the movie.

She was
awakened by someone shaking her shoulder. “Huh,” she mumbled, trying to pry
open her eyes. She was completely disoriented, had no idea what was going on.

When she
managed to get her eyes open, she found herself sprawled out with her head in Caleb’s
lap.

“The movie’s
over, and I’m losing circulation in my leg,” he was saying, still shaking her
by the shoulder. “You need to get up, so I can leave. Then you can go to bed.”

“Oh.” She sat
up, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry. I missed the whole movie.”

“You should be
grateful I suffered through the whole thing. I could have turned it off and you
would never have known.”

“Did you like
it?” she asked groggily. She thought it was sweet that he'd actually watched it—although
she didn’t tell him so.

Caleb didn’t
appreciate being called “sweet.”

He made a face
and didn’t answer.

“I knew you’d
like it. No use lying to me.”

“Since my
stimulating presence only served to put you to sleep, I’ll take myself off now.
Go to bed.” He stood up and offered a hand to help pull her to her feet.

“You’re not my
mommy. I’ll go to bed when I want. It’s early yet. What are you going to do?”

“I’ll find
something to amuse me.”

Making a
disgusted face, she said, “If it involves sex of some kind, don’t tell me.”

 “All right. I
won’t tell you.” He chuckled and pushed her in the direction of her bedroom.
“Now, go catch up on your sleep. Tomorrow is Saturday, so you have no reason to
get up before noon.”

“Thanks for
dinner. Sorry I fell asleep on you.”

“I’ll call you
tomorrow. Now go to bed.”

“Yes, Mommy,”
she called out as he shut the door behind him.

She stumbled
into her bedroom to get ready for bed, catching a glimpse of herself in the
mirror as she did. Her hair was slipping out of her braids, and one cheek was
bright red in a strange pattern from being pressed up against Caleb’s thigh.

It was a good
thing she didn’t want to attract him because she looked like a freakish, sloppy
child.

Flipping off
the light, Marissa crawled into bed

Some people
might find it ironic. She’d just spent Friday evening with an attractive,
eligible man. They hadn’t flirted, hadn’t kissed, hadn’t engaged in foreplay,
hadn’t had sex. And she was about to fall asleep alone.

But she wasn’t
aroused, wasn’t discontent, wasn't frustrated. Was drowsy and perfectly
satisfied. And she was getting ready for a long, well-deserved night’s sleep.

She didn’t care
if it was ironic. This was the life she wanted, with nothing connected to those
memories from her childhood that still made her sick.

Altogether,
life was much easier without the burden of sex.

Caleb just didn’t think about Marissa
that way.

He knew it
sounded bizarre. Unnatural, even. He was a virile male who knew how to
recognize and appreciate desirable women.

Marissa was
both beautiful and desirable.

Yet he didn’t
think about her sexually. At all.

He’d met her
for the first time when they both were children, so that probably explained it.
While he might have had a few inappropriate thoughts about her when they were
teenagers, those stray fantasies now were long gone.

She was his
friend. The best relationship in his life. And it was—and always would
be—platonic. It was built into the pattern of his thinking, as Marissa would
say.

He was thinking
about her as he hooked the cufflinks onto his shirt and then pulled on the
black jacket to his suit. When he glanced in the mirror, he looked as he
expected to look. He was so accustomed to wearing tuxes for performances that the
formal wear barely even registered in his mind.

He regularly
got notes and emails from fans—usually of the female variety and often in their
adolescent years—who had bought his album or seen one of his concerts, going on
at flowery length about how sexy and sophisticated he looked in a tux.

When he was
younger, those letters had done something for his ego. Now, he’d pretty much
stopped reading them.

When his phone
rang, he checked the caller and picked up. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

“Do you have
any time next weekend? I’m coming to the city, so maybe we can get together.”
His father never wasted time on preliminaries or small talk.

“Yeah. I could
do breakfast or lunch on Saturday or Sunday. Whatever works for you. We have a
performance on Friday night. Maybe you could come.”

“Yeah. I’ll see.”

“Is Mom coming
too?”

“No. Just me.”

His father often
traveled on his own, even just for leisure. Caleb never ceased to be impressed
by his parents’ marriage, with neither of them trapped by unrealistic
expectations or limited by pressure from the other.

It was proof he
could really have it all—both love and freedom.

They talked for
a couple more minutes before they hung up.

After checking
the time, Caleb decided he better get over to pick up Marissa.

They were lucky
sex had never gotten tangled into their relationship.

Sex for him was
always pleasurable, but it was also merely physical. Shallow. And it just
didn’t match with his feelings for Marissa.

Which meant
when he went to grab a couple of condoms, he truly hadn’t the slightest thought
of using them with his date. There would be other women at the party, though—beautiful,
interested women.

He’d never hook
up with someone else while he was out with Marissa, but he wouldn’t be out with
her all night.

He liked to be
prepared.

He liked having
sex. He liked it
a lot
.

And he just
didn’t think about Marissa that way.

*
* *

He knocked a couple of times and
then let himself into her apartment a half-hour later. He paused to listen and
heard her rustling around in her bedroom.

As expected,
she called out, “Hey, I’m running a little late. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He smiled but
made sure the smile wasn’t evident in his voice. “For God’s sake, Marissa. I’m
fifteen minutes late myself.” He turned the doorknob to her bedroom. “Are you
dressed?”

“No!” she
shrieked from behind the door. “Don’t you dare come in! I don’t have my dress
on yet.”

Caleb grumbled
loudly—mostly for effect—and went to the living room to wait.

He regretted it
as soon as he settled in the same spot he’d been sitting last night. It made
him think about Marissa falling asleep on top of him, and he really didn’t want
to think about that.

He wasn’t sure
how she’d ended up with her head in his lap, but it had made him very
uncomfortable.

First, she’d
wanted to cuddle, which was always a bad sign. Caleb just didn’t like touching
that wasn’t sexual. Sure, it felt nice to have Marissa curled up beside him or
giving him hugs or putting her hand on his thigh.

But it made him
feel too needed and too needy—both—and he preferred to be free.

She’d slept
with her head in his lap for an hour and forty-two minutes last night.

Caleb hadn’t
liked it at all. It made him feel strange, heavy, and confused. Very similar to
how he’d felt last year after Marissa’s father died. She’d turned to him for
comfort—just as she should have—and she’d clung to him desperately for weeks. Caleb
had tried his best to be there for her, all the while hoping it would end soon.

He wasn’t used
to being used as a pillow, and he didn’t know why he’d started stroking her
hair while she slept last night.

“What are you
brooding over so darkly in here?”

Marissa’s voice
startled him. Instead of responding to her question, he eyed her from head to
toe. “Nice.”

She wore a new
evening gown she’d bought earlier in the week, since she’d been complaining she
didn’t have anything suitable to wear to such a fancy occasion. It was a deep blue
that matched her eyes, sleeveless but with a high neckline. The neckline was meaningless,
since there was a diamond-shaped cutout in the front that displayed a good
portion of her lush cleavage. There was also a high slit up the side of the
skirt, parting to reveal a lot of leg and a pair of very high heels.

Marissa was
grinning like an eager girl, although she was unmistakably a woman. “Isn’t it
great? Aren’t I gorgeous?”

“Definitely
gorgeous.”

His eyes rose
to her face and hair, and his brow lowered unconsciously.

“What don’t you
like?” she demanded when she saw his expression. “You’re making your
disapproving face.”

He schooled his
features immediately—it was unnerving that she knew him so well. “I didn’t
realize I
had
a disapproving face,” he stalled, hoping to distract her
from the question.

 “Of course,
you do. You press your lips together, and you get four little lines on your
forehead. But don’t try your diversionary tactics on me. What don’t you like
about how I look?”

He might as
well be honest, or she’d never let it go. “I think you should have left your
hair down.”

Marissa ran to
the mirror in the dining room. “Well, you’re just plain wrong,” she announced
after a minute of peering at herself. “I put it up because it looks more
sophisticated. Why the hell should I have worn it down?”

He came over to
join her and looked at her reflection. “You look more like yourself with it
down,” he mumbled, feeling kind of stupid as he said the words.

“That’s why I
wanted to wear it up, but I think the sentiment is still kind of sweet.”

He’d been
afraid she would think that.

He shifted his
head and caught of glimpse of the mirror reflecting the two of them together.
Something about the image conjured that same heavy feeling in his belly, so he
looked quickly away. Decided to put an end to the moment.

Only made the
decision too late.

Because Marissa
was already stretching up to press a soft kiss on his jaw. “That’s for being
naturally sweet, even though you try your best to resist it.”

Now both his
belly and chest felt uncomfortably heavy. “We’re going to be late.”

“I love it when
you get embarrassed and blush.”

He raised his
eyebrows and sneered. “I do not blush.”

“Oh, yes, you
do. Now, let’s go, or we’re going to be late.”

He started to
make a pithy comeback, but he swallowed the words awkwardly when she turned
around and walked toward the door in front of him.

“Damn!” He’d
noticed there wasn’t much of a back to her dress, but he hadn’t realized how
much pale, smooth skin was really visible. The dress had a diamond-shaped
cutout in the back to match the one in the front—but this one was much bigger,
baring down to the small of her back. “It’s cruel to wear that dress when
you’re never planning to have sex. It’s like inviting people to your home and
then slamming the door in their face.”

Despite his
words, he
did
feel a familiar possessive thrill at the knowledge that
this beautiful woman would be with him. That she would be going home with no
one else. It was exhilarating in a rather crude, macho way.

Almost like she
was his.

Chuckling, she
glanced at him over her shoulder. “Just because I don’t want to have sex
doesn’t mean I don’t want to look sexy.”

 “I hate it
when you dress seductively,” he complained, walking down the hall beside her.

 “I thought you
secretly liked it. Doesn’t it make you feel like a caveman?”

He wished she
hadn’t recognized that about him. “Maybe. But it also means I’m going to have
to fend off over-enthusiastic admirers who are always trying to make a move on
my date.”

“Ugh, like Kevin
Davison.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of the particularly
offensive trombone player who had a thing for her.

“You wear that
dress, and you’re on your own with Davison. I’ll not run interference when
you’re asking to be leered at.” He smiled to take the sting out of the words.
“Besides, I’ll be busy trying to schmooze, as I’ve been reminded repeatedly is
my primary task at this party.”

“You’re good at
schmoozing.”

Caleb put an
unconscious hand on her back as he led her out to where his car was waiting.
Then wished he hadn’t when he felt her cool, bare skin under his palm.
Withdrawing his hand quickly, he replied, “With donors and fans, maybe. But not
with the other musicians. They all hate me.”

“Of course they
hate you. You’re a classical musician, but you have half a million followers on
your fan page. You’re First Cello in one of the top ten symphony orchestras in
the country, and you’re only twenty-five. Every one of them despises you.”

“You’re the one
who wanted me to take this job.”

“I know, but I
didn’t want it because I thought it would win you a lot of friends. I wanted it
because I thought it would be better for you.”

He knew she’d
wanted what was best for him. It was why he’d taken the position in the first
place.

It was also why
he hadn’t yet quit, even though he kind of wanted to.

*
* *

The party was a typical
black-tie, fund-raising affair. An excuse to gather the social elite: drink too
much, flirt with other people’s spouses, politic, network, kill time, and
pretend their lives were meaningful.

He’d brought
Marissa as his date to events before, and everyone knew she was with him.
Unfortunately, that didn’t stop other men (and occasionally women) from hitting
on her right under his nose.

It annoyed him
more than it should. That the fact of his presence meant nothing to all the
other men who buzzed around her like gnats. Yes, it was known the two of them
weren’t officially dating, but he
was
her date tonight, and that should
come with certain prerogatives.

 One of them
was that random men shouldn’t make moves on her while Caleb was standing less
than a foot away.

It didn’t
matter that he’d been subtly flirting with the stunning daughter of their host.
He was still Marissa’s date, and he had every right to shoulder besotted,
drunken fools out of her line of sight.

Which was
exactly what he did.

The fool in
question was the revolting Kevin Davison, who’d played this same game with Marissa
before.

You’d think
he’d have gotten a clue by now and given up his hopeless pursuit of her.

But, no, there
he was again ten minutes later, trying to steer Marissa through the French
doors and out to the patio and pool area.

Caleb was about
to rescue her when the luscious, red-haired daughter whispered something
decidedly naughty in his ear.

He was briefly
distracted, but not enough to leave Marissa in the inebriated hands of an
obnoxious trombone player.

When he left
the redhead and cleared the French doors, Caleb saw Marissa and Davison
standing by the pool, which had been uncovered and filled for the occasion,
despite the fact that it was still early spring. The pool water sparkled
exquisitely in the glow of carefully aimed spotlights.

Because of that
lighting, Caleb could see Marissa quite clearly. She was facing his direction,
her back to the pool. He couldn’t see Davison’s face, but he could see his hand
very plainly when Davison made a gesture, “accidentally” brushing against her
breast.

Caleb felt a
completely irrational wave of fury at the sight. He clenched his jaw and stalked
over, his fingers already tightening in primal anticipation.

Marissa
casually swatted Davison’s offensive hand away. Seeing the easy manner in which
she’d dealt with it, Caleb was almost disappointed that he wasn’t needed.

He’d really
wanted to put Davison in his place.

But the man was
both drunk and horny, and Marissa’s efficient discouragement wasn’t enough. He
reached out for her in a more purposeful grope.

Caleb made an
uncontrolled sound of rage—soft, throaty, and vicious.

Marissa had
automatically begun to evade the grope, but she either heard or sensed his
coming because she looked away from Davison and over toward Caleb.

Her face
changed as she saw his expression.

While her
attention was diverted, Davison laughed loudly and moved toward her.

This time, Marissa
wasn’t ready, and she took an awkward step backward, her eyes still focused on Caleb.

Unfortunately,
there was no room to step backwards. There was only a slight incline around the
pool. She tripped on it. Stumbled back. Lost her balance.