Jane Shoup (5 page)

“Back at ‘cha. Anyway, have
I made my point? Go out with the guy. The way he looks at you
—
” Zoe shook
her head wistfully. “Not every guy is a sadistic asswipe like Mitch Crow, but
not every guy is capable of love and adoration, either. Ryan is. I can feel
it.”

Jenny found herself nodding
in agreement, before she made herself stop. “Thanks,” she said quietly. Zoe
could be a handful, but her heart was in the right place.

* * * *

Jenny turned onto her back,
too restless to sleep, and stared at the ceiling. She couldn’t stop thinking about
Zoe’s comments, especially about Mitch and the way he’d studied her. She’d
focused on the money he’d taken in the end, but that wasn’t the real damage
he’d done. He’d criticized continually, compared her to other women constantly.
He’d ignored her lying next to him in bed, while drooling over porn magazines,
all the while commenting on how pretty their pussies were. He’d made her feel
small and defective. Even now her face burned with the shame he’d manufactured
and nurtured. Why had she taken it?

Once, when they were out
with friends, he had leaned over to murmur something in her ear. He’d been
attentive and more affectionate than usual that night, so she wasn’t prepared
when, “Don’t talk so much,” came out of his mouth. She felt a familiar, painful
tingling in her face, and draped her arm over her head as the tears began
streaming. She wasn’t in mourning over the relationship being over, but in
recognition of how low she’d sunk with Mitch. Yeah, she had been his project.
It had been his project to destroy her. And, little by little, she’d let him do
it.

Chapter Five

December 16

Ryan pulled into an empty
spot in front of Jenny’s building. He turned off the windshield wipers, but
left the engine running, in case Jenny was ready to be done with their date. It
was sprinkling and the view through the window grew pleasantly obscure.
Streetlights and taillights were muted and pretty.

“Would you like to come up
for some coffee or something?” Jenny asked. She grinned and shook her head.
“That sounds so cliché, doesn’t it?”

“N-not to me,” he replied
at once. He turned off the car, grabbed an umbrella from the back and dashed
around to open the car door for her.

They’d begun the evening at
the Greek restaurant. The atmosphere had been casual, the food delicious.
Afterwards they’d gone to the mall where they strolled, talked and
people-watched from the top floor. Santa held court on the bottom floor,
Christmas music played, and elevators and escalators stayed in constant motion,
transporting scores of shoppers from place to place. On one circuit, their
hands touched and then came together. It felt like the most natural thing in
the world.

He opened the car door for
her, holding the umbrella so she wouldn’t get wet.

“Thank you,” she murmured
and she brushed against him.

He took her arm and
escorted her to the front entrance, and she unlocked the door and led the way
in. He hadn’t been in the front lobby many times. With its high ceiling and
painted murals on the wall, it had a faded, art deco glamour about it. “Built
in the t-twenties, I guess?”

Jenny nodded. “Completed in
nineteen twenty-two.” She opened the gate in front of the elevator. “And the
elevator hasn’t been improved since,” she said wryly. “It looks cool, but it
only works about a tenth of the time.”

He considered it with a
mock frown. “Is it safe?”

“Oh, come on,” she teased,
stepping on. “Live dangerously.”

He got on right behind her.
“Dangerous,” he murmured thoughtfully when they were in motion. He tried to
keep his expression neutral. “You like it d-dangerous?”

She smiled. “Dangerous.
What’s the most dangerous thing I ever did?” Visions of the laundry room filled
her mind, and her expression clouded over for a moment. “Saturday night before
last,” she began.

His eyes widened. Did she
know it was him?

“I drove after drinking,”
she finished. “I’m not usually that stupid.” The elevator jerked to a halt and
Jenny threw back the gate and got off. “Safe and sound.”

Ryan followed her down the
hall and into her apartment. “This is n-nice,” he commented, when she flipped
on lights.

“Thank you.”

The décor was simple, and
classic in shades of white and taupe. One wall contained a large fireplace; the
very fireplace he owed being here to. The other walls were painted a rich shade
of red. Large, almost floor to ceiling windows provided enough light so that
the color was elegant and cozy, not overbearing. He would have said ‘very
pretty’, but it was too hard to get out.

Jenny slipped off her coat
and took his. “Would you like some decaf or some cheap wine?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Okay. Make yourself at
home,” she said, going toward the kitchen.

If he’d been capable of
spouting witty repartee, he would have said,
Really? I can kick off my shoes
and strip down to my underwear?
He could think these things; he simply
could not get his vocal apparatus to cooperate. He moved into the living room,
thinking how much he wanted that new miracle cure, the mini-microphone hearing
aid thing. If it helped, he wanted it. He needed every possible tool to win the
heart of Jenny Oliver.

He gravitated to the mantle
to look at the framed photographs. There was one of Jenny with her family, one
of Jenny and Zoe, and one of two young boys. Again and again, his eyes were
drawn to her image, as if they had a will of their own. He studied her dimples
in one photograph and her hand, positioned across her waist in another, the way
her delicate fingers curled. He remembered the feel of them on his throat that
first day in her office and the way her hand had felt, enclosed in his larger
hand.

“Here we are,” she said,
handing him a small glass of deep red wine. “It’s port,” she explained.

“Thanks.” The port was
strong and sweet.

“My nephews,” she said,
gesturing to the photograph of the kids. “Ben and Josh. They’re great kids.”

“Do you w-want k-kids?” he
asked. There was a second of silence in which he felt blundering and foolish.
He hadn’t really thought about how the question would sound.

“Definitely,” she said
quietly, looking into her glass of port. She sipped. “You?” she asked, trying
to sound casual.

“Yes,” he replied, not
caring in the least about sounding casual. He watched as she moved to the couch
and sat, curling her legs beside her. She’d kicked off her shoes in the
kitchen. He followed her and sat facing her, although not too closely. She
seemed shy in the privacy of her apartment, and he didn’t want to scare her
into retreating. He felt like a hunter who had his prey in sight. He had to be
sensitive and calm. He needed to watch for skittishness.

“Do you have a big family?”
she asked.

“Two sisters.”

“Older or younger?”

“I’m the baby.”

She grinned. “So were you
picked on or spoiled?”

He thought about it and
shrugged. “A little of b-both, I guess. And you?”

“Chris is six years older
than me. That seemed like a lot when we were growing up, but we’re pretty close
now. And I love Meg, his wife.”

Was it his imagination or
was she just making polite conversation. Maybe it was time for
him
to
retreat. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome. He didn’t want her wishing
he’d leave. “I had a r-really good time tonight,” he said.

She blinked, surprised he
was already moving toward goodnight. “Me, too.”

“Things don’t f-feel as
awkward with you as they u-usually do.”

She nodded slowly, unsure
of how to respond. “Me, too,” she repeated. “I haven’t dated anyone in a while
and...Zoe told you about my last relationship.”

He shook his head. “Not
about the relationship,” he said tenderly. “About him. How he didn’t
duh-deserve you.”

She bit on the inside of
her bottom lip to keep from tearing up.

“I should go,” he said,
scooting forward. “I didn’t realize how l-late it was.”

She got to her feet a
moment after he did, and led the way to the coat rack by the door, wondering
about the sudden departure.  Should she encourage him to stay, or would that
make him feel pressured? She turned back to him and opened her mouth to speak,
but he’d done the same. They each smiled, embarrassed by the awkward moment. “I
was just going to say you don’t have to go yet,” she said. “It’s not that
late.”

He took hold of her hand
and caressed it in both of his. “I want to d-do everything r-right with you,”
he admitted.

The words were so sweet,
and he was such a gentleman, almost a throwback to another time. He’d opened
and held every door for her. He’d assisted her on and off with her coat. She’d
never had that kind of treatment before and was surprised how much she liked
it. His courtliness did instill a kind of shyness about them, or maybe it was
an increased awareness of what was proper.

“May I kiss you goodnight?”
he asked.

She nodded and he moved
closer, placing his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him, and felt his
warm breath a second before his lips made contact with hers in a sweet, soft
kiss. If time could have ever been commanded to stop, this is the moment she
would have chosen. His lips felt soft and full on hers. She wrapped her arms
around him and flattened her hands against his back as he drew her close. She
felt the first nudge of his tongue and opened eagerly for it.

They were in a slow,
sensual dance, with movement as much internal as external and she clung to him,
not wanting it to end.  She became aware of the hard rise in his jeans. Was she
pressing herself to him? One of his hands had dropped to her bottom, stroking
it lightly, so lightly. She arched her back and her fingers tightened around
the nape of his neck. Just as she wished, he delved deeper into the kiss with a
hunger and need that matched her own. The tempo of the dance quickened as he
rhythmically rocked his hard-on against her at the same time his tongue filled
and claimed her mouth.

When he abruptly stepped
back, she was left dizzy and with such an overwhelming desire to throw herself
back at him, it left her shaking.

He’d forced himself away from
her, knowing he was dangerously close to losing all control, but kept hold of
her arms. “You’ll go out with me again?”

She barely restrained a
ridiculous burst of laughter. Go out with him? He could have had her right then
and there on the floor of the foyer. Did he not know how damned desirable he
was? “Yes,” she managed. “Of course I will. I’d love to.”

He noticed how flushed her
face was. She’d been into the kiss, as much as he. “M-monday, after our
session?”

She nodded again. “All
right.”

“Is it okay if I c-call you
tomorrow?” he asked. “Because I don’t want to p-play g-games,” he said. “I want
to see you. I know there’s supposed to be r-rules about how soon you can call
after a d-date
—
”

Her dizziness was
subsiding. Slowly, she came back to earth. “As long as we can take it slow.”
God,
how absurd.
Take it slow? It was a first date and he’d just propelled her
straight into orbit. But that was the point, too. If he had this much effect on
her now, she had to be careful. She needed to use some restraint. What was with
her, wanting to jump his bones when he was trying to make his exit like the
perfect gentleman?

He leaned forward and
kissed her forehead. “Okay.”

* * * *

December 17

Ryan paced across the floor
and Jimbo followed. He had a shot with Jenny, an actual shot. It was almost
inconceivable. They’d talked for more than an hour today and the conversation
had been great. Of course, he’d have to take it slow with her or she’d spook.
It was all Mitch Crow’s fault. He’d done real damage to Jenny’s confidence.

He stopped abruptly,
thinking about how much he wanted her. He needed to touch her, to smell her, to
bury himself inside her and hear her ecstasy. He glanced over at the cheap cell
phone he’d picked up for the sole purpose of calling her. There was no
month-to-month plan; he bought minutes on untraceable cards. He could call and
ask her to meet him. But he risked more, now. What if she saw him or figured
out who he was? She might refuse to see him again. He raked a hand through his
hair, and then stalked to the phone. He had to; his craving was knotting his
insides.

* * * *

Jenny had the television
on, but her attention was split between her toenails as she applied a coat of
pale pink polish, and thoughts of Ryan. They’d talked about everything today,
including that he wanted to try the mechanism known as The Fluency Master. What
concerned her was, although it had helped a lot of stutterers, it had not
helped all of them. He would be so disappointed if it didn’t work. Still, it
was his choice to try.

Her cell phone rang. As she
reached over to the coffee table to pick it up, her terry-cloth robe came open
and the towel on her head toppled. She pulled the towel all the way off and
answered the phone. In her distraction, she hadn’t even checked who was
calling.

“Jenny
—
”

It was whispered. It was
him. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“I need to see you,” he
continued.

Her skin abruptly covered
in gooseflesh, her nipples stiff and sensitive beneath the terry cloth.

“Be downstairs in one
hour,” he commanded, speaking in a forceful, distinct whisper.

The call was disconnected
and she hadn’t said one word beyond ‘hello.’ She hit the end button and settled
back, savoring the warmth suddenly flooding her system. She reached between her
legs and rubbed herself. He’d made her wet just by uttering a few whispered
words. She thought of the vibrator she’d never used, and got up to locate it
and send it on its maiden voyage.

* * * *

Ryan surveyed himself in
the mirror, dressed all in black. A good cop/bad cop routine was coming
together in his head. He, the man in black, needed to be rough and aggressive
enough with Jenny that she would decide to end their trysts. He would slake his
lust tonight, and hers, and then Ryan, white knight, could be there tomorrow as
a total contrast. It was a perfect plan. As long as he was careful, he couldn’t
lose.

* * * *

Jenny curled up on the bed.
She’d just vibrated her way to orgasm, which left her mellow and with a clearer
head. Every time she’d gone to the basement before, she’d been drinking. But
she hadn’t had anything to drink today. There was nothing to cloud her
judgment…except maybe the need to be fucked. Or maybe it was more a need to be
desired. But, to be fair, Ryan felt desire for her. He was a great guy. But he
was a great guy she needed to proceed slowly with. In the meantime, her lustful
stranger had awoken a deep, dark longing inside her. Would Ryan be able to
handle her needs when and if it got to that point?