Kept (4 page)

Trish involuntarily teared up, even though they were discussing his mother, not hers. "You still haven’t answered my question."

He reached across the table and caught her hand, holding it gently, turning it over so that it was palm up. While he spoke, his thick fingers traced her life and love lines, and tickled her palm.

"Well, I’m a normal, red blooded American male. I like sex.

Frequent sex. More frequent with someone I’m attracted to, and I’m attracted to you." While he was drawing on her skin, he was watching her face intently for any hint of reaction one way or another. But Trish would have made a fantastic poker player. She fidgeted occasionally, but her face was a careful mask. It annoyed him that she could hide her feelings that well.

"What would your definition of frequent sex be?"

"Oh, I don’t know."

"I would want it spelled out exactly how many times a week."

"Why? If I said ten times a week and initiated the eleventh time, would you turn me down?"

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Tricia reclaimed her hand. "No, I just would want things spelled out very concisely. I would want to know exactly what was expected of me." She cleared her throat, appearing more nervous than before. "Are there any particular positions or – ahem –

interests that you have that I should be aware of?"

"You mean am I kinky? Do I like feathers and leather and am I going to want to wear your underwear?"

She couldn’t help it – the vision of him in her lacy turquoise bra and panties set made her giggle. "Uh, something like that, yeah."

"You can rest assured, I’m pretty normal about sex, I think.

I’m not much into acrobatics, either. I’m getting too old for swinging from the chandeliers, anyway." His voice dropped to an intimate level. "But I would want access to you at any and all times. If I were paying out all of what you listed, I wouldn’t take kindly to you telling me ‘no’ even if it was the fifty-fifth time I slid into you."

Trish gulped hard. "I have a distinct feeling that you wouldn’t like being told ‘no’ at any other time, either. Barring illness or injury, I can’t see that I would have a reason to. It’s not like I’m going to give the typical ‘headache’ line. Besides, I’ve always had a decent work ethic, despite my general laziness."

Hmmmmmm. He didn’t know if he liked the idea of the woman in his bed considering sex with him to be work. An important question struck him. "Do you like sex?"

"Ahhhhh, yes, I do," she answered, truthfully but carefully.

"And I’m pretty normal about it, too, I think," she discreetly crossed her fingers as they lay in her lap. "My husband was the only man I’d ever slept with; we’ve been divorced for three years and I haven’t slept with anyone else since him." She caught Reed’s stunned look. "I don’t do casual sex. This would not be an easy

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thing for me to do." She drew a deep breath. "But, then, I’m not paying you. My pleasure, if there is any, would be a very secondary consideration to your own, which would be my goal."

He was frowning, frankly annoyed with her assessment of the situation. "Have you ever had an orgasm?"

"Yes," Trish choked out around a swallow of her drink.

"Well then, why would you think that you wouldn’t with me?" Reed demanded. He sounded downright incensed at the idea that she didn’t think he would be as concerned about her pleasure as he was his own.

She’d managed to insult him without even trying. It almost made her giggle again, but the look on his face made her think twice about laughing. "I’m not trying to call into question your skill as a lover," Trish soothed. "I don’t know anything about your style in bed. You could be one of those ‘man-on-top-get-it-over-with-quick’ types who thinks an orgasm is something a biologist looks at under a microscope. Besides, as I said, I would never assume that my . . . enjoyment would ever even enter the picture."

She found her hand recaptured in both of his, and when he spoke she knew it was from between tightly clenched teeth. "I am not a selfish lover. A big part of what gets me off is getting my woman off."

Trish had no idea what to say to that, so she kept quiet.

His fingers traced her knuckles. "I like to touch and fondle and tease . . . "

"Those are pretty normal male tendencies."

"Not just with my fingers."

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Oh, God – at this point, his fingers were doing just fine as far as she was concerned. "Uh, me, too."

Reed sat back in his chair, looking comfortable. "So. Give me the list."

"What list?" she asked blankly.

"The list of where I won’t be able to touch, at what times, and where I could never touch at any time."

"Huh?"

"Every woman I’ve ever been with has had a list of things they preferred I not do – even casual things: ‘don’t touch my hair when I’ve just washed it’, or ‘I really don’t like to have my breasts touched – especially at this time of the month’. ‘Don’t kiss me there, that’s disgusting’ – " his pathetic attempt at a high-pitched female voice was a riot. It came out a combination of Fran Fine and Gracie Allen on steroids.

She was on the verge of giggling again, he could tell and he liked that, as long as she wasn’t laughing at him. "Jeez, who have you been sleeping with?" Then she stopped short with a frown. "Or maybe I’m just a big ho, but I don’t have a lot of rules like that."

He looked surprised, and eager. "You don’t?"

"No. Maybe I should develop some, though – "

"No, no, no. That’s not necessary." Trish laughed at his insistence. "But you must have likes and dislikes?"

"Yeah, I do, but I can’t list them on an empty stomach. I’m starving. Can we eat?"

Comically disgruntled at the interruption, Reed summoned the waiter, adding that there’d be an extra large tip in it if he could

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get them their dinners in ten minutes. He could hear Trish giggling in the background, but the waiter looked like he was game for it.

When he turned back to her, she had her napkin to her mouth and was snorting very indelicately behind it. "Well, I’ve never much been one for delayed gratification . . . I want what I want, when I want it."

"You sound like me!"

"How so?"

"Oh, I am the queen of spoiled rotten brats, and I feel exactly that way – especially about computer gadgets and – oh, God - keep me away from the TV shopping channels! Yesterday is too late for me to get something once I decide I’ve got to have it."

"You don’t come across that way – bratty, I mean."

Trish looked up at him from under her brows. "That’s because there’s no one around to tell me no. I get myself what I damned well please nowadays - within reason - so there’s no reason to be bratty, not that my parents put up with it much when I was a kid anyway."

"Did you get your little butt spanked?"

She bit her lip, willing him not to go there. "No, thank you, I didn’t. I was smart enough to stop at ‘the look’. But there were very few things a little judicious whining couldn’t get me. I knew just when to stop."

Their dinner arrived at just exactly the ten minute mark, and he made her laugh again when he refused to talk to her while they were eating because he didn’t want them to waste time talking when they could be eating. He meant to have an answer from her as soon as he could finagle it.

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When the waiter had removed their plates after the fastest gourmet meal in history, Reed again instructed him not to reappear until he was called for. He leaned towards her, elbows on the table, and said, "Okay, spill your guts – likes and dislikes."

Adopting a vacuous look, Trish answered, "Oh, I like sunsets and kitties and – "

Someone who sounded frustrated was emitting a low growl at the other end of the table, so she took pity on him before he got rabid. "Hmmmmmm. Armpits. Feet. Having my face licked."

"Are these likes or dislikes?"

She shuddered. "Dislikes, definitely."

"Good. I was having nightmares about how I was going to lick your face, tickle your feet, and – "

Trish held up her hand. "Don’t go there, please!"

"Anything else?"

"Do I have to have a complete list here and now?"

"Just give me the biggies."

"Uh, biggies: tattoos – on me, I don’t much care about you.

Nothing illegal – not even drugs, frankly. You know I barely drink, but I also don’t participate in recreational pharmaceuticals, nor would I tolerate anyone who drinks to excess or does illegal drugs."

"No problems there."

"Nothing sexually illegal, either. That children and animals are out should go without saying."

It was his turn to shudder as he nodded in agreement.

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"I don’t divide myself well, and I would want it to be a completely monogamous relationship, for reasons of health, also. I won’t even entertain the idea of ‘adding’ someone to the relationship. That’s completely out."

"Again, we are in complete agreement." So far, there wasn’t anything she’d mentioned that surprised him, really. But what wasn’t she saying? There had to be more than this, didn’t there?

"What positions won’t you do?"

"Well, I’m no Flying Wolenda myself, and frankly I prefer a nice comfortable bed, but I’ve done sex on a beach, and sex on a couch, and sex in the back – and front – of a car . . . The bed still wins out over everywhere else, even the beach, and I’m a very

‘beach oriented’ person. I love the ocean. What I don’t love is trying to flush sand out of areas where sand was never intended to go, if you get my drift?"

He grinned in understanding, and she decided in that moment that she liked making him smile and laugh. "Okay, on that note, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty." Reed waited a minute for her to stop groaning. "Oral sex?"

Trish took a deep breath. "Giving and receiving is great.

And before you go there, most every other type of sex is fine, too, except what’s previously been mentioned, although I’m sure I’ll think of some other things along the way." She sighed. "If there was one good thing I got out of my ex husband, it’s my attitude towards sex – unless I hear a complaint, I’m going to assume that what I’m doing is pleasurable. It’s up to whichever partner is feeling uncomfortable to speak up – neither person is a mind reader. And there really is very little that I don’t like, and if I didn’t like it, believe me, you’d know. And most things – with those few basic, unwavering exceptions – are negotiable."

He was leaning forward again, searching her face. "I would like to enter into this type of a relationship with you, as soon as we

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can come to an agreement about compensation. I’ve already run the idea by my lawyer on a tentative basis, and although she was appalled, she’ll draw up what I tell her to draw up. You will want to get your own lawyer to look over the papers."

Trish nodded, biting her lip, wondering if she could afford a lawyer . . . When she looked up, he was still staring at her. "What?

Do I have béarnaise on my nose?"

"No," he mused, drawing the word out thoughtfully, "I was just wondering if we should do a test run before we sign any papers."

Her eyes got big. "A test run?"

"Yes." Reed leaned forward again, bringing his face near hers. "Don’t you think we should sleep together at least once before we finalize things?"

Trish’s mouth went completely dry at the thought of lying naked beneath this big behemoth of a man, letting him cover her with his body, dwarf her with his size, and enter her body for his own pleasure, with nothing between them beyond a lot of legal documents – completely without love? What if he wasn’t what he seemed? What if he attacked her? Or what if he was a sloppy, wet, bad kisser who thought nipples were radio dials? She prefaced her answer with, "Like I said, I don’t do casual sex. But I do think that a trial run is probably a good idea. That way you will also know that you’re not getting a pig in a poke."

Reed chuckled. "I’m not particularly concerned about that.

It’s not like I think you’re really a man under there – " he gestured towards her.

"Uh, not last time I checked, anyway. But I could have hideous scars or be really hairy – "

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He was laughing again, and her nipples peaked unexpectedly as her body was suffused with a familiar warm ache.

Oh, God, please don’t let him be a slob in bed! She found herself fervently praying.

"Well, then," he was saying, while her body ran away in its own little daydream about what he would be like, "why don’t we plan on getting together next Friday night. Would you prefer a hotel or my place?"

"Hotel," she answered immediately, surprising him, but he kept it to himself. She was such a little homebody; he wondered why she hadn’t decided to stay at his house, but then, again, a hotel was neutral territory.

Reed helped her into her light wrap, saying, "Leave everything to me. When should I pick you up? I’m not going to be able to see you until then, but don’t think I’ve forgotten about you."

"I’m on vacation; you’re the one with a schedule. You tell me when it would be convenient for you to pick me up and I’ll be ready. And I don’t need to be coddled. I understand that you’re a busy person. I will try not to be high-maintenance."

Reed grinned as he settled her into the back of the limo.

"All women are inherently high-maintenance." He felt a smack on his shoulder, and heard her muttering under her breath something about chauvinistic remarks getting him hurt.

He escorted her to the door, and then turned her into his arms to lay his lips gently but firmly over hers. Mmmmmmmm.

Nice and slow and dry and ohmygod hot! Well, one of her prayers had been answered, she mused as she readied herself for bed. He was a fantastic kisser. And he hadn’t even made any other advances beyond that, either – his hands hadn’t wandered – like hers had, up his broad back – and he hadn’t even held her that tightly.