L.A. Caveman (19 page)

Applying logic to the situation and
apportioning blame more broadly didn't make her feel better, but it
helped her to beat down the devastating sadness by feeling angry
instead. She didn't think she deserved all of his scorn. And she
definitely didn't deserve that last crack about "doing what she did
best." He was hitting below the belt. So to speak.

Working herself up to a good, rousing
mad liberally laced with hurt, Stanna snatched her purse and
barreled out the building. It was only two-thirty -- too early to
go home and talk with Telly. She didn't know where she was going
until she climbed into her car and saw the silver flicker on the
passenger seat. The Amazon on Judy's business card. Then she knew
where she was headed.

It was her third meeting with the
Ladyhawks, and they’d finally begun allowing her to attend the more
private, ritualistic gathering. An interesting way to spend a
Saturday afternoon, Stanna thought. Telly wasn't around anyway.
She'd gone out that morning to get her hair done, having no
interest whatsoever in attending an all-woman meeting.

Stanna looked around at the other
women. Close to her in age. Dressed in everything from jeans to
pretty dresses, the ladies busily prepared a bonfire in the large
backyard of one of the members.

Judy smiled at her. "I'm so glad
you're here. Every woman counts, you know." She reclined on a lawn
chair next to Stanna. "Did you hear the latest about your own
battlefront?" Without waiting for an answer she continued, "I've
been asking around. That interview you gave has had some unsavory
affects. You'd think a wonderful, clear story like yours would
generate some honest outrage on behalf of women. And it has. But
unfortunately it looks as if some
men,
" she said the word
like it was bitter on her tongue, "see it as a fabulous reason to
check out a copy of
Men's Weekly
to see what the fuss is all
about
.
The magazine's sales are up almost double, due to the
controversy. Did you know that?"

Double. Stanna hadn't known. Ever
since he’d returned, Jake had closed her off from everything having
to do with running
Men's Weekly
. He even canceled their
weekly meetings, saying he was too busy. She turned in her column,
he rewrote it, and that was that.

"But don't worry," Judy was telling
her. "We'll get the magazine owner to come around. Two dozen of us
are going to march outside of some local newsstands next week in
protest. I won't ask you to join us with our activism until you
have a different job," Judy assured her. "But I wanted you to know
that we haven't forgotten your plight."

My plight? Stanna mused thoughtfully.
The other two meetings she'd gone to didn't address her plight, or
anything else besides general woman-bonding and frequent
man-bashing. It was kind of therapeutic, but hardly
productive.

Now Judy spoke as if it were truly a
battle Stanna engaged in. And she spoke of it bitterly. Now that
she thought about it, whenever the subject of men came up -- which
was often -- a closed, cold look came over Judy’s face. A cautious
look. It reminded her of Jake. He got that look sometimes. The look
of a person engaged in a battle.

She supposed it was a battle, in a
way. Corrinna and Michael and the others still weren't speaking to
her more than strictly necessary. Jake forged ahead with his own,
man-centric editorial ideas and didn't apologize to
anyone.

And he didn't talk to her.

She didn't let on to anyone, even
Telly, how much it hurt her.

Jake’s voice still arrested her
whenever she heard it, though it was rarely addressed to her.
Memories from the small cabin haunted her. Once, she even pulled
out her old sneakers to look at the caked-on mud to make sure she
hadn't dreamed the whole thing.

The sight of him made her blood race
through her veins, and made her ache with the hope he’d stop the
silent treatment. Even an argument would be a relief. It had been
weeks since the day he ordered her from his office.

Too long, she realized. That was
simply too long to childishly hold a grudge the way he was! It had
gone on long enough.

Distracted by her internal musings,
she hadn't noticed the women bringing out piles and piles of...
books?

She looked questioningly at Judy. Judy
smiled broadly as she lifted pastel-covered and metallic-embossed
novels from cardboard boxes. The other women either unloaded the
boxes from the garage or held hands around the bonfire.

"We all pulled together and collected
as many romance novels as we could," she explained to Stanna.
"There isn't a better example of woman-suppression anywhere. From
these covers," she flicked a contemptuous finger at a clinch pose,
"to the rape scenes in each and every one of them. They’re trash,
and worse: they’re poison to the ideal that we've worked so hard
for. The acceptance of strong and capable women."

"So you burn them," Stanna said with
horror. Some women were passing out handfuls, and one by one they
tossed them into the fire. Loud cheers and clapping accompanied
each toss.

Judy looked at her in surprise. "Of
all people, I was sure you would approve. Look at your boss, after
all. He's a living example of the Neanderthals in these
books."

Stanna was lifting herself off the
lounge and beginning to back away. "No. Judy, no, he's not
unreasonable. Insensitive, yes. But he's not one of the really
awful guys." The words out of her own mouth shocked her. She was
actually defending Jake?

Speaking slowly, discovering it in the
telling, she said, "He's open to the idea of strong women. He just
doesn't want to kill his magazine by treating his audience as if
they’re women. They’re not, and it's not that kind of magazine."
She laughed, relieved at the discovery that she could forgive him.
Now that she saw what he was about.

She wasn't sure what she was going to
do about it yet. But she realized one thing: she had more proving
to do with Jake. If he distrusted women even half as much as these
Ladyhawks distrusted men, she was going to have to redeem herself
in his eyes in a fairly spectacular way.

She wanted to. More than anything, she
wanted the frustrating man to trust her, to… to care for her. As
much as he cared for his magazine.

She turned her gaze on Judy. "You're
the intolerant ones if you burn those books. Have you ever read a
romance?"

"Well... no. Of course not. But
they’re not good literature."

"That's what I thought." Stanna
gathered up her purse. "I can't participate in this. But I've
enjoyed the other meetings. Thanks for inviting me."

She walked away, feeling lighter than
she had in weeks. Time to listen to her heart.

Her heart was giving her very detailed
instructions on what to do next.

"Jake."

He looked up, his jewel-toned eyes
gleaming with animal life even under the florescent lights. His
glance took in her short skirt and form-fitting top, such a change
from her usual more modest attire. His eyes darkened. When she
stepped through, agile on her high heels, shutting his door, his
expression wore the dreaded cruel and predatory scowl she knew so
well.

She wasn't afraid. She knew he had
every right to be angry. Now it was up to her to soothe the savage
beast.

The thought made her smile.

"What do you want?" His growled demand
was anything but welcoming.

She chased the mirth from her face.
"I'm sorry for interrupting, but there's a bit of an
emergency."

"Well? What is it?" he asked, when she
didn't volunteer the information immediately.

"You need to see it. I could explain,
but it would take too long. It's in the parking garage. It's your
Jeep."

Without waiting for any further
explanation Jake leaped out of his chair and brushed by her without
so much as a thank you, she thought in impatience. He was going to
be a tough one.

She was up to the
challenge.

Smiling again, she quickly followed
him in time to catch the same elevator down.

The doors opened to admit the garage
scent of oil, rubber, and gasoline. She followed as he strode
purposefully to his reserved space. He eyed his Jeep, checking
underneath it and walking around it.

"Nothing seems to be wrong," he told
her. There wasn't suspicion in his voice yet, as he turned to her
inquiringly. Putting on her best innocent face, she commented, "You
may want to roll up your windows. I'll tell you what I saw while
you do."

"Explain," he demanded. He opened the
passenger side door and pumped his powerful arm up and down to roll
up the window.

"Well, I saw a man. He was wearing a
white button-up shirt and these brown slacks. I couldn't help but
notice him because of his incredibly fit body. He had muscles
that--"

"What was he doing with my car?" Jake
interrupted, scowling. He didn't notice she'd just described his
own white button-up shirt and brown slacks.

"Let me show you," she told him
softly. She walked to the door, opening it and bending over the
high bench seats provocatively. She knew his eyes would be on her
uncharacteristically short skirt. "Right here…" she ran her hands
over the fabric, then straightened, slowly taking off her jacket.
"It's hot down here, isn't it?"

She nearly laughed, looking at the way
his gaze was predictably drawn to her tight shirt unspoiled by any
bra lines. He was trying to be angry but her tactic was
working.

Before he could berate her any more,
she crooked her finger at him. "There's something I'd like to show
you," she said, looking steadily into his eyes. She reached out,
took his hand and pulled him toward her, toward the seat. She held
his hand palm-down and rubbed it over the seat cloth fabric slowly,
making him feel the nubs and roughness. The muscles in his forearm
felt tense and hard, but he didn't pull away.

A sardonic twist to his lips warned
her he was about to say something cutting. But she spoke first, in
a velvet voice she didn’t know she possessed.

"This is where I'm going to sit, while
you drive me back to your place, where I'm going to make love to
you. Please. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind, Jake."
She raised his hand from the seat and slowly, tantalizingly let it
graze her chest. She knew the contrast of the rough fabric and her
smooth warm curves affected him because his eyes narrowed into a
look of pain as if he were burned. His breath became
harsh.

"I want you," she told him, realizing
how acutely true it was as the feel of his warm palm on her nipples
broadcast spikes of pleasure to her brain. He moved closer to her,
his body pressing her back to the side of the seat and she gasped
as she felt his hard arms, chest, and all the glorious rest of him
fully against her. His warmth made her tingle. His hardness made
her arms snake around him and pull him more tightly to her. They
both moaned softly in pleasure. But he still hadn't said a
word.

She tugged at his arm, questioning. He
smiled, just barely, his face ascetic in its passion. He nodded
though, circling his Jeep and stepping into the driver's
seat.

She gave him a very sly and wicked
smile as she climbed into the passenger seat. Her fingers traced
the inseam of his brown slacks, and she marveled at her own
audacity. He stepped on the accelerator.

Even with senses reeling from the
exquisite anticipation of her next few hours, Stanna noticed the
house. As he wheeled his Jeep into the driveway, she took in the
mature trees and artful landscaping that graced the large front
yard. The house sat well back from the road, nearly concealed. For
a home right near the beach, it was surprisingly cozy. Not one of
those gated monstrosities that tourists gape at, but not a
converted shanty either. A rare jewel: a pretty, private house in
an ideal Southern California location. She adored it on
sight.

She would ask for the tour. Later. For
now, there was only one sight she wanted to see, and she didn't
much care which room she saw it in. Although Jake might be more
comfortable in the bedroom, she mused devilishly.

"What are you thinking?" Jake's voice
was low and fascinated. He'd turned the engine off and stared at
her, his lips curved upward in a bemused smile. She looked at his
mouth, lust jolting through her. She looked at the shape it made as
he spoke. "You don't have to do this, you know," he told her
gently. The intensity of his eyes wasn't gentle. She couldn’t
choose which she liked more -- the rough desire in his eyes or the
sweet tone of his voice.

It was a package deal, she decided.
Something about him worked just right for her.

"I'm kind of amazed, myself," she
murmured, more to herself. "I want to. I really want to. You don't
know what you do to me, big guy," she mock-growled, turning the
full power of her gray eyes on him. "But you will. Now," she
commanded, flirting shamelessly, "Do I have to beg you to come
inside, or will you make this easy on me?"

His answering animal smile thrilled
her as much as his teasing words. "I wouldn't dream of making it
easy on you, little girl." He pinioned her wrists, dragged her to
him gently and proceeded to tease her mercilessly with his skillful
lips. Just long enough to get her breathing even harder.