Match Me if You Can (20 page)

Kevin looked thoughtful. “A lot of sharing.”

“Intense?” Darnell scowled. “It was—”

“Heath could probably summarize better than any of us,” Webster interjected.

The others nodded solemnly and turned their heads toward Heath, who set down his fork. “I doubt I could do it justice. Who figured we could have so many different opinions about postmodern nihilism?”

Molly looked at Phoebe. “They didn’t talk about the book at all.”

“I told you they wouldn’t,” her sister replied.

Charmaine reached over to rub her husband’s back. “I’m sorry, honey. You know I tried to talk the women into letting you join our group, but they said you’d upset our dynamics.”

“Besides trying to bully us into reading
One Hundred Years of Solitude,
” Janine added.

“That is a great book!” Darnell exclaimed. “Y’all don’t want to challenge your minds.”

Kevin had heard Darnell’s lecture on people’s reading tastes before and quickly moved to deflect it. “We know you’re right. And we’re all ashamed of ourselves, aren’t we, guys?”

“I am.”

“Me, too.”

“Can’t hardly stand to look in the mirror.”

Kevin seized on Annabelle as the next distraction to keep Darnell from getting worked up. “So what’s this I hear about you dating Dean Robillard?”

Everyone at the table stopped eating. Heath set down his knife. The women’s heads swiveled. Molly gazed into her husband’s not-so-innocent green eyes. “Annabelle’s not dating Dean. She would have told us.”

“I’m really not,” Annabelle said.

Kevin Tucker, the wiliest quarterback in the NFL, scratched the back of his head like a gorgeous doofus. “I’m confused. I talked to Dean on Friday, and he mentioned that the two of you went out last week and that he’d had a real good time.”

“Well, we went to the beach…”

“You went to the beach with Dean Robillard, and you didn’t think to mention it?” Krystal shrieked.

“It was…a last-minute thing.”

The women started buzzing. Kevin had more mischief on his mind and didn’t wait for them to calm down. “So Dean’s planning to ask you out again?”

“No, of course not. No. I mean…is he? Why? Did he say something?”

“I kind of got that idea. Maybe I misunderstood.”

“I’m sure you did.”

Heath sat stony-faced, a fact that caught Phoebe’s interest. “Your little matchmaker certainly is getting around.”

“I’m glad,” Sharon said. “It’s time she came out of her shell.”

Heath regarded Annabelle dubiously. “You were in a shell?”

“Kind of.”

Charmaine gazed at her across the table. “Are we allowed to talk about your unfortunate engagement?”

Annabelle sighed. “Why not? We seem to be examining every other part of my life.”

“Shocked the hell out of me,” Kevin said. “Rob and I played golf together a couple of times. He had an ugly duck hook, but still…”

Molly covered his hand with her own. “It’s been two years, and Kevin’s still not reconciled.”

Kevin shook his head. “I feel like I should invite him…her…to play again, just to show I’m broad-minded, which I am under ordinary circumstances, but I like Annabelle, and Rob knew from the beginning he had a problem. He should never have asked her to marry him.”

“I remember Rob’s duck hook,” Webster said.

“Yeah, I remember it, too.” Dan shook his head in disgust.

A short silence fell. Kevin gazed at his brother-in-law. “Are you thinking the same thing I am?”

“Yep.”

“Me, too,” Webster said.

Ron nodded. So did the others. Heath smiled, and they all returned their attention to their dinner plates.

“What?”
Molly shrieked.

Kevin shook his head. “No sex-change operation in the world is going to fix a duck hook like that.”

T
he women left the men at the inn and returned to the B&B, where Krystal locked them into the cozy back parlor, drew the shades, and turned down the lights. “Tonight,” she announced, “we’re going to celebrate our sexuality.”

“I read that book,” Molly said. “And if anybody starts taking off her clothes and grabbing a mirror, I’m out of here.”

“We’re not celebrating that way,” Krystal said. “All of us have some issues we need to face. For example…Charmaine’s too uptight.”

“Me?”

“You undressed in the closet for the first two years of your marriage.”

“That was a long time ago, and I don’t undress there anymore.”

“Only because Darnell threatened to take the door off. But you’re not the only one with sexual hang-ups. Annabelle doesn’t say much about it, but we all know she hasn’t slept with anybody since Rob traumatized her. Unless last night …?”

They all turned to gaze at her.

“I’m his matchmaker! We’re not having sex!”

“Which is a good thing,” Molly said. “But Dean Robillard’s a whole different matter. Talk about the ultimate boy toy.”

“We’re straying,” Krystal said. “Three of us have been married for a long time, and no matter how much we love our husbands, things can get a little stale.”

“Or not,” Phoebe drawled with her cat’s smile.

They all snickered, but Krystal wouldn’t be distracted. “Molly and Kevin have young kids, and we know what a crimp that can put in your sex life.”

“Or not.” Molly offered up her own cat’s smile.

“The point is…It’s time we get more in touch with our sexuality.”

“I’m way too much in touch with mine,” Janine said. “I just wish somebody else would touch it, too.”

More snickers.

“Go ahead and make jokes,” Krystal said. “We’re still going to watch this film. We’ll be better women for it.”

Charmaine went on full alert. “What kind of film?”

“An erotic movie made especially for women.”

“You’re kidding. Really, Krystal.”

“The one I selected—a personal favorite—involves actors of various races, ages, and degrees of hotness, so nobody’ll feel excluded.”

“This is your big mystery?” Phoebe said. “That we’re going to watch porn together?”

“Erotica. Made just for women. And until you’ve seen some of these movies, you shouldn’t judge.”

Annabelle suspected more than a few of them already had, but no one wanted to put too much of a damper on Krystal’s enthusiasm.

“Here’s what I really like about this particular film,” Krystal said. “The men are all gorgeous, but the women are fairly ordinary. No silicone.”

“That sets it apart from porn for men, all right,” Sharon said. “At least from what I’ve heard.”

Krystal began fussing with the DVD player. “There’s also a story, and real foreplay. A lot of it. Kissing, slow undressing, lots of caressing…”

Janine buried her face in her hands. “This is pathetic. I’m already getting turned on.”

“I’m not,” Charmaine said in a huff. “I’m a Christian, and I refuse to—”

“Good Christians—good Christian
women
—are supposed to please their husbands.” Krystal smiled and hit the remote. “And believe me, this’ll please the hell out of Darnell.”

W
hen Annabelle returned to the cottage shortly after midnight, her cheeks were still flushed from watching the film, and her sundress clung to hot, damp…
very
damp flesh. Seeing the light shining through the front window filled her with dismay. Maybe he’d left it on as a courtesy.
Please don’t still be waiting up
. She absolutely could not face him tonight. Even without watching a dirty movie, she could barely keep her hands off him, but after what she’d just seen…

She tiptoed up to the porch, slipped off her sandals, and let herself in as silently as the squeaky screen door and wobbly doorknob would allow.

“Hey.”

She gasped and dropped her sandals. “Don’t scare me like that!” “Sorry.” He lay sprawled on the couch, a sheaf of papers in one hand. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a pair of faded black athletic shorts. His feet were bare, his ankles crossed on the arm of the couch, where light from the floor lamp turned the hair on his calves golden. Her eyes returned to the gym shorts. After what she’d seen on the screen, he was criminally overdressed.

As she tried to get her breath back, he lifted his head and shoulders, which,
of course,
contracted his abs into the gold standard of six-packs. “Why’s your face so red?” he said.

“S-sunburn.” She knew how vulnerable she was, and she should have thrown herself in the lake to cool off before she came back here.

“That’s not sunburn.” He swung his feet to the floor, and she noticed his hair was damp. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” She began inching away. It meant taking the long route around, but she wasn’t turning her back on him. “You took another shower.”

“So?”

“You showered after you swam. What are you, some kind of clean freak?”

“Ron and I went for a run after dinner. Why do you care?”

Oh, God, that chest, that mouth …those green eyes that saw everything. Except her naked. They’d never seen that. “I’m…going to bed now.”

“Was it something I said?”

“Don’t be cute. Please.”

“I’ll do my best.” He gave her a crooked smile. “But me being me…”

“Stop it!” She didn’t intend to quit moving, but her feet went on some kind of labor strike.

“You need warm milk or something?”

“No, I definitely don’t need anything hot.”

“I said warm. I didn’t say anything about hot.” He set down his papers.

“I—I know that.”

She might be standing still, but he wasn’t, and he took in her damp, rumpled dress as he approached. “What’s going on?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth. It brought to mind all the mouths she’d seen on that small television screen so recently and exactly what they’d been doing. Damn Krystal and her movie. “I’m just tired,” she managed.

“You don’t look tired. Your lips are sort of puffy, like you’ve been chewing on them, and you’re breathing hard. Frankly, you look turned on. Or is that my one-track mind taking over again?”

“Let it go, okay?” He had a small scar on one rib, probably a knife wound from a spurned girlfriend.

“What the hell did you women do tonight?”

“It wasn’t my idea!” She sounded guilty, and her flush deepened.

“I’ll find out. One of the guys will tell me, so you might as well fill me in now.”

“I don’t think the men will be talking about this. Or maybe they will. I don’t know. I have no idea how much you men talk.”

“Not as much as you women do, that’s for damn sure.” He inclined his head toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink? There’s a bottle of wine in the refrigerator.”

“Oh, yeah …Wine’s exactly what I
don’t
need right now.”

“A mystery just waiting to be solved…” He’d clearly begun to enjoy himself.

“Leave it alone, will you?”

“Exactly what a nice guy would do.” He leaned down and picked up his cell. “Janine’ll tell me what happened. She seems like an up-front lady.”

“She’s at the B&B. She doesn’t have a phone in her room.”

“Right. I’ll ask Krystal. I talked to Webster not half an hour ago.”

Annabelle had a pretty good idea what Krystal and Webster were doing about now, and they wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted. “It’s midnight.”

“Your powwow just broke up. She won’t have gone to bed yet.”

Don’t bet on it.

He rubbed his thumb over the number pad. “I’ve always liked Krystal. She’s straightforward.” He pressed the first button.

Annabelle sucked in air. “We watched porn, okay?”

He grinned and tossed the phone down. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t my idea. And it’s not funny. Besides, it wasn’t really porn. It was erotica. For women.”

“There’s a difference?”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d expect a man to say. Do you think most of us get off watching a bunch of women with collagen lips and soccer-ball implants go at each other?”

“From your expression, I’m guessing not.”

She needed something cold to drink, and she headed for the kitchen, still talking because she had a point to make. “Like seduction. Does your average porn film even think about showing a little seduction?”

He followed her. “To be fair, there’s not usually much need. The women are pretty aggressive.”

“Exactly. Well, I’m not.” As soon as the words were out, she could have kicked herself. The last thing she’d wanted to do was bring the subject back to the personal.

He didn’t pounce on her misstep, not the wily Python. He liked to play with his prey before he struck. “So did the film have a plot?”

“Rural New England, virginal artist, studly stranger, ’nuff said.” She pulled open the refrigerator door and stared inside without seeing a thing.

“Only two people. That’s disappointing.”

“There were a couple of subplots.”

“Ah.”

She turned on him, her damp palm still curled around the refrigerator door handle. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’m ashamed of myself.”

She wanted to smell him. His hair was nearly dry, his skin freshly showered. She wanted to press her face against his chest and inhale, to burrow in, maybe find an errant tuft of silky hair and let it tickle her nose. She nearly whimpered. “Please go away.”

He cocked his head. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

She grabbed the first cold thing she touched and pushed the door shut. “You know the way I feel about this. About…us.”

“You were pretty clear last night.”

“I’m right, too.”

“I know you are.”

“So why did you argue with me?”

“Jerk syndrome. I can’t help it. I’m a guy.” His lips curved in a lazy smile. “And you’re not.”

Enough bolts of sexual electricity charged the air to light up the planet. He stood between her and the bedroom, and if she passed too close, she’d be tempted to lick, so she headed for the porch and nearly stumbled over the mattress he’d dragged out there last night. He’d tidied the sheets, stacked the pillows, and folded the blanket in half, doing a better job of it than she’d done with the double bed.

He ambled out. “Do you want a sandwich with that?”

She couldn’t figure out what he was talking about until she followed his gaze to her hand and saw a jar of French’s mustard there instead of a can of Coke. She’d stared at it. “Mustard happens to be a natural sleep aid.”

“Never heard that.”

“You don’t know everything do you?”

“Apparently not.” A few beats of silence ticked by. “Do you eat it or apply it?”

“I’m going to bed.”

“Because if you apply it …I could probably help with that.”

Her redhead’s temper ignited, and she slammed the jar down on the farmhouse table. “Why don’t I just hand you my panties and be done with it?”

“That’ll work.” His teeth glinted like a shark’s. “So if I kiss you right now, will you turn into a big sissy again?”

Her anger faded, leaving trepidation in its wake. “I don’t know.”

“I’ve got a good-size ego—you know that. But the way you rejected me last night still bordered on the traumatic.” He slipped a thumb into the top of his shorts, causing the elastic waistband to dip in a deep, mouthwatering
V
. “Now I’m wondering, what if I’ve lost my touch? What do I do then?” He moved his thumb closer to the blade of his hip bone, revealing even more skin. “You can see why I’m a little concerned.”

As she gazed at the wedge of taut abdomen, she had to fight the urge to roll the cold mustard jar over her forehead. “Uh…I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over it.” Summoning her last ounce of willpower, she began to slide past him, and she might have made it if he hadn’t reached out and touched her arm. It was the merest brush of his finger—a simple parting gesture—but he’d found bare skin, and that was enough to make her stop in her tracks.

He went as still as she. As he gazed down at her, his green eyes were an invitation to disaster overlaid with faint apology. “Damn it,” he whispered. “Sometimes I’m too much of a smart-ass for my own good.”

He pulled her against him, feasted on her mouth, ran his hands down the contours of her back. And she let him, just as she had last night, ignoring the fact that this was the Super Bowl of bad ideas, ignoring all the reasons why she shouldn’t live every moment of this one night and deal with the consequences tomorrow.

“No patience.” His dusky murmur fell like a caress over her cheek as he lowered the zipper on her dress in one effortless motion.

“This is going to ruin everything,” she whispered against his mouth, needing to say the words even though she didn’t do one thing to stop him.

“Let’s do it anyway,” he said in a husky rasp. “We’ll sort it out afterward.”

Exactly what she wanted to hear. She lost herself in their kiss—limp, spellbound, stupid …a little bit in love.

Moments later, her dress lay in a puddle around her feet along with her bra, a pair of panties, and everything he’d been wearing—one pair of black athletic shorts. They were on the porch, but it was dark, the trees thick, and who cared? He gazed down at her breasts, not touching them, simply looking. With one hand he cupped her shoulder. With the other, he ran the tips of his fingers down her spine and dabbled with her coccyx. She shivered and pressed her cheek to his chest, then turned her lips against his skin only to have him spring back and catch his breath in a long hiss.

“Do
not
move.”

He broke away and dashed toward the kitchen, giving her an all-too-brief glimpse of a spectacularly tight male butt. It flashed through her mind that he might be retrieving his cell so he could multitask, but he turned off the overhead fixture in the kitchen, leaving only the stove light on, then disappeared into the living area and shut off more lights. Moments later he reappeared. The dim golden light from the kitchen played along his long-muscled body as he came toward her. He was fully erect. When he reached her side, he held up a trio of condoms and said softly, “Consider these a token of my affection.”

“Noted and appreciated,” she replied, just as softly.

He pressed her onto the mattress. She remembered how goal driven he was and realized that Girls Night at the Movies might have raised her expectations for lingering foreplay too high. Sure enough, in much too short a time he rolled above her, his mouth at her breast. She sank her fingers into his hair. “You’re going to rush me, aren’t you?”

“No doubt about it.” He slipped his hand to her belly, already zeroing in on command central.

“I want more kissing.”

“No problem.” He took her nipple between his lips.

She sucked in her breath. “On the mouth.”

He teased the tiny, turgid nub, his breath growing shallow. “Let’s negotiate.”

She dug her fingers into his back, which was already damp from whatever small amount of restraint he might be practicing. Her thighs automatically parted. “I should have expected this.”

He trailed his thumb over the thatch of curly hair at the base of her stomach and played in the fiery threads. “I’ll go too fast for you. That’s a given, and I apologize in advance.” She gave a soft gasp of pleasure when he touched warm, wet flesh. “But it’s been a long time for me, and what might, in reality, only take minutes—”

“If that.” Her toes curled.

“—will seem like years to me.” His voice grew ragged. “So here’s what I’m going to suggest.” She gripped his hips as he played with her. “Let’s accept the fact that I can’t satisfy you the first time. That takes the pressure off both of us.”

She bent her knees and said, in a strangled gasp, “Off you, anyway.”

“But once I’ve released that first burst of …steam…”—he sucked in his breath, his words coming fast and choppy—“I’ll have all the time in the world”—her head thrashed as his wily fingers teased her in the most intimate way—“to do the job right.” He nudged her thighs wider. “And you, Tinker Bell…” She took his weight. “You’ll have a night you’ll never forget.”

He entered her with a groan, and even though she was slick and oh-so-ready, it wasn’t an easy fit. She drew up her knees and arched her back. He closed his mouth over hers, took her hips in his palms, and tilted her to the angle they both wanted.

Feverish, demented images shimmered behind her eyelids. The long, thick body of a python pushing into her, uncoiling…stretching …going deeper…deeper still. His back grew rigid beneath her palms. The sweet attack …The plunge. Again and again. And then the final climb. He began to shudder. She swallowed his low, guttural moan. Light shimmered behind her eyes. She took his weight, threw back her head, and gave herself up.

Long minutes passed. He brushed his lips against her temple, then rolled to his side, barely staying on the narrow mattress. She slid over to give him room. They readjusted. He drew her against his damp skin and began playing with her hair. She was dazed, surfeited, determined not to think. Not yet.

“It…it didn’t happen for me,” she said.

He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed into her lying eyes. “I hate to say this, but I told you so.”