Authors: Robin Kaye
“What are you willing to trade me for it?”
She sat, the sheets pooled at her waist, and heat spread from her belly to between her legs. She was sure if he kept looking at her like that, she’d spontaneously combust. “What do you want?”
“You and me in bed for the rest of the weekend.”
“But then who’s gonna get the coffee?”
He set their coffees down on the bedside table and took the top off hers. The scent of vanilla and coffee wafted over and mixed with the scent that was intrinsically Fisher. Talk about an eye-opening combination. “Have I ever let you down before?” He kissed her shoulder before nuzzling her neck.
Had he? “No.” He was perfect, and that alone was enough to scare the crap out of her.
He nipped her earlobe, and sparks of need shot through her.
Jessie’s heart pounded as she slid the first button of his shirt through the hole.
“So, is it a deal?”
“Fisher, right now, I’m more interested in getting you naked and inside me than in coffee.”
“What do you want, Jessica?”
“I want you to love me.”
“I do love you. I’ll love you forever.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I meant it in the physical sense.” Or at least she thought she had.
“Unfortunately, you don’t get to pick who I love.” He pressed his forehead to hers and looked like he was in pain. “And neither do I.”
She kissed him to shut him up and ripped his clothes off. She wanted to avoid the “I love you” subject, and sex with Fisher was a great distraction. Too bad there wasn’t a shot that kept you from falling in love like the Depo-Provera shot to keep from getting pregnant, and she didn’t think the withdrawal method was very reliable either. Abstinence, of course, was foolproof. But Fisher was addicting, and like an addiction, withdrawal would be painful.
Fisher kept her in bed most of the day, but by late afternoon, he dragged her into the shower. “I have a surprise for you. Unfortunately, it requires us to dress.”
“What are we doing?” She soaped his chest, running her hands over his abs and other interesting things.
He pulled her hands away from her favorite plaything, held them behind her back, and nipped her lips. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it?”
He made quick work of their shower, much to her dismay, and chased her out of the bedroom as soon as she threw on clothes. When he came out a few minutes later, wearing a tailored suit and tie, he looked like he just stepped off a Hugo Boss billboard. “You look amazing.”
He smiled and that damn dimple winked, and her knees went weak. Sheesh, this guy was lethal.
“Where are we going again?”
“I’m not telling.”
“Then how am I supposed to know what to wear?”
He took her by the hand and pulled her toward the front door. “I don’t suppose you have a little black dress?”
“Nothing so boring. I do have a little red dress though.”
“Sounds perfect. Come on.”
She pulled out her keys. “Do you want to drive?”
“That was the plan.” He tugged her toward the street.
But my car is in the driveway. “Yeah, but mine’s right here.” He pointed to a silver BMW Roadster parked on the street that she’d never seen before.
“Oh.” He opened the door and handed her in. “I didn’t think you’d want to take the truck. We’d get some funny looks, especially since I have yet to clean off the upholstery.”
He was just full of surprises.
Fisher roamed Andrew’s house while Jessica changed. Pictures decorated the walls. “Does Andrew spend a lot of time here?” he called back to her.
“Whenever he can. He likes getting away from LA.”
She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, as he stared at the mantel showing the history of Andrew and Jessica—the two of them with their arms around each other in caps and gowns. He pointed to a photo of Andrew and Jessica dressed to the nines. She rested her chin on his shoulder. “That was at the Emmys last year. His show didn’t win.”
“Too bad.” She smelled really good, not that she didn’t always, but she must have put on perfume, because it wasn’t her normal scent. Blueberries and vanilla—she smelled edible. “Where was this?” He picked up a picture of Jessica on the pitcher’s mound, winding up.
She giggled. “I didn’t know he had that.” A smile threatened to cut her face in half. “That’s me in New Jersey. I was asked to throw the first pitch of the season. I smoked it. It was just a minor league game, but Andrew came out for it. It was a good time.”
“And this?” Jessica in a bikini with Andrew’s arm around her. “Oahu, I was covering the Vans Triple Crown of Surfing. We turned it into a vacation last year. That’s the last time I saw him.”
Fisher put the picture back. “I thought you said you were friends.”
“We are.”
He turned around with a “get real” look on his face—until he saw her—it quickly turned into a “holy shit” look. She couldn’t have been in the bedroom for more than five minutes, and she came out looking like a supermodel. The dress was hot, red, barely there, and looked like a silk tube had been shrink-wrapped on her incredible body, which wasn’t a bad thing. Fisher just wasn’t so sure he wanted any other man to look at her while she was wearing it. He let out a wolf whistle. “Wow. You’re beautiful.” His gaze went from her simple updo that made him want to pull out all the pins and run his hands through her hair, to the dress—what there was of it, down her long, long, long legs to her bare feet. “Where are your shoes?”
She held out a pair of red stilettos and put a hand to her stomach.
“Do you need help putting them on?”
“No, but they’re four-inch heels.”
“I see that.”
“I could wear my black flats.”
“Are those uncomfortable or something?”
She shook her head.
“Are you going to fall on your face if you wear them?”
She laughed. “No, but I’ll be about an inch taller than you.”
“Is that a problem for you?”
“No.”
“Then put them on, and let’s go.”
***
Hours later, as Fisher swayed with Jessica on the dance floor to soft, sexy jazz, he figured he scored a touchdown in the game of romance. He’d surprised her all right. Taking her to Chandler’s Steak House, the best, most romantic restaurant in Boise, was a brilliant play, if he did say so himself.
“Fisher?” Jess was barefooted and wrapped around him, her head on his shoulder, her body pressed against him.
“Hmm?”
“Take me home.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” The whole way home, all he could think of was how he’d manage getting her out of that damn dress without ripping it.
***
Jessie picked up her phone and smiled when she saw Andrew’s name. “Andrew, how’s it going?”
“Hey, I got a call from my neighbor worried that you’ve disappeared. Is everything okay? You didn’t kill Fisher or anything, did you?”
“No, I didn’t kill him, and yes, everything is fine. Why?”
“You haven’t been home in two weeks. I guess your little dating deal is still going on, huh?”
“Yeah, it is. I keep trying to go home, but whenever I do, something comes up.”
Andrew laughed uproariously.
“Andrew James Monahan, you have a dirty mind.”
“Dirty, but accurate. Jessie, face it, you wouldn’t be staying there if you didn’t like that thing that keeps coming up.”
Jessie rolled her eyes and wished they were Skyping, so Andrew would see it, but then, it would have been offset by the redness in her cheeks. “I was all set to leave on Monday after I went for a run with Fisher, but by the time I got showered and changed, Karma called with a fashion emergency, so Fisher’s sister-in-law Toni, Karma, and I had to shop.”
“Spare me the details, please. It’s bad enough I write about this stuff, I don’t want to listen to it too.”
“I got an outfit for my interview, so it was productive. By the time we got back, Fisher, Hunter, and Trapper were cooking dinner.”
“Sure, okay.”
“Then Tuesday, Kate came over with mums and needed help planting them.”
“Did you tell whoever Kate is that whenever you buy a plant, it’s dead within a month?”
“Yes, I warned her, but the Kincaids aren’t much for listening—at least not to me—they’re more the steamrolling kind.”
“Wow, and you allowed yourself to be swayed?”
“No, but—”
“You did. Jessie, either these people are mind-benders, or you’re losing your touch.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of what I’m afraid of. Then Wednesday, Grampa Joe came over for our weekly greasefest. I swear, if Kate finds out what he does when we’re together, she’s going to kill us both. But Gramps said he’d die happy.”
“You call him Gramps?”
“Well, Mr. Walsh seems a little formal when you’re fighting over steak fingers and sucking down chocolate shakes.”
“
The
Joe Walsh? Jessie, do you have any idea who Joe Walsh is?”
“Yeah, he’s Fisher’s grandfather, kinda sorta. Anyway, Kate has him on a strict diet, so he comes to me to cheat.”
“Joe Walsh is like the seventh richest man in the country. He’s on the Forbes list.”
“He’s a sly old man, but you can’t help but love him. And Wednesday night, I played on the Humpin’ Hannah’s softball team again. And then, we all went to the bar—”
“How’s the book coming?”
“Great. It’s practically writing itself. I’m in the calm before the storm stage.”
“Sounds like it. So how’s Fisher feel about you coming out for an interview?”
“Fine, I guess. We haven’t talked much about it.”
“Or me, obviously.”
“No, I talk about you. I had to go home to get dressed up, and he saw all the pictures—I never even noticed them before.”
“Yeah, sometimes for a journalist, you’re pretty myopic. Unless there’s sports involved, you’re just not very observant.”
“That’s not true.”
“What color are my eyes?”
“What does it matter?”
“I rest my case. So, you got dressed up? What’d you do?”
“He’s teaching me about romance, remember? He took me to Chandler’s.”
Andrew whistled. “It takes months to get reservations there. But then, I guess when your grandfather is Joe Walsh, you can get a table anywhere.”
“It’s not like that, Andrew. You’d never know Gramps is rich. He’s just like I always wished my grandparents were. He’s a trip, actually.”
“I see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Absolutely nothing, sugar. I’m happy for you. I really am.”
“Happy about what?”
When Andrew didn’t answer, she checked her phone to make sure she wasn’t cut off. “What is it?”
“Not for me to say, but I’d suggest having a real heart-to-heart with Fisher.”
“Oh no. He keeps telling me he loves me, and he’s making me crazy.”
“So, I guess he’s fully recovered from the concussion?”
“Oh yeah, he’s fine.”
“And he’s still in love with you?”
God, now it was her turn to not answer. It was time to leave. Things were getting entirely too cozy. Nights were spent curled up in Fisher’s arms, and well, she couldn’t really complain about that.
“I’m leaving tonight. No matter what. I have to pack.”
“Okay, sugar. Call me if you need me. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, see you.”
She ended the call. No matter what happened, she had to leave tonight. She needed to talk to Fisher. He’d been watching her all day, avoiding any mention of her trip to LA and her interview.
She stuffed her phone in her purse by the door and looked around the living room. She’d written most of her book right there in Fisher’s recliner. Her notes lay on the table beside it—a table she didn’t remember being there the first time she’d fallen asleep there writing. Fisher must have moved a table over for her. She was really gonna miss that chair—it was writing nirvana.
She straightened up her notes and put them in her messenger bag. While she was away, she’d finish her book, and try to figure out what to do about Fisher without him distracting her.
After dinner Jessie felt like the elephant in the room was sitting on her chest. She and Fisher had curled up on the couch and were watching ESPN, not that she could concentrate on the game. God, her eye was twitching, her head ached, and she wondered if she wasn’t coming down with something.
Fisher pulled her onto his lap, and she swallowed hard. “Jess, don’t go tomorrow.”
“What are you talking about?” Her stomach tied itself into knots. “I have to.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I have meetings, an interview, and Andrew’s expecting me.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” Fisher tightened his hold, trapping her against him. His mouth close to her ear, she could feel the words he said—low, smooth, determined, demanding. “Stay with me. Finish your book. Give yourself some time. Give us some time.”
Jess opened her mouth and then closed it, swallowing back her anger, and doing her best to think past the voice in her head screaming for her to run and run fast. The weight on her chest increased tenfold, and she couldn’t draw in a deep breath. She had to get up. She had to move, or she’d scream. “Let me go.”
“I don’t want to.”
“It’s not your choice, it’s mine.” She broke the bond of his arms, climbed off his lap, and went to the bedroom, tossing everything she’d brought into her bag.
“You’re leaving now?” Of course, Fisher would follow her.
“I’m flying out in the morning, and I need to go home and pack. I’m not going to my interview in jeans and a Mets T-shirt.”
“We need to talk, Jess.” He tried catching her arm as she left the bathroom, but she pulled out of his grasp.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She couldn’t think when he was touching her, not about leaving anyway. “You don’t need me here, and I have a lot to do. I’ve already stayed way too long.”
“Jess, I don’t want you to leave like this.”
“Like what?”
“In the middle of a fight.”
“Fisher, this isn’t a fight.” She stuffed her feet into her sneakers, avoiding his gaze, praying she didn’t throw up the dinner he’d fixed. “I can’t do this. Don’t you understand? This job could be the break of a lifetime. It could be even better than my work at the
Times
. And Andrew set it up. This isn’t just about you and me. It’s about Andrew too. It would make Andrew and me look bad if I suddenly canceled. I won’t do that to either of us.”