“No, I didn’t cook,” Lydia replied, giving him disbelieving look. “And you wouldn’t want me to. I ordered Chinese.”
“Oh—okay. I love Chinese food. Well, it smells good. I brought wine and a movie,” Morrie said, waving a bottle in one hand and a small box in a brown paper wrapper in the other.
Lydia narrowed her eyes. “If that’s porn you’re hiding in that bag, this date is officially over.”
Morrie laughed and handed her the bottle of wine. “Here. It’s red and the kind you like. I asked Andrea for the name of it last night at dinner.”
Lydia almost dropped the bottle. “You talked to our server about me?”
“Yes. Damn it, you caught me scheming again. I waited until you went to the restroom and asked Andrea what kind of foreplay she thought you’d like because she seemed to know everything else about you,” Morrie teased.
Lydia reached out and smacked his arm hard enough to make him yelp. “Talk nice to me or you can’t stay.”
“I will if you will,” Morrie said firmly, rubbing his arm. “Keep smacking me and I will make you watch porn. If you’re one of those women into pain, we’ll need to ask Dr. Logan to fix that. I might let you handcuff me to bed sometime, but that’s about my limit.”
“You said you wouldn’t tease me over going to therapy.” Lydia walked back to the doorway and opened the door. “Leave. I’m keeping the wine as penance for the headache you always give me.”
Morrie laughed again. Last night he’d been circumspect. They had gone back to her favorite restaurant, and he’d played the model boyfriend. Tonight he wanted to be himself.
“Okay. Truce. I’ll behave. And you’re right, I’m not supposed to tease you. I bought you a movie that will convince you we belong together.”
Lydia started to close the door, then stopped. “What’s the movie?”
“
Taming of the Shrew
,” Morrie answered. “Jane has been on me to watch that ever since I met you.”
The door swung wide open again accompanied by his laughter. Lydia felt her mouth twitching but bravely fought it. She did not want to let Morrison know he was weakening her resolve with his antics.
“Good-bye, Mr. Fox. It was so not lovely to see you,” Lydia declared dramatically, putting all the haughty into her voice she could. No movie actress could have pulled it off better.
“Okay—I lied. I watched that movie last weekend. If you let me kiss you hello, I’ll tell you the real title of the one I brought,” Morrie said, walking from the middle of her foyer back to the door. “What do you say?”
Lydia stood in her open doorway and turned her cheek to him. “Sure. Go ahead. Right here.” She pointed to her cheek.
Morrie sighed but stepped closer. “You are a hard woman.”
“I am a shrewd negotiator,” she corrected.
Morrie bent his head and put his lips to her cheek, then before she could react he scooped her close and ran his lips down her neck to her collarbone, burying his mouth on the top of her shoulder to suck lightly. If he got lucky, Lydia would have a mark tomorrow.
Morrie pulled away quickly and walked away from her while she squealed her complaints and slammed the door.
“
His Girl Friday
with Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell,” Morrie announced, turning back to Lydia with a smile as she slid the deadbolt into place with one hand, the other hand rubbing the spot he’d made.
“That’s one of my favorite movies—you conniving old goat,” Lydia said.
“It never was one of mine before, but now it reminds me of us,” Morrie said, winning a smile from her.
“I’m not surprised you think you’re Cary Grant,” Lydia said sharply.
“No, I’m definitely not Cary Grant,” Morrie said firmly. “I’m way too straight.”
“What are talking about? Cary Grant was not gay. The man was married five times,” Lydia argued. “You’re thinking of Rock Hudson. He was gay.”
“No, I’m thinking that I gave you a hicky just now,” Morrie announced. “The only sex life I really care about is ours. But this discussion is exactly why I brought this movie to you.”
Lydia put a hand over her stomach. Butterflies again. Damn the man.
“I think I’m going to pour the wine,” she said, walking to the kitchen and leaving the grinning man trailing after her. “We’ll eat in the kitchen.”
***
Later they were sitting on her sofa together with his arm draped across the back of it above Lydia’s shoulders. When the credits were running, Morrie snagged the remote from her hand and shut off the player.
“Now we need to talk,” he said. “I want to learn more about you.”
“I thought you agreed not to put pressure on me,” Lydia reminded him.
Morrie lifted one hand from his leg and the other from the back of the sofa, holding them in the air for her to see. “Do you notice me trying anything physical?”
Lydia sighed deeply. “No. I was never good at talking about personal things.”
“Let’s do it a fun way then. We’ll play ‘Truth Or Dare’ with three questions each. You have to use dare once,” Morrie said.
“How do you play that?” Lydia asked, butterflies fluttering again.
Morrie shook his head and sighed. “Didn’t you go to college?”
“Yes. An all girls’ school. Catholic based. White shirts, plaid skirts, and no boys,” Lydia reported. “Does this count as one of the questions?”
“Not even,” Morrie declared, wishing he could ask her if she still had one of her old uniforms. As nice as her body was, it would probably still fit.
Shaking away his thoughts, he gave her a firm look. “Before a question is asked, the person answering must choose to tell the truth or take a dare.”
“How will you know if I’m telling the truth?” Lydia asked.
“How will you know if I’m telling the truth?” Morrie countered.
“Oh—trust,” Lydia said, watching him touch his nose in approval of her answer.
“I want to ask a question first. So choose—truth or dare,” he ordered.
“Truth,” Lydia replied, intending to stay as far away from taking his dare as possible.
“Is it true that the only reason you call me by my given name of Morrison is that your tongue cannot pronounce ‘Morrie’?” he asked. “I can’t think of any other reason, and I hate my given name. I wish people had called me Eli, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it.”
Lydia found herself giggling. “You seriously prefer to be called ‘Morrie’?”
“Yes. Will you call me that?” he asked.
“Is that a second question—
Morrie
?” Lydia asked, smiling as he gave her a chastising look.
“Your turn,” Morrie said, moving along and ignoring her teasing, even though he smiled. “I’ll take the category of ‘truth’ for five hundred, Alex.”
Lydia laughed again. “That’s not even funny, and yet I laughed. Did you spike the wine you bought?”
“Ask your question, woman,” Morrie ordered, leaning back and getting comfortable.
Lydia looked at him sitting relaxed on her sofa waiting patiently—or somewhat patiently for her question. She had to admit his silver hair and half-closed eyes were what most women called sexy.
Did she think he was sexy?
She hadn’t really thought about such things in years. His hair was nice, she supposed. And she liked his taste in clothing, Lydia thought, studying the material of his shirt and the sheen of his slacks.
“If every question is going to take an hour to ask while you strip me naked with your eyes first, maybe I better go home instead,” Morrie said, giving her a grin that brought on a blush. “I will definitely be getting excited if you keep that blushing up.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be spending time with a woman who didn’t throw up when she kissed you?” Lydia asked, exasperated.
“No,” Morrie said flatly, backing up the one word with hard stare. “I’d rather be horizontal with a version of you that wants the same things I do. I’ll wait.”
“TMI,” Lydia said softly, trying to swallow past the golf ball sized lump in her throat.
“It’s not ‘too much information’. It’s barely any information at all. I spared you the dirty talk, sweetheart. It’s called ‘truth’ for a reason,” he said, defending himself.
“Your turn. I choose truth again,” Lydia said.
Morrie narrowed his gaze. “Has a man ever given you one of those endless climaxes that made you grateful to be cooking his breakfast the next morning?”
“I already told you I don’t cook,” Lydia informed him.
“We’re talking in theory and about
wanting
to cook as opposed to having the capacity,” Morrie said wisely. “I thought it sounded nicer than asking if you’ve ever been orgasmic at all.”
Lydia studied her hands and took a deep breath. He’d be hearing it in Regina’s office anyway. “The answer is no to both questions.”
Morrie shifted his gaze from her and looked off into space, frowning.
“Ready to leave now?” Lydia asked quietly.
Morrie moved away slightly to look more fully into her face. “No—just pissed on your behalf. If your husband was still alive, I’d go kick his cheating ass for being so selfish in bed. There is no reason a man can’t help his woman to achieve climax. There are a hundred ways. My wife and I were both fairly green when we started out in our marriage, but we were both willing to learn. We read books, watched movies, and damn well pleased ourselves within our relationship. I can’t tell you how hard it was losing a life partner like her.”
“Well you’re one up on me,” Lydia said softly. “I can’t imagine even talking to a partner about—intimacy—much less doing things to entertain—I don’t even know what I’m talking about. And I haven’t really thought about what I was missing in the bedroom since I was in my thirties.”
“Until me, you mean,” Morrie said, narrowing his eyes and daring her to put it into words again. She’d already alluded to it, but he wanted to hear an admission. “I’ve made you think about it, haven’t I?”
Lydia sighed but managed to hold his gaze. If Morrie could be honest, so could she. “This feels like a dare, but okay. I admit that knowing you has made me wonder what I’ve been missing.”
Morrie smiled, feeling the smile light his eyes with the same excitement radiating through the rest of his body. “I won’t let you down, Lydia.”
“I hear there are pills to fix that when it happens,” Lydia said, then sputtered into laughter as she covered her mouth. “Sorry. I cannot believe I just said that to you.”
“We’ll definitely call that my dare. You made my night telling a dirty joke, even if it was one at my manhood’s expense,” Morrie said. “Your turn. State your dare.”
Lydia looked at her hands again. “I was raised very strictly. I never went parking or spent any time alone with boys when I was in high school. I never really dated until I met the man I married. I dare you. . .” she paused, sucking in a breath for courage.
“Just say it,” Morrie urged. “What happens on your couch will stay on your couch. Well, except for Dr. Logan. We might tell her, but I swear—no one else.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “After your bet with Harrison, that doesn’t sound reassuring. Plus your hopes are set way too high.”
“Lydia—just make your dare,” Morrie ordered.
“Fine! I dare you to show me what you did to interest girls when you were in high school and college. Pretend you’re hoping to talk me into making out. I just want to know what it’s like to have a guy flirt with me that way,” Lydia said.
“Okay, but just know it’s the girl who always sets the limits, so you’ll have to say no really loudly when it’s time to stop,” Morrie said. “Though I confess I’m looking forward to checking out the hicky I gave you.”
“Morrison—I mean,
Morrie
—clothes are not coming off,” Lydia said through a throat dry as dust.
He sighed. “Okay. What else can’t I do?”
“No groping,” Lydia said.
“Then what am I supposed to do with my hands?” Morrie protested.
“I don’t know. You’re supposed to be the
expert
,” Lydia claimed.
“Okay—you do the groping then. That ought to keep this lesson G rated,” Morrie said, sliding next to her. He tucked her shoulder under his arm as he stretched across the back of her.
Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Morrie let his hand fall down the front until his fingers touched the top of her breast. He let his fingers graze gently as he moved only the tips back and forth.
“Feel okay?” he asked.
Her gaze was wide, but she managed to nod.
“Now put your hand somewhere on me,” he ordered.
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Knee, Lydia. Put your hand on my knee. Stop being shocked, it’s not having the effect you’re hoping for. It just winds me up tighter,” Morrie said on a laugh.
Lydia put her hand obediently on his knee. It was warm inside his slacks. When they continued to sit comfortably that way for a couple minutes, she found herself absently rubbing his leg.
“This is nice,” she admitted softly.
“I agree,” Morrie said, falling a little more in love as he looked at her bowed head. Her gaze was glued to what her hand was doing. He let his fingers trail over her shoulder and lightly down her arm. A shiver shook her and had her gaze coming alarmingly to his.