“Excuse me?”
“You could sell blubber to whales, Kara,” Baylor repeated.
“Just doing my job.” She shrugged.
“Something’s different about you,” he said. “Your hair?”
“Maybe.” She’d worn it down every day lately, since she’d noticed that the braid pulled at her scalp. Besides, she liked to run her fingers through her hair, imagining it falling over Ross’s face and chest while she rocked on top of him.
Last week she’d been Ross’s all-over massage therapist after he suffered some sore muscles skateboarding with the kids at the Boys and Girls Club. She’d worn the edible panties, which he’d made short work of—strawberry was his favorite flavor—then he’d taken his time using the vibrator, proving that gadgets had their place in sexual fun. The memory made her shiver. They’d used copious amounts of almond oil, slithering over each other like seals. This week was Ross’s turn.
“Your eyes are different, too,” Baylor continued. “I never noticed how blue they are.”
His wistful tone snapped her to attention. Oh, my God. He was flirting with her. He’d never given her more than a passing glance before. “Maybe I’m a little different.” The new erotic light in her eyes must have snagged his attention.
“I don’t know how I missed so much.” He held her gaze with warm brown eyes. Baylor Jones was a perfect date prospect, now that she thought about it. Lunch had gone long because they’d strayed easily onto other topics, weaving between work and personal lives in a way that told her they had tons in common. He was smart, funny, ambitious and quite attractive. She’d bet he was decent in bed, too.
“Are you free Saturday night?” Baylor asked.
“Huh?” She set her iced tea glass down on the table with a clunk. He’d asked her out. Just like that. This was what she was working for with Ross, wasn’t it? To gain the ability to go out with a guy, sleep with him even, without automatically picturing their initials together on hand towels?
She could test her abilities with Baylor Jones. Saturday night, as a matter of fact.
This
Saturday night.
“I’m asking you on a date,” he said, looking amused by her bewildered expression. “Dinner, maybe dancing?”
“Oh, I see. Of course. I knew that.” But what about her fantasy date with Ross? He would understand if she canceled, of course. They’d agreed their fantasies wouldn’t interfere with real dates. And he’d gone out with that woman from LG Graphics, after all, though that had been a couple weeks back. Ross would be happy for her. Might even want to give her pointers.
She was all set to say yes, even moving her head in an up-and-down direction, when Baylor said, “But you’re seeing someone else right now.”
She gulped. “I…what? I…um, uh, what makes you think…?”
“It’s all over your face,” he said with a rueful smile. “You’d like to go out with me, but there’s something in the way. Some
one,
I should say.”
She sat there with her mouth half-open and finally, miserably, admitted the truth. “There shouldn’t be, but there kind of is someone. I’m sorry. Truly.”
Baylor sighed, then winked. “Well, let me know when the horizon clears. I’ll be around.” He had such a nice smile—even when he was being disappointed.
What was the matter with her? Here was her chance at a sensible relationship that she wouldn’t rush to make into something bigger than it should be and she’d turned it down.
For a fantasy.
Was she getting carried away? Making more of the thing with Ross than there was? They had boundaries, right, as Tina had reminded her. She ran through the ground rules in her mind.
Friendship first
…so far, so good on that one.
If it feels weird, we quit
…far from feeling weird, it felt fabulous.
If we’re sexually incompatible we quit
…no problem with
that
one.
Stay focused on the goal
…teaching her to have fun with sex. They’d done that…in spades.
It can’t interfere with dating other people
…bzzt! She’d blown that rule today.
Be honest
…uh-oh. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit they’d reached their goal and it was probably time to quit. Especially now that she’d turned down a real date with a good prospect. A bad sign. She’d have to talk to Ross. After Saturday night. No point in ruining his plans, right? And maybe they’d come up with a new ground rule to fix the problem.
She heard a car and saw his Volvo roll slowly to a stop right on time. After a few moments, he knocked at her door. She made him wait for a minute’s worth of heartbeats before answering—so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea about her.
“You ready?” he asked when she opened the door.
“Do I look ready?” She stood on tiptoe, jutting out her breasts, as if to let him better determine the appropriateness of her attire, but really to tantalize him with the innocently sexy tank top she’d chosen to drive him wild.
“You’ll need a T-shirt over that,” he said. “Even with sunscreen, the glare off the water gives a killer burn.”
T-shirt, my ass.
Fuming, she stalked into her bedroom for the tightest one she could find.
“Don’t forget a swimsuit,” he called to her.
Oh, yeah. She had a perfectly scandalous one that would definitely tempt him.
In a few moments, she was ready and they set off. Tom drove silently, just smiling at her now and then. Uncomfortable in the quiet, she started talking. “Is it hard to sail?”
“Hard enough.”
“I’ve seen those sailing races on ESPN and some movies—that one about a catamaran, a while back, and then there’s
The Perfect Storm.
Of course, that wasn’t a sailboat. Oh, and that one about prep school kids. I’ve never been on a sailboat really. We used to go water-skiing with some friends. I liked that. It took me a lot of tries to get the single ski thing down. Seems like motorboats are less hassle than sailboats.”
“Why do you do that?” he said, glancing at her.
“Do what?”
“Talk about stuff you don’t even care about? Silence is fine.”
“Excuse me?” She felt slapped and sat up straight, her face hot. “Look, I never pretended to be a quiet little mouse.”
“You don’t have to be quiet. Just don’t work so hard. You’re fine the way you are.”
“Whatever.” She wanted to argue with him, but he must be trying to be nice in his own way, so she watched the desert skim by the window for a while.
“My father taught me to sail,” Tom said after a bit.
“Really? That’s nice.” Her father had taught her to stay clear of him if she wanted to feel good about herself and life in general. “You got along well with your dad growing up?”
“Oh, yeah. Still do.” As if everybody did. “How about you?”
“Not exactly.”
“What happened?”
“My father was a moody tyrant. I spent a lot of time on tiptoe around him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No biggie.” She shrugged it off like always. Why complain?
“But it is big when your parents are troubled,” Tom said. He turned his face to her. “It must have been hard for you, and sad.”
Exactly. He nailed it. And so simply and kindly. She felt validated. Understood. Cared for. A shiver of feeling went through her. Tom Sands was a good man with a big heart. Maybe too good a man and too big a heart for her, a thought that sent an ache straight to her soul.
“I probably take my family for granted,” Tom continued. “Like fresh air and good food, you just assume it will always be there. I’m a lucky man.”
The conversation flowed easily from there. Tom told her about his sister and her husband, who lived in Canada, and his parents and their
Leave it to Beaver
devotion to each other and their kids. If Tom wasn’t such an open and honest guy, she would have thought he was making it up.
She answered his questions about her own family, explaining the way her mother catered to her father’s temper, and how she’d survived by being funny and lively and never letting her father get her down.
She finished just as they pulled into the Lake Pleasant Marina entrance. Tom braked to wait for the van ahead of them to pay the fee, then leaned over and patted her thigh. “Thanks,” he said.
“For what?”
“For telling me why.” He smiled at her and his eyes were warm and accepting and she felt good. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her feel just plain good, not horny or challenged, or edgy or hot. Just good.
The feeling stayed with her while she helped him stow the picnic supplies in the small cabin of his boat, arrange the ropes and sails, and motor out of the parking space—a “slip,” he called it.
It took Tom forever to get the ropes and sails the way he wanted, and he was right about the sun being relentless, but eventually they were moving across the lake under sail.
“This is nice,” she said.
“Huh?” He turned to her, as if called from far away. “Sorry. I get caught up in it all. Sailing’s a great escape.”
In a few minutes, she understood what he meant and didn’t even mind being ignored. The wind seemed to just shove the boat forward with an invisible hand. The gusts were sometimes so big in the sail that the boat tipped partway onto its side, scaring her. But Tom would yank on a rope, crank a handle and shift the wooden tiller until they evened out and skimmed even more swiftly across the water.
She found herself laughing at the feeling, so free and wild yet safe and under control, too. Like nature’s own carnival ride.
They scooted over the lake in a zigzag pattern, “tacking,” Tom called it, making the boom and big sail flop from one side to the other of the boat to change directions. His serene competence gave her a terrific sexual charge. He let her steer a little, guiding her hand, sitting near enough that she could smell the spicy soap he used and feel his breath on her skin.
When the wind died, they made their way to a cove where Tom dropped an anchor and announced they were going swimming.
“Swimming?” When she’d brought her suit, she hadn’t considered getting it
wet.
“The water’s cold. It’s only April.”
“It’s brisk, but come on. It’ll perk you up.” He pulled off his T-shirt, revealing a chest that perked her up plenty.
She figured her bikini would do the same for him, so she changed into it. Easing up the short ladder, she waited for Tom’s reaction to the two strips of fabric that had made more than one man slur his words. He glanced at her, frowned, then reached into a compartment on deck for a bottle of sunscreen. “You need this,” he said.
Undismayed, she said innocently, “You do my back, okay?”
After a few seconds’ hesitation and a hard swallow, he took the bottle. She turned so he could rub the warm liquid across her shoulder blades, slow and strong. She closed her eyes just thinking about those hands all over her.
“Got it,” he said, low, sounding as affected as she was by the sensuality of the moment. She turned so he could do her front. Maybe they’d skip the swimming altogether. He gave her body a gratifying once-over, then he blushed and thrust the sunscreen into her hand. “You finish up.”
She smiled and began putting on the lotion—slowly and in his line of sight. He was so
restrained.
That made him practically irresistible. She looked up to see the effect she was having on him just in time to see him jackknife gracefully into the lake. He broke the surface and waved her in.
Damn. She’d have to get wet. She daintily descended the ladder at the back of the boat, dipped a toe into the water and gasped. Cold enough to chill a martini.
“Come on. Don’t be a wimp,” he teased.
That irked her, so she twisted and dove straight under.
When she came up, holding in her squeal of reaction, he was watching her, looking at her funny.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
“Nothing. You’re beautiful, that’s all.”
“Oh. Thank you.” The compliment shot through her like fire—powerful in its simple honesty.
They swam around the boat a couple of times, and she felt his eyes on her, appreciating her but also making certain she was safe. Kind of sweet. After a bit, they climbed back on board to eat thick ham sandwiches he’d made himself, chips and beer. The swimming had famished her. The food tasted great.
They sailed a little more, and, as the sun began to go down, headed back to the marina. Tina watched Tom’s handsome features silhouetted by the gold and orange sunset. All afternoon she’d caught his eyes on her body. In the close quarters of the boat, she’d found ways to lean against him, slide past him, touch his arm or thigh, but he hadn’t made a move. Was he shy?
Senses heightened by hours in the sun and wind on the rocking boat looking at Tom’s nearly nude body, Tina decided it was time to find out. She tilted her mouth up and kissed him.
At first he was very, very still.
Finally, just before desperation kicked in and she gave up, he kissed her back, as smoothly as he’d handled the sailboat. His tongue didn’t push or shove, just tasted, enjoyed her, the way she’d enjoyed the sun and wind and him all afternoon.
When he pulled away, his blue eyes blazed with a deep heat. He cupped her face with both hands and kissed her once more, then pulled back and gave her a look—
there’s more where that came from
—before turning to motor them back to their slip.
This would work out just fine, she thought, aroused and pleased with herself for seizing the moment. She could hardly wait to get that big body naked and inside her. If Tom blushed over rubbing lotion around her bikini, think what he’d do when she showed him her sexual stuff. And she would show him her stuff, all right.
Two hours later, they walked up the stairs to her apartment. Tina unlocked the door and turned to kiss him, but he was standing on the first stair step, ready to leave.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “You were a great crew.”
“Don’t you want to come in? I can fix you a drink or something.”
“Not tonight. I’ve got some studying to do.”
“Studying?” She was flabbergasted. She didn’t know whether to be hurt or angry. “But I thought we would…”
“We’re getting to know each other,” he said. “There’s no rush.” He winked, then turned to take the stairs.
Tina fought the urge to stamp her feet. Of course she could chase him, kiss him senseless, but what if he resisted? She’d feel like a fool.
Forget it, she told herself, shutting the door. Any man who could spend a day with her and not jump into bed if she’d let him was no one she wanted in her life. This wasn’t 1950, for God’s sake. Men and women knew what they wanted from each other and they went for it. If Tom wanted the
Leave It To Beaver
life his parents had, he was fooling himself. That was a mirage.
But now she was horny. Or, itchy, as Kara would say. She could call one of her regular sex buddies, but the sailing and sun and swimming had worn her out, so she lay down on the sofa and turned on the comedy station.
Even before the comic appeared, her frustration faded to pleasant memories. She could still feel the water’s motion in her body, still remember Tom’s concentration as he showed her how to hold the tiller—as if everything depended on her enjoying this. One nice thing was that she hadn’t had to entertain him. Just being there had seemed to be enough for Tom.
She felt…cared for.
Forget it. June Cleaver, you are not.
She put Tom Sands out of her mind and focused on the comedian who was saying something about airline peanuts.
That had been a great kiss, though, solid and sure and full of promise. Maybe she’d give him one more chance. Just in case.