Pursued by the Playboy (4 page)

She moaned in protest, raising her hips in blind supplication.  And then his finger returned, joined by a second, while his thumb rubbed ever quickening circles over her clitoris, and sensation spiraled out of control.

She felt him withdraw for a moment, heard the tearing of a condom wrapper, and then he was back, the heat and pressure multiplied a hundred-fold, stretching her, filling her, deep, so deep, until she felt that surely she would burst.  And then a slow retreat, followed by another thrust.  She felt the pleasure expanding, gathering force, his chest pressing against hers, the course hair abrading her nipples, the weight of his body compressing her lungs until she gasped for air.  Instinctively, she lifted her pelvis as he plunged into her, meeting him thrust for thrust, urgency mounting ever higher, straining until all her muscles quivered, hovering on the precipice of something so powerful, so frightening, she whimpered.

His lips brushed against her ear, the words a dark whisper over sensitized nerves.  “Let it happen.”

She gasped as he plunged deeper, faster, his back slick with sweat.  Then suddenly it swept through her, wave upon wave of pleasure so intense she shuddered, crying out, vaguely aware of his answering groan as he jerked one final time and stilled.

Several moments passed before he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him.   Her head settled on his chest, and she listened with eyes closed to the gradual slowing of his heart.  She breathed deep, ruffling the hairs on his chest.  His lips brushed her forehead.  Gentle fingers combed lightly through the hair at the base of her neck.  She mumbled sleepily, too drained to move.

A few minutes of rest, she thought.  Then she’d gather her things, get dressed, and head home.  This late at night she’d probably have to call a taxi.  The nearest Blue Line station—from which she’d walked earlier that evening—was seven blocks away, a distance she ordinarily wouldn’t have thought twice about walking, but not alone in the dark.  Not with this delicious lassitude still weighing down her limbs and clouding her senses.  It would make her too vulnerable a target on city streets.  The bus was nearer, but again the idea of waiting outside at the stop for who knew how long didn’t appeal. 

She snuggled deeper beneath the covers Marc drew up over them.   One of these days she might have to break down and get a car, a move she’d resisted in the past because her world revolved around a few square blocks of university campus, which she felt perfectly comfortable navigating by foot.  The few excursions she took outside this narrow radius—the rare visit to her parents’ suburban home, the outings she went on with Jake—didn’t justify the expense and inconvenience of maintaining private transport in the city.  But she might have to rethink her position if her relationship with Marc continued.

She blinked in the dark.  No, not relationship.   Definitely not.  She didn’t do relationships.  And neither did he, given his track record.   She swallowed and breathed deep, tamping down a rising sense of panic.  The musk of their lovemaking lingered in the air, tantalizing her nostrils. 

Affair.  That’s what it was, what they’d agreed on.  Two consenting adults engaged in mutually satisfying sex.
  No strings, no promises. 
For all she knew, Marc could turn around tomorrow and offer to cook his pasta Carbonara
for some other woman. 

Her heart skipped a beat.  She was being foolish.  Lying here, still wrapped in Marc’s embrace, she had no reason to feel jealous of some hypothetical woman.  And it was silly to even consider changing her lifestyle to accommodate what was, after all, bound to be a self-limited liaison.

She listened to Marc’s breathing deepen into a slow hypnotic rhythm.   Her hand rested on his chest, over the strong steady beat of his heart.   Careful not to disturb him, she eased away.  Cool air hit her sensitized skin and she fumbled for her clothing, scattered haphazardly on the floor beside the bed.  Her fingers brushed Marc’s belt, lying under her discarded dress, and she froze at the soft clink, eyes flying to the bed.  But Marc’s chest continued to rise and fall steadily in sleep. 

Clothing in hand, she crept out of the bedroom.  She dressed quickly, used her cell phone to summon a taxi, and then hesitated.   Near the entrance stood a small table cluttered with the typical debris of emptied pockets—wallet, keys, coins, receipts, pens—along with a pile of unopened mail and assorted flyers advertising local businesses.  She flipped one of the flyers over and scribbled a few words on the back.  Then she tucked the note beneath Marc’s wallet and turned off the lights.

Minutes later, she slipped into the taxi that drew up outside and headed back to the safety of her campus apartment.

Thanks for a lovely evening.

No salutation or signature.  Marc wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or amused by the primly worded message.  Especially since he’d awoken expecting to feel Kate’s delectably curved body snuggled against his, had actually anticipated another stimulating round of lovemaking this morning before heading off to work.

Instead, he was greeted by cool sheets and an even cooler note.

He considered calling or texting her, but decided it wouldn’t do to appear too needy.  It was barely five in the morning, and he wasn’t due in the OR until seven. 

He took his time showering, dressing, eating breakfast.  He even stopped to clean up the debris of last night’s dinner, stacking the plates and cutlery in the dishwasher, dumping the used coffee grounds from the brushed steel
Rancilio Silvia
espresso machine
, rinsing out and carefully drying the porta-filter.   His clean
ing lady
would empty the garbage when she came later that day.

In the ten minutes it took to drive to the hospital, he thought up and discarded a half dozen ways of skirting around the barriers that Kate was still clearly determined to erect.  He didn’t even question why he was so set on pursuing her, as prickly and self-contained as she appeared.  Except that the sex was phenomenal.  And the lively intelligence that shone from her eyes and the passion with which she embraced her career was invigorating.  Here was a woman who said what she thought, and took the time and effort to actually reflect on issues that transcended the superficial.   She was ambitious, yes, but only for what she herself could achieve.  Not grasping or avaricious, not interested in him for the money he had or the social cachet he could provide.

After years of drifting in and out of casual connections with women whose main attraction was skin-deep and as satisfying as the froth of a poorly-made cappuccino, he felt an exhilarating sense of anticipation, as if he were on the verge of discovering a completely new species of female. 

Kate was nothing like the women he was used to—his family members excluded.  The animation of her face, the expressions that flitted across her features while they’d talked over lunch and then dinner, were vibrant, full of life.  Nothing like the over-painted vapid creatures of his past, every wrinkle Botoxed or Restylaned out of existence, every imperfection lipo-suctioned, every curve surgically enhanced to defy gravity. 

Something simple, but unexpected,
he thought: 
that would work.  A picnic at
Fairmount
Park
?  A leisurely ramble through the Italian Market with a stop for cannolis and coffee?   Or maybe an afternoon at Penn’s Landing.  Wasn’t there a music festival scheduled there this weekend? 

And an early night of course, back at his place, or hers if she preferred.  He was curious to see where she lived, and what new facets of her personality would be revealed by her home environment.  He’d call her this afternoon to make plans for the weekend. 

Pulling in to his parking space, he whistled jauntily as he locked up and headed for the hospital elevators. 

###

She turned out a lot more difficult to pin down than anticipated.

First there was journal club, at which she was presenting th
at evening.  Then there was her
Saturday morning brunch with Jake, which apparently was a standing tradition that had started
every other week
with his parents and then continued
even
after the elder Steins had moved
south
.  Then she claimed to have a manuscript submission deadline, and as the junior researcher on the project she couldn’t very well pawn off the final revisions of the paper on her co-authors, could she?

They finally agreed to get together Sunday evening for dinner at an intimate hole-in-the-wall restaurant around the corner from her apartment.
True to form, she resisted anything that smacked of traditional dating.  “I’ll meet you there,”
she told him.  “Seven o’clock.”

Her brisk tone notwithstanding, he felt he’d just won a small victory.  “Seven,” he confirmed, before hanging up softly.

When she arrived, a few minutes past the appointed time, he was already waiting at the bar, wondering whether she’d decided to no-show after all.  And then she was there, slim silhouette encased in a dark blue sheathe dress that skimmed her legs and accentuated the color of her eyes.  Dangling silver earrings caught the light and drew attention to her long neck.  He rose to greet her with a sense of relief completely out of proportion to the occasion.  

“It’s my first time here,” she said after they were seated.  “Even though I’ve lived in the neighborhood forever.”

“Forever bei
ng—what, twelve years?”

“Minus two years out at
Berkeley
,” she said.

“And how was that?”

She shrugged.  “No snow, but plenty of fog
every morning
.  The rest—same as here.  Lots of work to keep me busy.”

“Meaning you didn’t experience much of the local culture because you were working?”

She bristled at the implied criticism.  “
I didn’t say I work
ed
all the time.” 

“
Ok, I’ll bite.  What
d
id
you do
in your spare time
?”

She
carefully
adjusted the napkin on her lap.
  “I ran.  The Fire Trail, mostly.  Sometimes up to
Panoramic Way
.  From the top you could see all of
Oakland
,
Berkeley
, and
San Francisco
spread out in the distance.  Pretty amazing views.”

“Sounds like it.  You still run?”

“In the mornings, a few times a week.  Down to
Jefferson
, or if I have time, to Penn’s Landing, and back.  How about you?”

He grinned ruefully.  “Knees aren’t what they used to be.  Tore my ACL a while back, skiing.   Now I mostly bike and swim.  But I could probably keep up.”

Her eyes slid over his broad shoulders and chest.  The black crew-cut shirt and matching lightweight jacket did nothing to disguise the strength and sheer sexuality of his body.    What the table hid from view, her memory supplied:  erotic images of chiseled abdomen, powerful thighs, tightly muscled male buttocks flexing beneath her hands and she urged him deeper into her body.  Her gaze met his and she gulped at the raw heat reflected there.  She broke eye contact and took a hasty sip of water. 

Their waiter arrived just then, providing a welcome interruption as he recited the evening’s specials and took their orders.  He returned briefly to pour their wine, then again withdrew.  Marc picked up the thread their earlier conversation.  “What else did you do at
Berkeley
?”

“I was twenty-three, twenty-four, fresh out of grad school.  On my own in the most pinko-liberal college town this side of
Amsterdam
.  What do you think I did?”

“I don’t know,” he said, deadpan.  “Work?”

She laughed.  “Fine, I confess.  Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll are highly overrated.”

He ran a light finger over the back over her hand, lingering at the vee where her thumb met her palm.  His voice wrapped around her like a warm caress.  “Surely not sex?”

She shivered and withdrew her hand.  “What about you?  How do you spend your
time when you’re not working?”

His wolfish grin sent a wave of heat through her belly and stained her cheeks pink.  His words, by contrast, were mild.  “Let’s see.  We’ve already covered sports—of various descriptions.  Then there’s family.   We get together fairly regularly
for holidays and birthdays and whatever the latest excuse for celebration Sophia can come up with.  There are lots of us—a whole extended brood of aunts and uncles and cousins, all living in and around the city.  Dad and Sophia host most of the time.  The old family compound sits on a few acres in
Wayne
, so there’s space for all of us without feeling cramped.  When we were growing up
,
they used to keep stables.  Izzy even competed at dressage for a few years at the Devon Horse Show.  None of us has time for it any more, except for the purely perfunctory once-a-year check writing.”  At Kate’s questioning glance, he explained, “The show is probably the biggest fundraiser for
Bryn
Mawr
Hospital
, where D
ad still sits on the board.  But it was also a lot of fun when we were kids, hanging out at the fair, eating hot dogs and Italian ices and home-made fudge until we were sick to our stomachs, riding the merry-go-round, getting underfoot at the stables.”