If she hadn't just glanced over to see her clothes strewn across the floor like they'd been ripped off in passion, she might not have believed last night had really happened. As it was, they reminded her of how strung out she'd felt upon finally returning home-she'd undressed hurriedly, yanked a silk night-slip from a hanger, and crawled beneath the covers without even a thought toward removing her makeup or brushing her hair. She'd just wanted to sleep and forget and put it behind her. Just then, Isadora leapt up onto the wide bed and padded toward her. "Hey, Izzy," she said, finding a small smile for the cat. Isadora wasn't the most affectionate pet in the world, so it surprised Lauren when the cat curled up beside her, snuggling into the curve of her waist. She scratched behind Izzy's ear, wondering insanely if somehow the cat had known she could use a little comfort.
She had almost betrayed herself last night with Nick Armstrong. She closed her eyes to crush back the searing memories, but they hovered in her mind as vividly as if they'd just taken place five minutes ago.
It had been mostly her fault-she knew that. Where else have you done it besides on a horse? She winced, remembering. Looking back, she could only conclude that it had been a lame, desperate attempt to see if some bizarre cosmic tie existed between them, if her fantasies were connected to him in some way. She didn't know exactly when that idea had become implanted in her head--somewhere between his story about the horse and the words trust me-but it had been the only semblance of an explanation she could muster. And if she'd actually believed in such things, he'd given her the right answer last night: the ocean.
The first time he'd kissed her, it had been like a tiny bolt of lightning injected into her veins, traveling the length of her body before she could blink. Even still, she'd remained somewhat in control, aware that a meaningless fling with a sexually intimidating guy wasn't what she wanted. Until, that is, his voice had come dark and seductive in her ear. Let me kiss you, Princess. After that, she could remember nothing but sensation, growing hotter and heavier, her body yearning for more with each kiss. each touch. She closed her hand tight around Izzy's side as she recalled the escalating heat, his tongue raking across her nipple while their eyes met, his fingers stroking her where she'd ached the most.
Stopping had been agony. But something inside her had suddenly clicked on, reminding her of everything she'd told him afterward: She couldn't have sex with a guy she didn't care about; sex was important, special. She just wasn't Carolyn, no matter how madly she'd pulsed with wanting him. Oh God ... "How am I gonna face him now, Izzy?" she whispered. "How?" The telltale sound of a ladder being leaned against the house answered, jarring her. She flinched, and Izzy fled the bed. "Deserter," Lauren called lightly.
Nick was out there again. Making her feel like a prisoner in her own home.
But it was Friday, and if she could just avoid him today, the weekend would be here, and maybe by Monday, some of the shame and horror of last night would have faded.
The thought propelled her out of bed and into the shower-where she absolutely refused to let herself think about Nick Armstrong, or his hands, or his mouth .
Dressing quickly, she headed for her office, where she gathered some files and her laptop. She was getting out of the house for the day. She had plenty of work to do, but it could just as easily be done at the Ash offices in a spare cubicle or conference room. If anyone asked, she'd claim a worker at her house was making too much noise for her to concentrate.
And if that person was Sadie-well, she'd make up something else.
She just couldn't stand to be around him right now, couldn't take a chance on seeing him. She remained angry with him for expecting her not to say no, embarrassed that she'd let things go so far ... and worst of all, she still wanted him. She still longed for him with every breath she took. There was no denying it now-just running from it. It seemed as good a defense as any.
Stopping in the kitchen just long enough to freshen Izzy's food and water, she piled her work into the car and took off, thankfully without seeing Nick.
Nick lowered himself into the easy chair in her office, the red book in one hand. Guilt remained a stinging factor--the utter wrongness of it pumped through his veins-but after last night, this seemed the only way to find out how to make himself worthy of her, to fix what he'd botched between them at the beach. Part of him couldn't believe he'd let himself come back yet again, but today, the need to redeem himself in her eyes drove him past shame.
Opening the book at random, his eyes fell on an entry written in red ink. He settled back in the chair, prepared to sink a little deeper into the princess's world.
I lie naked on white satin sheets in a brass bed in the center of an otherwise empty room. Tall, narrow windows line the walls on both sides. The windows are open, admitting a cool breeze that washes over my skin like a caress, making the sheer white curtains whip about.' Although I can see only blue sky outside, I smell the sea nearby.
As the breeze lulls me, my eyes fall shut, but as I am drifting off, I feel a tiny, almost imperceptible tickle on my stomach, like a kiss. Opening my eyes, I see one solitary rose petal, the palest shade of pink, resting there. I look up to find a muscular man standing over me, naked, tan, and magnificently erect. He holds the rose between his fingers, its color the mere hint of a blush.
Starting at my ankle, he delicately glides the whisper soft rose up my leg. Barely grazing the skin of my inner thighs, he drags it gently over the sensitive spot between them. I tremble with pleasure, and the rose continues, sweeping like a lover's breath over my navel, stomach, breasts, making my nipples tingle when it touches them.
Sitting up, I boldly pluck the rose from his hand and poise its profusion of petals at the base of his penis. Slowly, I skim it up the hard shaft to the tip, pleased when a shudder passes through him, as well.
Snatching the rose back from me, he straddles me in the bed, pinning my legs. He says, "Close your eyes:" and I obey. I think he's going to make love to me, but instead I feel more feather-soft sensations like the first, droplets as light as kisses drifting over my body.
I drink in the light touches, my skin growing more sensitive with each. I open my eyes to see his hand above me, sprinkling the rose petals across my breasts, my shoulders, my stomach, and below.
He still holds the same rose in his hand, but it never empties of petals-more and more waft down to scatter over me until I am nearly covered. Finally, the petals stop falling, and I close my eyes once more. The rose grazes my lips.
When he enters me, everything around us is smooth and soft-the satin beneath me, the silky pale petals on my flesh. With each stroke, the satin and silk move with me, surround me, caressing every inch of me.
I fear I'II soon go mad ... but then I see the blossom still in his grasp. Raising off me slightly, he continues to make love to me while stroking me there with the rose's tender petals.
When finally I reach a slow, shattering climax, it vibrates through every pore of my body; my skin seems to breathe in and out with each wave of pleasure. After my lover reaches ecstasy as well, he pulls me close, still holding our rose, letting it curve gracefully across my breast as we fall into cool, sweet slumber.
Nick closed the book with a heavy rush of breath. The wrongness he'd felt upon his arrival in the room saturated him completely now. In one sense, dipping into her secret thoughts was indeed beginning to feel like an addiction, something he couldn't resist. But each time left him permeated with the sense of invasion he committed and now made him shut the book, reminding himself that it belonged to her, that it should remain hers alone.
Rather than let himself dwell on guilt, however, or on the tempting image of Lauren Ash's naked flesh covered with rose petals, he thought about the way the fantasy ended. The way they always ended-with she and her imaginary lover snuggled up together, warm and content.
It confirmed things for him. Everything she'd said on the beach was true-she wasn't like Carolyn; she did hold sex special. But she also wanted it a lot-made apparent by her red diary and also by the way she usually looked at him-and she'd wanted it with him last night. She'd wanted it with him right before she'd called him "nobody. "
At first, wanting to seduce her had been about mutual attraction and heat-nothing more, nothing less. And when they'd reached the beach, seduction had been about all that and, admittedly, the strange jealousy that stirred in him when he thought of her with another man. After that, it had expanded still more-he'd wanted all of her heat but also her innocence and sweetness; he'd wanted all of her.
Despite how she'd pushed him away, despite her pleas to forget it all. he didn't think things were over between them. And each time he sank to letting himself into her office, he discovered another of her secrets-secrets that would make him part of her world.
When Elaine had suggested they make another trip to the store for some hamburgers to grill, Davy was happy to go, even though they'd shopped for groceries only the day before. But when they'd walked past the floral department and Daisy Maria Ramirez hadn't been there, his heart had dropped. He'd wanted to watch her sticking flowers into foam again.
Now he was bored because he'd been standing in front of the meat counter listening to Paul the Meat Cutter talking to Elaine about pork chops for a very long time. And they weren't even buying pork chops. He watched Paul's eyebrows while he spoke-they were thick like caterpillars and moved up and down a lot, especially when he laughed.
He shifted from one foot to the other, then tapped Elaine on the shoulder. "I'm gonna go look at magazines."
"All right I won't be long," she told him, but the way things were going, he doubted that. He looked for other Albertson's workers he knew as he walked up the soup aisle and circled to the front of the store, but didn't see any. Reaching the magazine rack. he cast a quick glance to the garden-and his heart nearly stopped.
Daisy Maria Ramirez sat at her table working with the flowers again.
Not wanting to stare, or at least not wanting to be caught at it, he snatched up a magazine-something with a big pickup truck on front-and peeked over the top. His breath went thready.
She wore a bright pink blouse that looked pretty against her dark skin. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, so he could see her face better than before. Her features were delicate, like a pixie's, he thought, or a fairy's.
His eyes dropped to her hands, her dainty pixie fingers. Watching her spin and twist the foam, one way and another, sticking a flower first here and then there yellow roses and statice and carnations today-was like watching someone play a piano, or watching Edward Scissorhands cut a tree into a shape. He loved Edward Scissorhands because Edward knew about being different -but at least Edward had his art. And that's what Daisy Maria Ramirez had, too. Art that came from her hands, and also her eyes, he supposed, since they never left her flowers.
He wished he knew her like he knew Paul the Meat Cutter or Mr. Pfister. Wished he could just walk up arid say hello and have it seem normal. But his stomach hurt too much-he knew it wouldn't seem thatá way. He wished he were more like Nick;
Nick knew how to talk to girls. Of course, Davy had only seen it a time or two Nick was private about that stuff-but he figured Nick had lots of girlfriends. On occasion, they'd be out somewhere and a girl would call his name or come up to him, and though Davy never heard Nick say anything that seemed especially brilliant, he could tell Nick knew what to do, and that it was working.
He wondered what Nick would say to Daisy and tried to recall greetings he'd heard Nick use in such instances. Hey.
How's it goin'? Lookin' good, as usual.
Yet he couldn't quite hear himself pulling the lines off, since Nick always said them with a certain twinkle in his eye, as if he were really saying something more.
He sighed and watched Daisy's hands, moving almost rhythmically. Then he tried out some different lines in his head, things he thought of on his own.
I like watching you work.
The flowers are pretty, but you make them even prettier.
You fit here, in the garden, because you're the prettiest flower of all.
Taking a deep breath, be closed the truck magazine and set it back on the rack, then practiced the lines in his head again. He settled on the first because it was simple and so very true.
Then he turned and strode boldly toward her only to see that he was too late; she was already wheeling away.
Nine o'clock and the sun sank fast over the tree line.
A song from an old Prince CD wafted softly across the backyard from the outdoor speakers as Lauren floated naked on her back beneath the dusky sky, pool lights illuminating the water beneath her to a dark turquoise. She indulged this whim on occasional evenings, for the sense of freedom it gave her and because the large privacy wall around the yard made it so safe. Like her sex journal, it was a cautious way to set a little of her sensuality free.
Of course, she hadn't even thought about swimming naked in her pool since Nick Armstrong had entered her life. But when she'd come home late this afternoon to find Nick's van gone, the house quiet but for a mewing cat, she'd been so thankful she'd wanted to somehow luxuriate in the privacy. Now she could look forward to a peaceful weekend ahead, as well. Although she'd hoped relaxing in the water might clear her head of him, he remained there, like a stain she couldn't wash out. Unfortunately, getting away hadn't solved that problem. So maybe it would be more constructive if she swam a few slow laps; perhaps a little exercise would help work out her frustrations. She eased into a slow backstroke, studying the way the darkness edged rapidly across the sky.
Where it had once been easy to tell herself Nick was just another arrogant, studmuffin loser and that she could resist him, it was no longer that simple now. On the beach, resistance had been next to impossible. She could only hope he'd do what she'd said-forget it-and quit giving her those dark sexy looks, quit expecting her to be some purely sexual creature she wasn't. As she turned at the end of the pool, she commended herself for being smart enough to leave the house today.