Valentine Vote (7 page)

He pressed hard against her, lifting her off her feet so she could feel his erection pulse against her stomach.

Eric must have remembered he had a ten-year-old waiting in the car because he loosened his embrace and ended the kiss with a sweet, final peck. He rested his face against her ear, his breathing ragged and deep. “You're killing me,” he whispered in her ear.

“To be continued?” She touched his lips, which were slightly swollen and also a bit pink from her lipstick.

“I've got Travis for the weekend and a work obligation on Monday. Are you free on Tuesday?”

“I am,” she said, “and this time, I'll bring the riding crop.” She opened the door and touched Eric's cheek. His wide eyes and slightly ajar mouth telegraphed anticipation.

She closed the door and collapsed against it, breathing heavily. What had she done?

Helen pulled down the sash on the window blinds so hard that a cloud of dust flew off the sill, which sent her into a sneezing fit. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her Hello Kitty robe, and said, “You told him
what
?”

Courtney crossed her arms over her nondescript pink pajamas. “I said I'd bring a riding crop.

“Girl, I've got to hand it to you. You're finally taking the plunge.”

Courtney picked up the teapot she'd just brought to their bedroom and poured them each a cup. As was their custom, Sunday morning was devoted to tea and a leisurely read of the
Washington Post
.

“I need to get to the bottom of what he's really expecting.” Courtney picked up her cup of tea and blew on the surface as she walked to the window of their second-story bedroom and looked across the miniscule front yard to the banks of melting snow in the street. “If he wants a whips-and-chains sex goddess, he's gonna be disappointed.”

Helen dumped two teaspoons of sugar in her tea. “Are you sure you're ready? I know I said you should just go for it, but you gotta be sure.”

Courtney chewed on her lip. “Honestly? Maybe I'm just a little bit … scared shitless about having sex for the first time.” She shrugged. “I mean, it's only been a few months since I was the nerd of the universe.”

“Well, sex is a no-brainer, and it may surprise you to know that even nerds get down and dirty.... Once the heat is on, nature takes over.” Helen sighed. “At any rate, you won't be in suspense too much longer. Tuesday night, right?”

“Yeah, his place, but he's not cooking this time. He said we're just going to order out for pizza—if we get that far.”

• • •

Courtney dressed comfortably in J. Crew leggings and a cowl-necked burgundy cashmere sweater. She'd already pictured herself curled up on the sofa with her legs tucked under her, and this outfit was perfect. What she hadn't anticipated was the candlelight. It wasn't over-the-top like a romantic scene in the movies, where it looked like Yankee Candle had set up shop in someone's bedroom, but Eric had chosen one light, woodsy scent and placed a few strategic votives around the room, so the effect was subtle—and sexy. He wore distressed cords and a caramel-colored crewneck sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and he was barefoot, which Courtney also found somehow hot.

“You look gorgeous,” he said. “Of course, you always look, and smell, incredible.” He bent to her neck and inhaled.

She had to remind herself to breathe. “It's
J'adore
. Helen said I smelled like old books when I first moved in, so she made me upgrade.” She looked up into his gold-flecked eyes. “And that color is great on you. It brings out the amber in your eyes.”

“Thanks,” he said. “The sweater was a gift from my mom.” He froze. “Oh, I—”

Courtney touched his cheek. “I'm all right. If I cried every time someone mentioned their mother, I'd be in worse shape than I am.” She smiled. “Where's Pinky?”

“I farmed her out to Travis for a week. Thought a bit of responsibility would be good for him, and some unconditional love from a Chihuahua never hurts, either. Travis is in a decent foster situation, but I know he still feels displaced.”

“That was sweet of you.”

Eric ducked his head a bit. “Wine?” He asked as he took her coat and hung it in his hall closet.

“I'd rather have bourbon.” Courtney needed a jolt to steady her nerves, something that would go to her head quickly.

“I wouldn't have figured you for a bourbon woman.” Eric squinted at Courtney like he was trying to see into her head. “Maker's Mark all right?”

“Perfect, and make it a double, please.” Courtney headed to the couch. She set her purse on the coffee table, making sure the riding crop wasn't poking out the top, trying to escape. She tried to assume a relaxed posture by draping her arm over the back. Okay, that was a tad masculine. She plopped her hands in her lap and fiddled with her opal ring. She practiced deep breathing while Eric went to the kitchen for their libations. He returned a few minutes later with two crystal glasses. The amber bourbon shone like a beacon in the candlelight. They clinked glasses, and Courtney stifled a cough on the first sip.

“That's … good. Kind of hits the back of your throat, though.” Her voice was scratchy.

“Take it easy. It can creep up on you.” Eric sat on the opposite side of the sofa, angling himself toward Courtney.

Courtney took another sip, and then closed her eyes while she pondered her approach. “The weather's been, oh, I don't know, would you say cold?”

Eric's eyebrows shot up. Maybe he had been expecting more than chitchat. “Uh, yes, I believe most meteorologists would use that scientific term—cold.” He smiled.

“Yep, cold.” Courtney pointed a finger in the air. “And windy, quite windy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Help me out here, Senator.”

“Okay, let's see, it's also been icy.”

Well, this was silly.
He was obviously following her lead, and it wasn't getting her anywhere. She reached for her purse, and without fanfare, extracted the riding crop.

If she thought his eyebrows shop up before, now they escaped into his hairline. He rubbed his forehead briefly, and when he looked back at Courtney, his poker face gave nothing away. Was he excited about the object she offered? If so, he was certainly playing it close to the chest. He cleared his throat. “Looks like an early twentieth century design, probably out of the Man o' War era. He won the Belmont Stakes in 1919.”

TMI.
“I don't know anything about that. The fellow at the tack shop extolled the virtues of this crop's flexibility. He said the leather was triple cured, so that it did its job in urging the horse forward but didn't impart a lasting sting.” Courtney could feel Eric's eyes on her, but she was too nervous to meet his gaze. She rifled around the bottom of her purse, as though the crop had lost a screw.

“Let me see it.” Eric reached for the crop.

Courtney handed it to him, strap first.

Eric reached back to her hand for the crop's handle. “First thing you should know, try to minimize contact with the actual crop. Body oils will deteriorate the leather, so always hand the crop to someone like you would offer a knife, handle first.”

Courtney squeaked out an, “Okay, then what?”

“Then you're going to want to cover your palm with a piece of fabric. I'll use this linen cocktail napkin.” He tucked the ends of the napkin between his fingers to keep it securely in place. “The fabric not only keeps body oils off the crop, but it adds a layer of protection.”

“Like horsehair?” Courtney asked.

“Not as protective as horsehair, but at least not leather on bare skin.” He looked at her from under his eyelashes as he smacked the crop on his palm.

Surely, he saw her shiver. “I hadn't thought about the logistics. I assumed a thong would be the clothing of choice.”

• • •

“A thong?”
All right, Miss Sexpot, two can play this game.
“What else have you ‘assumed'?”

“Well,” Courtney inched closer to him on the couch, “I figured there might be some conversation about how the thong wearer—shall I call her the thongee?—had been a bad girl.” Courtney winked at him. He couldn't recall her ever winking before.

“Go on.” Eric draped an arm over the back of the sofa, just inches from Courtney's shoulder.

“You see, the thongee knew she'd been pressing the limits of someone's patience.”

Eric slapped the crop in his palm, again. “You know, this could really hurt.”

Courtney licked her lips. She took several sips of bourbon, and then said, “I can only imagine how much it would sting … and titillate.”

“Tell me more.” Eric inched closer and began massaging Courtney's shoulder. She moaned, and he moved his hand to the back of her neck, kneading her scalp with his fingers.

“I figured they'd both be so turned on that after a few stings from the crop, he'd ease the thong out of the way and enter her from behind.”

Eric tipped up his glass, finishing his drink. His breathing was ragged. He wanted to take one of Courtney's feet and pull it toward him so she'd be flat on the couch. Fortuitous for her that she wore pants because if she were in a skirt, he'd have her without further preamble. He didn't want to hit her with a riding crop, but he sure as hell wanted to make love to her. And damn if she wasn't ready. Eric ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to devour her, and when he pulled her into his arms, he saw desire in her eyes, as well as fear.

“Sure you're ready for this?” Eric asked.

“Uh, I thought I was.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Could we maybe order that pizza now?”

Eric chuckled. He moved away from her, rolled his shoulders and relaxed back into the sofa. “I was wondering when propriety would win out.” He picked up his cell phone from the coffee table. “What do you like on your pizza?”

“You must think I'm a wuss.”

Eric turned his body to her and took her hand. “Courtney, you're the most interesting woman I've ever met, but I don't know what you want from me, and I suspect you don't know, either.”

“I've never had a relationship. I was the poster girl for geek until Helen got hold of me. ”

“Geeks need love, too.”

“Yeah, but this geek is hell-bent on sabotaging it.” She inched away from him and watched his expression change as he dropped her hand. His smooth brow morphed to exclamation wrinkles between his eyes, and the corners of his mouth turned down. She hadn't meant to, but she'd just shut him out. Her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach.

“You don't strike me as a woman who gives up easily.”

“Not unless I hit a brick wall.”

“Is that how you feel, like you've run into an immovable object?”

“No. Yes. I don't know.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I think I should just go home.”

Eric rose from the couch. “I'll take you home, but I want you to think about something.” He pulled her to standing and took her chin in his hand. “Let go.”

“After you told Eric you wanted to go home, you didn't say anything during the drive?” Helen's mouth gaped as she sat on Courtney's queen-size bed.

“Not a word.” Courtney's voice cracked. “I'm an idiot. Everything was humming along beautifully. We were about to get the ball rolling, and then I just froze.”

“Look at this logically, Court.” Helen crossed her legs and held up one finger. “One, you're attracted to this guy.” She stabbed her second finger in the air. “Two, this guy's attracted to you.” She added her third finger and made the Girl Scout salute. “Three … ” She turned her hand palm up. “I don't see a three. Aside from you running so hot-and-cold, he probably thinks you have multiple personalities.”

“Oh, God, I know. At any moment, demure Courtney morphs into weepy Courtney.”

“And don't forget sexy Courtney.”

“Yeah, but who's the real me?”

“They're all you, and they're all good.”

“I don't think so. I'll match you finger for finger.” Courtney stabbed one finger in the air. “One, I never used to get emotional on the job. From the first day I met Eric, I cared more about his vote than I should have. So what if he doesn't vote for higher taxes on tobacco? I can't convince everybody. Why is his vote so important? But no, I went and made his vote a crusade.”

Courtney jumped off the bed and started pacing the room. “Two”—another finger went up—“this whole physical attraction thing is new to me. I ache when I'm not with him. It's like the worst kind of homesick.” Courtney stuck finger number three in the air. “I had sex in a nice little personal compartment until I met Eric, and now I'm all befuddled. I think he's insanely hot, but whenever we get close, I chicken out. Why am I sabotaging myself?”

“Court, you're putting too much pressure on yourself worrying about trying to be some kind of sex goddess. Just be yourself!”

“I don't know.” Courtney chewed on her lip. I've never met anyone so, so, special … his sweetness, his dedication, his commitment to Travis. And when he kisses me, I want to die in his arms.”

“Okay, that's important. Ponder that. And while you're in a contemplative mood, chew on this for a while—what scares you more … failure or success?” Helen waggled her eyebrows. “In the meantime, I've got a deposition to take in the morning. I need some shut eye.” She bounced off the bed. “But before we leave this discussion, are you really afraid that what Eric wants is kinky sex? Or is it possible that what you're really afraid of here is intimacy? Because when you look at the big picture, kinky sex is just a speck on the horizon, but intimacy is the whole shebang.”

Courtney squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a huge breath. “I'm afraid I'll lose my edge, that all I've worked for will turn to mush because I'm blinded by a man.”