What I Did For Love Part 19

"I'm waiting," he said.

A quick calculation told her she was wearing more clothes. Was she really going to do this? Having s.e.x with Bram offered no guarantee that he still wouldn't cheat, but he also wasn't stupid. He knew the kind of microscope they were under and how difficult it would be for him to get away with anything. Besides, Bram always took the easy way out, and in this case, that would be her.

She slipped her hand behind her neck and removed her silver necklace.

"No fair."

Her trip to the devil's playground demanded at least a few swings from the monkey bars. "Drop your jeans. You have a codpiece waiting."

"I still have my shoes on, remember?" He stepped back so she could watch him kick off a single sneaker.

"That's cheating." She pulled away and slipped a small diamond stud from her earlobe.

"Talk about cheats." Another sneaker came off.

"I've never cheated in my life." She removed the remaining diamond stud.

"I don't believe you." One sock.

"Maybe at Pictionary." Her wedding ring.

As they removed each new item, they took turns stepping back from the grille so the other could see. Up and back...up and back...a sensual dance of reveal and conceal.

His second sock hit the carpet. "Did a man ever dribble honey down your belly and lick it off?"

"Dozens of times." She toyed with the top b.u.t.ton on her blouse, playing for time, still not certain how far she'd go with this private peep show. "How long since your last lover?"

"Too long." He slipped his thumb inside the snap at the top of his waistband.

"When?" She squeezed the red plastic b.u.t.ton between her fingers.

"Could we talk about this another time?" He popped the snap.

"I don't think so." Bringing up past lovers should be diminis.h.i.+ng her desire, but that wasn't happening.

"Later. I promise."

"I don't believe you."

"If I welsh, you can walk across my bare back in stilettos."

"If you welsh"-her top b.u.t.ton seemed to open of its own accord-"you'll never see these again." She unfastened her blouse b.u.t.ton by b.u.t.ton, then let it slide off her arms. She wore a lacy white La Perla bra with matching panties he didn't yet know about.

His hand went to his wrist. Slowly, he slipped off his watch-she'd forgotten about his stupid watch-leaving him only in jeans with-what?-beneath. She couldn't catch a deep breath. She moved back and unfastened her navy slacks. Looking him squarely in the eye, she tugged them down.

Her legs had always been her best feature-long, slender, and strong-a dancer's legs, and his gaze lingered. Endless seconds ticked by before he stepped back and pulled off his slacks. He wore a pair of gray knit End Zone boxer briefs that molded to a sizable erection. She stared at it.

"Now your panties," he said, approaching the grille again.

She'd never been so aroused, and they hadn't exchanged a single touch. She unfastened her bra. The straps slipped down her shoulders, but she curled her hands over the lacy cups to keep them in place and moved back to the grille. "Work for it," she whispered.

His voice grew husky. "I'm going to have to trust you on this one."

He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his End Zones, worked them down, and stood in front of her magnificently naked. She grazed him with her eyes, the wide tanned shoulders, the muscular chest, the narrow hips a few shades paler than the rest of him. She barely felt her bra drifting through her fingers.

"Step back," he said on a gruff whisper.

He was using her, and she was using him, and she didn't care. She moved into the center of the dressing room and drew off her fragile nylon panties. He gazed at her with such intensity her skin p.r.i.c.kled. He'd been with women far more beautiful, but she experienced none of the grinding insecurity she'd suffered with Lance. This was Bram. She didn't care about his opinion. She only cared about his body. She tilted her head. "Stand back so I can look at you again."

But his patience had ended. "The game's over. We're getting out of here. Now."

She didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay in this sensual fantasy world forever. She pulled the ice-blue petal bra from its hook. "I wonder how this will look."

"You're putting clothes on on?"

"I need to check the fit." She turned her naked bottom to him and donned the bra. Each cup was made up of three silky petals. She faced him again and, without a word, unfastened each petal, the sides first, and then the center. Taking forever.

His eyes glittered through the grille. "You're killing me."

"I know." She snagged the matching panties from their hook and stood back so he could watch her slip them on. They were open at the crotch. "These fit well, don't you think?"

"I can't think. Come here."

She took her time approaching the peephole. When she got there, he whispered, "Closer."

They pressed their faces to the grille, and their mouths met through the whirls of black metal. Only their mouths.

And then the earth moved.

Really moved.

Or at least the wall. Her eyes flew open. She gave a startled gasp as the last obstruction between them swung inward. She should have known a shop as inventive as Provocative wouldn't overlook something like this. Her feeling of safety dissolved.

Bram ducked and came through. "Not everyone gets told about the door."

She'd never had s.e.x without love, and Bram offered only dirty thrills. She knew exactly how duplicitous he was, how undependable. She had no illusions. Her eyes were wide open. Exactly the way she wanted it. "This is only our first date."

"One h.e.l.l of a date."

He secured the door behind him and looked down at her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s, showcased by the open-cup bra. "Lady, I do love your underwear." The back of his knuckles brushed her nipple. He took one of the gauzy petals, drew it up, and fastened it. Then he suckled her through the frail barrier.

Her legs grew weak. He pulled her down on the big tufted ottoman so that she straddled his thighs. They kissed. He suckled. She sank her fingers into his hair and bit her lips to keep from crying out. His thighs had pushed her own far apart. She still wore the panties that had no crotch. He separated the nylon fabric, reached into her silk, and played until she was trembling with desire.

When she couldn't tolerate it any longer, she braced her knees on the ottoman, lifted herself upon him, and slowly took him into her body.

His breath came in ragged gasps, but he didn't try to push himself into her. Instead, he gave her all the time she needed to accept him. And she took advantage. Wicked advantage. As soon as she gained a hard-earned inch, she gave it up and started all over again. His shoulders grew slick with sweat. She didn't care about his need-about whether she was pleasing him. She didn't care about his feelings, his fantasies, his ego. All she cared about was what he could do for her. And if he didn't satisfy her-if, at the end, he turned out to be a dud-she wouldn't make up excuses for him as she had with Lance. Instead, she'd complain loud and long until he got it right. Although it didn't seem as though that would be necessary.

"You're going to pay for this," he said through gritted teeth. But still he let her do as she wanted until she became so mindless that she had to give up the game. Only then did he dig his fingers into her bottom and pull her down hard upon him.

They couldn't make any noise. Only a thin wall s.h.i.+elded them from exposure. He buried his face in her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and rubbed her where their bodies joined. She arched against his hand, threw back her head, clutched his shoulders, and joined him on a wild, silent ride.

Not loving him. Only using him.

He shuddered. She flung back her head.

Release...

The practicalities didn't hit her until afterward. The mess. The used lingerie they hadn't paid for. The inconvenient husband. As they disengaged, her sanity returned. She had to make sure he understood this hadn't changed anything. "Well done, Skipper." She stretched out the kinks in her legs. "You're no George Clooney, but you definitely show promise." hit her until afterward. The mess. The used lingerie they hadn't paid for. The inconvenient husband. As they disengaged, her sanity returned. She had to make sure he understood this hadn't changed anything. "Well done, Skipper." She stretched out the kinks in her legs. "You're no George Clooney, but you definitely show promise."

He moved toward the hidden door, then surveyed her body, as if he were marking his territory. "At least this answers one question."

"What's that?"

He gave her a lazy smile. "I finally remember what happened that night in Vegas."

Chapter 14.

Through the window Chaz saw Aaron's dark blue Honda pull to a stop in the motor court. A few minutes later, the front door opened. He was such a mess. She stomped out into the hallway to meet him, but he carried only his nerdy black bag instead of the sack of doughnuts she'd expected. He didn't look happy to see her, and he tried to get past her with only a nod, but she blocked the bottom of the stairs. "What did you have for breakfast?" the window Chaz saw Aaron's dark blue Honda pull to a stop in the motor court. A few minutes later, the front door opened. He was such a mess. She stomped out into the hallway to meet him, but he carried only his nerdy black bag instead of the sack of doughnuts she'd expected. He didn't look happy to see her, and he tried to get past her with only a nod, but she blocked the bottom of the stairs. "What did you have for breakfast?"

"Leave me alone, Chaz. You're not my mother."

She braced one arm on the wall and the other on the handrail. He'd already started to sweat, and it wasn't even hot out. "I'll bet she used to fix her little boy eggs and sausage every morning with a big side of pancakes."

"I had a bowl of cereal, okay."

"I told you I'd make you breakfast."

"I'm not falling for that again. Last time I got two scrambled egg whites."

"And toast and an orange. Stop being such a baby. You need to face your problems instead of trying to eat them away."

"So now you're a shrink." He pulled her arm from the wall and wedged past her. "You're only twenty years old. What the h.e.l.l do you know about anything?"

He never cussed, and she liked that she'd gotten under his skin enough to make him do it. She followed him upstairs. "So did you see Becky this weekend?"

He was out of breath by the time they reached the top. "I never should have told you about her."

Becky lived in the apartment next to his. Aaron had a crush on her, but Becky barely knew he existed, like that was some big surprise. Apparently Becky was a brain like Aaron, and she was okay-looking, but not beautiful, which meant Aaron might stand a chance with her if he lost some weight, got a good haircut, bought some decent clothes, and stopped acting like such a geek. "Did you try to talk to her like I said?"

"I have work to do."

"Did you?" She'd told him to be friendly, but not too friendly, which meant he shouldn't do that stupid pig snort laugh. And he couldn't talk about video games. Ever.

"I didn't see her, okay?"

"Yes, you did." She followed him into Georgie's office. "You saw her, but you didn't have the b.a.l.l.s to talk to her. How hard is it to say hi and ask her how things are going?"

"I think I could be a little more original than that."

"When you try to be original, you only sound weird. Be cool for once. Just 'Hi' and 'How's it going?' Did you bring your swim trunks like I told you?"

He dropped his black bag on the chair. "You're not my personal trainer, either."

"Did you?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

She thought she was making progress. He let her fix him lunch now, and he'd stopped bringing junk food with him because he knew she'd find it and toss it out. It had only been three weeks, but she was pretty sure his gut was starting to shrink. "Laps for half an hour before you can go home tonight. I mean it."

"You might think about working on yourself for a while instead of other people." He heaved himself into his chair at the computer. "Taking care of your personality disorder for one thing."

"I like my personality disorder. It keeps the creeps away." She smirked. "Although right now that doesn't seem to be working too well." Aaron wasn't really a creep. He was a decent guy, and she secretly admired how smart he was. But he was totally clueless. And lonely. If he'd only do what she said, she thought she could fix him up enough so he could get a girl. Not anybody hot, but somebody smart like he was.

"Lunch is at twelve-thirty," she said. "Be on time." As she turned to go back downstairs, she saw Georgie standing in the office doorway, filming the whole thing with her video camera.

Chaz slammed her hands on her hips. "That's illegal, you know. Filming people without their permission."

Georgie kept her eye glued to the camera. "Get a lawyer."

Chaz stomped into the hallway and headed for the back stairs. Georgie was the last person she wanted to talk to right now. Yesterday, when Georgie got home with Bram, they'd both been acting weird. Georgie had beard-burn on her neck, and she wouldn't look at Bram, who kept smiling at her in this kind of smart-a.s.s way. Chaz didn't know what was going on with them. They thought she hadn't figured out they'd been sleeping in separate rooms-like Georgie knew how to make a bed so it looked halfway decent. So what had happened yesterday?

Chaz thought about how much money she could make if she went to the tabloids and told them about the famous newlyweds and their separate beds. Maybe she'd do it, too, if it would only hurt Georgie. But she wouldn't hurt Bram.

Georgie trailed her down the back stairs. "Why do you give Aaron such a hard time?"

Chaz could have asked a few questions of her own, like why Georgie gave Bram such a hard time, and what had happened yesterday, and why Georgie had still slept in her own bed last night? But she'd learned to keep what she knew to herself until she had a reason to use it.

"I've got a better question," Chaz said. "Why haven't you tried to help Aaron? He's a mess. He can hardly walk upstairs without practically having a heart attack."

"And you like to clean up messes."

"So what?" This whole camera thing was weird. She didn't know why Georgie kept filming her or why Chaz didn't just refuse to talk. But every time Georgie came after her with that camera, Chaz found herself blabbing away. It was like...like talking about herself to the camera somehow made her important. Like her life was special, and she had something worth saying.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Georgie followed her into the kitchen. "Tell me what happened after you left Barstow."

"I told you. I came to L.A. and found a place to stay off Sunset."

"You hardly had any money. How did you make rent?"