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Joe shrugged. “Most of the time.”
Most. Surprise number two. She leaned forward, wanting to pry, and he shook his head and picked up the tape. “So, are we really supposed to watch this?”
The easy contentment was back, that quiet peace that made her want to see if his heart was still beating, if his blood could still run so hot. “Unless there’s something else you want to do?” She looked at him, trying a sultry, provocative stare, but ended up blushing furiously. Darn. She did not blush well.
Joe watched her for a minute, and tension snapped in the air. Finally he stood and slipped the tape in the VCR. The clock on his VCR was not blinking. She was impressed.
“You sure you don’t want something to drink? Water, beer, cola.”
Amanda started to refuse, but then changed her mind. “Beer.” After all, the purpose of this exercise was to let her hair down a bit. She put a hand to the clip at the back of her head and pulled it free, trying to get eliminate that little bump you get with clip-hair.
Again Joe watched her. Finally he nodded. “I’ll get your beer.”
While he was gone, she kicked off her sandals, and curled up on the couch. Okay, this was neat. When she was a kid and lived in Queens, she could lie down on the couch. But that all changed after her Dad’s big promotion. Her parents now lived in an old renovated farmhouse in Vermont with antiques. No lying down on those things.
A few minutes later he appeared and placed the beer on the coffee table in front of her, and then looked rather determinedly at the television.
“Could you dim the lights a bit?” she asked.
He jerked his head in her direction, and she shrugged apologetically. “You know, in case Avery shows up.”
He stood, flipped the light switch, the room turning a deep shade of indigo, the last bit of sun long gone. Joe sat down, looked more determined than ever.
Progress. She crossed her legs at the ankles.
The movie was good. A great mystery, and some very steamy love scenes. She wasn’t brave enough to stare meaningfully at Joe during the intimate moments, but she did peek out of the corner of her eye. His jaw looked pretty tight, and there was a bead of sweat on his upper lip.
She shifted a little on the couch, and crossed her legs a little tighter.
When the intercom buzzed, they both jumped. Joe shut off the TV quickly and the room went dark.
Amanda looked at the clock. Eleven-twenty? Already? Gee, time flew when you were watching smut, um, art. “That’s Avery, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” Joe answered.
Avery. Show time. Amanda looked at Joe, shirt untucked, chest untouched, and she glanced down at her own still-ironed look. Even the couch, with all its comfortableness, couldn’t lose the starch.
Great. “We don’t look like we’ve been doing anything.”
Joe cut his eyes towards her. “Usually women just get this look. Some sort of aura.”
She wanted to laugh, but darn it, she needed to think. This was important to get right. “No. Joe, remember this is supposed to be torrid. You need to look like you can’t stand one minute without touching me. Remember,” she stressed the words, “Avery needs to think he doesn’t have a chance.”
The doorbell rang and Joe lowered his voice to a furious whisper. “This was your idea. What are we supposed to do? Get a little down and dirty on the carpet and just let Avery walk in?”
She looked at the carpet and got a nice visual and decided right then and there that someday indeed she would indeed get down and dirty on the carpet with him.
The doorbell rang, longer this time.
“I’m coming. Just a minute,” Joe yelled, still standing several feet away from her, looking completely untorrid.
Amanda took a step toward him. “Look, if this were a real date, what would Avery expect to find?” She wanted to know exactly what was the current fashion for flagrante delicto.
His smile was slow, but smoky. “Babe, if this were real, you’d be lucky to have your socks.”
She drowned in the absolute hedonistic waters of his eyes and forgot all about her socks. Socks. Heavens. She looked down at her bare feet. She didn’t have on socks, did she? She shook her head free of lust. Not now. “Okay, here, let me button my shirt up wrong.”
She attacked her buttons, Avery now knocking politely but firmly at the door. Well, he could just wait. Very efficiently, she undid the tiny pearl buttons, popping them free. She pulled the stiff cotton material free of her skirt and made the rather huge mistake of looking at Joe.
Her fingers froze. His eyes were leveled on the black satin bra she wore underneath her shirt. Okay, her chest was a little small, but she liked to think of herself as pert.
The way Joe was looking right now, as if she were edible, she was beginning to like pert. Okay, she was beginning to love pert, but she really did need to move her fingers. Unfortunately, every bit of her was paralyzed.
Joe found his tongue, his voice a little hoarse. “You need to button up some of those buttons. I don’t think Avery needs to see you looking like that.”
She almost reminded him that that was exactly the point, but decided now was not the time to argue. She fumbled for a bit, but the button-loops had mysteriously shrunk two sizes too small, and her hands had grown much more clumsy.
With a muttered curse, he brushed her hands aside and began the task himself.
“Joe, you’re buttoning them up right!”
His hands froze. Right on top of her breasts. Oh.
He swore again. One of those fun New Jersey expressions, and then began muttering to himself. “Joe, concentrate. Joe, your brother is at the door.” His thumb brushed against her skin.
She jumped. “Joe, you’re talking to yourself.”
The doorbell rang, longer this time.
Joe looked up, eyes bright with lust. “Don’t talk to me right now. I need to just button these damn buttons. What do you have, a million of these tiny things? I told you I don’t handle celibacy well.”
“How long has it been?” she asked, trying to distract both of them.
“A week.”
She groaned.
He gritted his teeth and his finger brushed against her nipple.
She gasped.
Her nipples grew even perkier, clearly visible under the black silk. Joe’s breathing turned shallow.
Oh.
Not knowing what else to do, she apologized. “I’m sorry.”
He stopped messing with her buttons and focused on her face. A flush ran under his skin, and she noticed where the shadow of whiskers clung to his jaw. Her fingers lifted, wanting to touch.
“For what?”
She started to explain that she was apologizing for her nipples and his breathing problem, but realized this was not what a sultry, provocative seductress would do. That is, here she stood, her breasts in his hand, well, almost, and surely she could think of something.
And so she kissed him.
SHE WAS TRYING to kill him. All that silky white skin. And her mouth. Now he knew exactly what that wicked mouth tasted like. Sex. Damn, but if she didn’t kiss better than the best sex he’d ever had. He pulled her down on the couch and took over, letting his tongue explore the inside of her mouth. It was like a drug in his head, and he couldn’t breathe. His hands fumbled with the clasp at the front of her bra until it broke and feverishly he touched her bare flesh. He was going to die. He had to—
“Oh, Joe,” she sighed in his ear, and he was eternally grateful that at that moment he was named Joe and not—
The doorbell rang, accompanied by loud knocking. “Amanda! Are you all right?”
Avery.
Joe lifted his head. “Avery, go away!” He stared at Amanda’s face. Fine bones, so delicate. What was she doing with him?
Rational thought returned.
Avery.
He still couldn’t look away. She looked almost shocked, her blue eyes still off somewhere about two minutes ago.
He had so needed her to be the sane one. With her body underneath him—how had that happened?—he didn’t want to be the sane one. It was physically painful to move off her. “Amanda.”
She smiled a little crookedly and sat up. “Joe.”
“Amanda, we need to fix your shirt. Avery. I’m sorry.”
The fog in her eyes cleared, her focus getting sharper. “Oh.” She looked down at the bra now hanging uselessly, then looked up at him and grinned. “Tell you what—” he watched as she pulled the scrap of silk through her sleeves like a magician “—looks better without it anyway. Don’t you think?”
Her fingers recovered nicely and she buttoned up a few strategic buttons, but now the bright blue material covered places that he had just seen, conquered.
Unable to do much else, he sat.
Amanda walked to the door, but he ran after he and caught her before she could open it. This was important. There was one question he needed answered.
“Amanda, why did you kiss me?”
“Because…” She hesitated for a long moment and looked over her fingernails. Finally she looked up at him, eyes big, wide and full of desire. “Because I wanted to.”
The doorbell rang and Joe flung it open. Mad at his brother for interrupting, mad at Amanda for starting it and mad at himself for thinking the thoughts that were running in his head. Now he’d really messed up. Now he wanted her.
He look through the open doorway, not really caring about appearances anymore. Avery stood, elegant in a polo shirt and canvas slacks, looking ready for a day on the links. Next to him, in a tight leather miniskirt, scarlet fingernails, stiletto heels and a wisp of a blouse, stood Monique, looking ready to blow.
3
“HELLO AVERY, MONIQUE. I see you two have met.” Joe felt like he had an Aerobus engine lodged in his throat.
Avery glowered, a ruddy flush coloring his face. “Joe, I’ve been waiting ten minutes.”
“You’re lucky it was only ten,” Joe replied testily, then shrugged. Now wasn’t the time. “Well, come on in.”
Monique seemed to be carrying a pot of something that smelled pretty good, and although she tilted her chin in the direction opposite Joe, she followed Avery into the apartment, which seemed to be getting smaller by the minute.
Amanda curled up on the couch again, looking mighty comfortable. Avery sat next to her, and Joe noticed his eyes drifting toward Amanda’s cleavage every now and then. If not for Monique, Joe would have kicked him off the couch and told him to get his mind out of the gutter. Unfortunately, Joe had gutter thoughts of his own, and was in no position to throw stones.
He watched as Monique flopped into his favorite chair. With no other alternative, Joe opted to lean casually against the wall.
There was a long silence, Avery harumphing every now and then, his eyes still darting to Amanda’s shirt. Finally, Joe couldn’t stand it anymore. “Stop it, Avery.”
The remark seemed to work and Avery took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead.
Amanda held out a hand to Monique. “Hi, I’m Amanda.” Apparently that was more than Monique could handle.
“Joseph, you told me you were ill. You sounded so sick on the phone, all the coughing and sniffling. I thought I’d find you here, curled at your toilet, miserable, and dying.” She held up her pot. “I even brought some of Grandma Steinowitz’s chicken soup. It’ll have you off your ass in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Joe, you cad!” Avery burst out, obviously believing that Monique was not capable of raking Joe over the coals alone.
Joe turned to Amanda and waited. She just sat quietly, holding her tongue. Smart girl. This was her doing. Well, okay, he shouldn’t have told Monique he was sick, but how do you call a girl two hours before a date and say, “Um, I’ve met the woman of my dreams and I won’t be seeing you for one hundred and ten days, and about eight hours.” Illness seemed so much easier to explain. Of course, he could have told Monique the truth, but what female in their right mind would buy that? Hell, he was a guy, and he wouldn’t have believed it.
Joe looked at Monique with a fond sadness. She was nice. He had had high hopes for her, and damn it all, the soup smelled really good. But there was Amanda looking sexy as hell, and a little bit miffed, and he really didn’t have a choice. “I’m sorry about this. I should have told you the truth.” Joe glared at Amanda at this point. Understanding his message, she slunk a little lower. “To be honest, I just started going out with Amanda and well, it’s been something of a shocker.” Especially that kiss.
Monique sniffed.
Avery was not so shy. “Joe, how could you do such a thing?” He pointed at Amanda. “Are you sure you want to remain in such a shallow relationship? One day, and already he’s unfaithful. How could you tolerate such a philanderer?”
Amanda sat up straight, her blouse becoming somewhat less revealing. About time. “Technically, he’s not a philanderer.”
Monique flipped back a long, brown curl. “Maybe not to you, honey, but you just wait. The girls in Terminal C warned me about this one. Said he was as bad as a pilot working international. And you know how they are. He don’t have no money, neither. Mechanics never do.” She pointed a scarlet-tipped finger at Amanda. “You’ll be next, honey. Guys like this—” she clucked her tongue “—worse than rabbits.”
Avery patted Monique’s hand. “You poor girl. Amanda, if you’re ready to leave this little love nest, I’d be more than happy to escort you home.” His cool blue gaze cut back to Amanda’s cleavage.
Joe allowed himself one proprietary smirk. Not in your dreams, buddy.
“I’m not leaving,” Amanda stated, in a dreamy voice that reminded Joe that they still needed to lay out a few ground rules before she did really leave. That one kiss might cause him to lose a few nights sleep, but there were some lines he wasn’t about to cross. He thought of the kiss again and corrected himself. Okay, he wouldn’t cross them more than once.
“Joseph, have you got any brewskis here?” Monique stood up, and pulled at her skirt.
“Amanda, you really should…” Avery began, but then pulled his pager from his pocket. “Blast. I have an emergency at the hospital.”
“An emergency?” Amanda asked. “I thought you did mainly cosmetic work?”
Avery puffed up a bit. “Mrs. Corrigan. Dear old lady, but likes to invent a crisis so I can come and chat.”
Monique laid a hand on Avery’s sleeve. “You’re a doctor? So, do you think you could drop me in Astoria on your way? The midnight train is so unpredictable, and those little punkers with the nose rings…” She shuddered.
Joe watched his brother. Avery in Astoria? Yeah, that’d be the day.
“Why certainly. You’re in such a fragile emotional condition and you don’t need to be subjecting yourself to the rigors of public transport.”
