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“It’s fine. You can stay here when you need to. It will be fine.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“I’m sure.”
She wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d gone too far. “You understand that I’m doing this because of my job.”
“Oh, of course. Of course. I understand that.”
Was she relieved? Sorry? Embarrassed? He couldn’t tell without seeing her face. “Because given our history, I didn’t want you to think I was only trying to get into your pants again.”
Which was true. He wasn’t only trying to get into her pants. He did need a base in Manhattan.
“Oh, no. I didn’t think that at all. Honest, Grayson.”
He frowned. Where was the zinging comeback? She sounded utterly sincere. It must have occurred to her they could get back together for some fun. Judy had said she wasn’t involved with anyone. Two consenting adults with a history of explosive chemistry. In the same apartment. All night long. Didn’t take much imagination to keep the scenario heating up.
But then she’d always been pretty naive about his basely motivated gender. For a second he nearly felt ashamed of himself, but then shame was a useless emotion and it wasn’t as if he was planning to force her. He knew he could make her want him, even after this many years. Whatever that sexual TNT was between them, he had a feeling it would never go away. He’d bet his company they’d be in the sack together within a week.
And Grayson Alexander never made bets he could lose.
3
From: Laine Blackwell
Sent: Monday
To: Angie Keller; Kathy Baker
Subject: Men To Do and (ack!) Old Boyfriend Returns
First things first, I’ve decided that hanging out in bars is not going to get me my Man To Do. Too iffy, too expensive, too dangerous. And I’ve either met or dated all my friends’ available male friends, so no point going that route. Therefore (drumroll and trumpet flourish), I’ve been cruising NYdates.com. Can’t say for sure I won’t find any weirdos there, but I figure if I can thumbs-up pictures that attract me and thumbs-down men who can’t put two sentences together (or punctuate, what is up with that?), then I’m ahead of the game.
And, well, what do you know, I have found a few possibles, one in particular, Antonio, a dark and very sexy-looking Italian (attached is the link to his profile and photo), who fits my height and punctuation requirements and who sounds totally full of himself, which I’m thinking would classify him as…let’s say…the Vain Foreigner. I’ve e-mailed him, so we’ll see what happens.
Woohoo! This summer is going to be so incredible! I’ve signed up for a yoga class and a cooking class, and I found this skydiving company in N.J. and a tap-dancing class and I’m going to take a French class, too, and I’m so into this!
Okay, I better go. In a very short while, Grayson shows up. I’m excited about seeing him and, okay, nervous and not really sure what it will be like. I mean we were sort of obsessed with each other for a lot of years even after we broke up. It took him moving to Chicago to finally get him out of my head, not to mention my bed. But he’s definitely out and will stay out of both! So we’ll see.
’Bye!
Laine
P.S. Of course I’ll give the full report if my Vain Foreigner writes back.
GRAYSON STRODE DOWN the dark, stuffy, narrow eighth-floor hallway of Laine’s apartment building, carrying his overnight bag, briefcase and laptop, and clutching the enormous bouquet Roger the doorman had asked him to bring up. Apparently some guy named Ben was sending Laine flowers on a regular basis. Grayson did not like the sound of that, not that he had a claim on her anymore. Not yet at least.
Eight-K, 8-L… He reached 8-M before his brain kicked in that he was going the wrong way to get to 8-C. He let out a groan and turned around, wanting to wipe away perspiration at his temple, but too impatient to drop everything to take care of it.
What a day. Disaster meeting at Borg Engineering, a cancellation at ETJ Hutchins, which they hadn’t bothered to mention until he’d shown up, and now he found the idea of this guy sending Laine flowers damned irritating. A lot of money to be spending on a woman who wasn’t interested if what Roger said was true. Grayson wasn’t so sure. A guy would have to be nuts to invest that kind of money and energy into anything but a sure lay.
No point wasting time sniveling about it. Grayson was going to be spending time with her—intimate, everyday-living time. If this guy wanted her, he was going to have to do a lot better than dialing his florist.
Eight-A, 8-B and bingo, 8-C. He grinned at the number and jabbed the buzzer—four short, one long, two short, one long—Morse code for S-E-X, a silly game they’d started in college. It was going to be so good to see her. He wouldn’t be surprised if the sight of her induced the rush it always had, even when he saw her every day.
The door swung open and she stood there smiling. Yeah, the same rush hit him, maybe twice as hard for all the years he’d been without her.
“Laine.” He bent to ditch his laptop, overnight bag and briefcase, and gathered her in for a one-armed hug, inhaling her scent, wishing he could drop the damn vase to hold her the way he wanted. She always managed to smell as if she’d just come home from a day in a field of wildflowers. Total aphrodisiac.
He released her only far enough to bring her face into focus. Five years older, but only more beautiful. Blue eyes shining under straight, dark hair, perfect skin—to hell with getting reacquainted; he wanted to drag her off to his cave right this second. “It’s much too good to see you.”
She pulled away, laughing and flushed, and took the flowers he handed her. Immediately he missed her warmth and energy and wanted them back.
“Wow, are these from you, Grayson?” She lifted the vase, teasing already. She knew the odds of him thinking to buy her flowers were about one in several hundred million.
“Aren’t they always?”
“Um, no?”
“Some guy named Ben apparently makes this a habit.” He watched her closely. “Friend of yours?”
“Not really.” She darted a glance down and back. “A friend of my cousin’s. He’s just—”
“Trying to get in your pants? Or thanking you for having been there.” He registered the sharp edge in his voice at the same time she did and wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised. Down, boy. Stay cool.
“Oh, for—” She threw up her free hand in a typical Laine gesture of exasperation. “Still thinking with your other head, I see.”
“It’s my favorite.” He shrugged, all innocence.
She grinned unwillingly. “Ben’s harmless. Zero interest on my part, I even told him so. Right now he’s just my self-appointed protector and florist.”
“You told him you weren’t interested, and he’s still sending you flowers?”
She nodded and inhaled rapturously over the blooms. “He’s a very sweet man.”
“No one’s that sweet.”
“Hmm.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Not that I would expect you to know anything about the concept, but apparently some men are.”
“Ha!” He grinned and put his hands on his hips, studying her, the tension of the day falling away, the energy she’d always been able to light in him strong as ever. “It’s damn good to see you, Laine.”
“You, too, Grayson.” Her gaze lingered and softened. “You look great.”
“Not as great as you.” He meant it. She was still his every fantasy of woman—city sexiness and sophistication layered over this elusive country-fresh thing she had going. His very first glance at her clingy midthigh skirt and knit sleeveless top told him her body was still strong and lean. And he knew what she could do with every square inch of it.
But he supposed suggesting they retire immediately to her bedroom for some naked gymnastics would be pushing it.
“How are your folks?” He reached to her forehead to brush aside hair that wasn’t out of place.
“Fine. Terrific. Whatever.” She lifted her arm, let it drop down against her thigh. “I’ve lived here for eight years—Mom still tells me I better come home where I belong and did I know Geoffrey Wrango was divorced and he’s always asking after me, and my sister is expecting her gazillionth child next month and aren’t I worried about getting too old? Because I can have a career anytime, but the longer I wait the greater my chances of having a kid with Down’s or not conceiving at all, plus at my age the good men are going fast, and by the way my father isn’t going to last forever and how hard could it be to jump on a plane back to Ohio and blahblahblahblahblah.”
She took a huge breath to replenish. “In other words, nothing new. Yours?”
He didn’t answer right away, actually he couldn’t. Or didn’t want to. He stood there, grinning at her, letting delight wash over him. And even though delight was a total girly emotion, damned if she didn’t delight him. He hadn’t felt this buzzed since…the last time he’d seen her. Only clinching a big deal came close to a Laine high.
“Hello?” She quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward as if to inspect his skull for some sign of occupation. “Your mom and stepdad? How are they?”
He bent to match her movement, so their faces were only inches apart. She blinked in surprise, then her sexy mouth curved up and she lifted her other brow expectantly.
“Let’s see.” He dropped his gaze to her grin, then back up to her eyes. Blue and enticing, black-lashed and mischievous. He’d spent so much time inside them that staring at her up close this way felt like coming back to a place he’d always loved. “Paris this month, Costa Rica in the fall, concerts, parties, gardening, dinners at the club, sorry, can’t talk long, the Harrises are due any minute, you remember Bob, don’t you, head of his class at Harvard, he’s now CEO of his own Fortune 500 company. In other words…”
“Nothing new.” She laughed, then lingered long enough to dart a glance at his mouth and straightened. “Come on in and see the palace.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He followed with his bags, staring unapologetically at the sway of her firm rear, imagining himself into the beginnings of an erection. God, what pigs men were. He should be asking her how she was doing, where her life had been, where it was going, not salivating over her ass. But damn it, the woman had one fine ass.
They passed the tiny kitchen area to the left and entered the living room straight ahead, where Laine put the vase on a glass-topped coffee table, picked up what must be last week’s fading bouquet and disappeared into the kitchen to dump it. Regardless of what Laine said, this Ben guy must have reason to think he’d caught the scent to heaven. No guy was that much of a sap otherwise.
Grayson parked his stuff against a beige couch and looked around. Hardwood floors with the Oriental rug she bought in Murray Hill a few years after college, TV in a wooden cabinet whose open doors revealed a disarray of workout tapes and chick movies and a white ceramic lamp that had belonged to her mother. Against one wall stood the dining table; above it hung the detailed print of the Sacre Coeur she’d bought on a high school trip to Paris. He glanced at the overstuffed armchair he and Laine had found on a curb, hauled up to her old apartment together and had re-upholstered. He ran his hand over the armrest. The chair probably wasn’t worth a cent, but to them it had been the fantasy of stumbling over a discarded priceless antique.
Other unfamiliar things must be new acquisitions or belong to her roommate. He walked to the huge windows and pushed aside the sheer white curtains. Pretty decent cityscape thanks to the low buildings around them. Though he bet she used to be able to see the Twin Towers out this window.
He grimaced, then dropped the curtain and turned when he heard her come back into the room. She stood near the couch, clear eyes on him, shooting off her patented Laine energy even standing still. If he didn’t know how amazing it was to be a whole lot closer, he’d swear he could be happy standing here watching her for the rest of the day. God he’d missed her. Didn’t realize how much until he saw her again. No wonder he still dreamed about her. He was ready to dive back in without even knowing where they’d land.
“Want to see the rest of the place?”
“Sure.” He picked up his bags and followed her down the hallway, not understanding the mischievous smile she shot back until she gestured him into a small, unbearably feminine bedroom with flowered curtains and matching yellow bedspread and rug.
“Wow.” He put his bags down and surveyed the room, wondering if he’d emerge from this summer with the urge to wear panty hose. “This is so extra special.”
“I knew you’d like it.” Laine laughed behind him. “You’re so fetching in pastels.”
He sent her a grin over his shoulder. “It’s fine. It’s just what I need, Laine. And thanks for agreeing to let me use it.”
“Well, it helps me out, too.”
He turned, deciding he really liked being in a bedroom with her again. “You scratch mine, I’ll scratch yours?”
“Something like that.” She cocked her head and gave him a strange Mona Lisa smile. “Come see the rest? Or do you want to unpack?”
“Nothing to unpack really, since I’m only staying tonight this time.” He pulled off his tie and threw it on the yellow bedspread, slipped slowly out of his jacket, watching for her reaction. “I am dying to get out of this suit, though.”
“Okay.” She took a step back and paused in the doorway. “I have a couple of e-mails to send, then we can have dinner.”
He tossed his jacket on the bed and started to unbutton his shirt, giving her what they used to call the Green Light Grin. “What, you don’t want to stay and watch me change?”
“Ha!” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, then directed them down to his chest as if she couldn’t help wanting to see it again. “You’ll never change.”
“Ah, Laine, but would you want me to?” He tossed the shirt over the jacket and slowly started to unbuckle his belt, watching her, waiting for when she’d start darting those hungry glances down.
Instead she paused and looked thoughtful, apparently taking the question more seriously than expected. He stopped in the middle of unzipping his fly. He did not want to hear this answer standing in his underwear.
“I guess not.”
“Okay.” He hadn’t a clue how to respond. She guessed not? How was he supposed to take that? “I’ll just be a sec.”
She nodded and left, turning to the right, away from the living room toward what must be her bedroom.
Well, okay. He hadn’t seen her for five years, maybe it was unreasonable to expect that the sight of him in an undershirt would send her into paroxysms of lust. But he knew Laine. She could jump-start into sexual arousal like nothing he’d ever seen. Sometimes all it took was the Green Light Grin to get her going. He’d loved touching her, exploring her body, but unlike other women, it wasn’t so much foreplay as teasing.
Grayson shrugged, took off his pants and undershirt, and hung the suit in the closet next to a brilliant array of female suits and cocktail dresses. Just because he could shake off the years apart at first sight didn’t mean the same was true for her.
He pulled on jeans and a collarless teal polo shirt, a near duplicate of one Laine had bought him shortly before he’d moved away, saying she was sick of him wearing neutral colors. Finally, unpacked and feeling cooler, he scooped up his bathroom supplies and made his way in the direction Laine had gone, found the bathroom and grinned at the nearly bare counter and cabinet.
His ex-girlfriend in Chicago, Meg, had an entire drugstore in her bathroom. Cosmetics and lotions and cleaners—no, excuse him, cleansers—and polishes and waxes and miracle creams and toners, whatever the hell those were, plus puffs and poufs and wipes and assorted metal instruments of torture. No amount of persuasion convinced her she looked fine as is, maybe even better without all that crap slathered on. The fountain of youth was alive and well in the human brain, not in a million dollars’ worth of merchandise. Someone like Laine would still be a young woman at age eighty-five.
He emerged from the bathroom and headed for the only doorway left unexplored in the place. Laine’s bedroom. Where he hoped to be spending a lot of time this summer.
The room was evocatively familiar. She still had the queen mattress they’d bought together—in the same walnut frame—the same rose-colored bedspread, right now strewn with pamphlets and magazines, still had her grandmother’s dark wood dresser and the matching antique vanity. New to her setup, though—a computer workstation and a more up-to-date PC than the one she’d used when they were together.
At this PC, staring intently at the screen, sat Laine, sucking on a lollipop—ever the snack addict. Even though the door was open, he knocked.
“Come in.” She swiveled her chair toward him and smiled. “Got everything you need?”
He bit back the obvious answer and gestured around the room. “This looks awfully familiar.”
“Same old stuff. I’ll just be a second here, then we can have a beer.”
“Beer sounds fine.” He moved toward the bed and picked up a handful of printed material. “What’s all this?”
“I’m planning all kinds of fun this summer. Stuff I’ve always wanted to do but never had time.”
“You’re doing all this?” He shuffled through the magazines. “Yoga? Pottery? Cooking school? Dance classes? Skydiving?”
“Yup.” She hit a key, closed out the window on her screen and jumped up, coming to stand next to him. “Cool, huh? That skydiving place looks amazing. They’re booked up for a few weeks, but I think I’ll sign up. You only need a half hour of instruction, then you can do a tandem jump with one of the instructors.”
“Wow.” He was already envious of the instructors. Her scent was getting to him; she was slightly nearsighted and stood close to see the magazines. If he moved his left arm, he’d probably brush against her breast.
“And this.” She took the lollipop out of her mouth, reached to point, and her breast brushed against his tricep all by itself. “Is the yoga class I signed up for. Judy takes it, too. She says it’s changed her life.”
“Really.” He was barely listening, just taking her in, the sweet smell of cherry lollipop, the warmth of her nearness, the softness of her breast on his arm.
“And this.” Another point to another publication, another brush. “Is a place where you can sign up for cooking lessons. The woman running the place teaches French, Thai, a whole bunch of cuisines. Each session gives instructions for a complete meal. And this…”
Enough torture. He dumped the magazines back on the bed, lifted her under the arms and swung her against the wall.
“Grayson!” His name came out slightly garbled from the lollipop shoved against her cheek. “What are you doing?”
“I was wondering—” he grinned at her breathless tone, the darkening of her eyes, and looked down at her mouth, the white paper stick pressed firmly between her sexy lips “—when you were going to offer me a suck.”
