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“Sure. I can’t give free legal advice, but I can give you information if I’ve got it.”
The second Sarah had mentioned being a divorce lawyer, she’d felt the urge to ask her a couple of questions. But now she had the woman’s attention, she wasn’t sure how to begin. Finally, she plunged in.
“In your experience, how many men who cheat on their wives claim to be innocent?”
Sudden sympathy clouded the clear eyes. “Ninety-five percent. You can catch them with a naked woman in bed and their pants around their ankles and they’ll still say—” here she shook her index finger in Karen’s direction and lowered her voice “—I did not have sexual relations with that woman.”
Karen nodded, sadly. “That’s what I thought.”
10 (#ucb064ee0-dac0-5837-aba9-6a9e4082d1b3)
OKAY, KAREN DECIDED, at the end of the day, when, no matter how busy she’d been, she’d always found time to relive the things she and Dexter had done on her desktop.
Enough was enough. Dexter was a player, a Casanova, a Lothario. Of course he was great in bed, he’d had plenty of experience. Some of it, she had to remind herself, while they were married. She’d begun to feel a spark of hope that maybe she’d been wrong about him, but Sarah the divorce lawyer had pretty much killed that notion.
Just because she felt a connection didn’t mean there was one.
She was so angry with herself for falling like a ton of bricks the minute he came onto her. She’d assumed that once he’d had her again he’d disappear, but he’d shown up at Sophie’s planning meeting, teasing her about that desk. He seemed still to be sniffing around her.
If she didn’t care about him even after all this time maybe she could go along with it, have a fling with her ex. She wouldn’t be the first woman ever to do so. But she’d worked long and hard to rebuild her self-esteem after it had been shattered by the man she’d loved and she wasn’t about to compromise her hard-won peace again. Not for some cheap sex and a few orgasms, intense though they might be.
Gritting her teeth, she made a date with her laptop. She’d spend the evening going through all the listings at Plenty of Phillys. She had some messages to answer, some new profiles to check out.
When she got home that night, after a punishing thirty minutes at Curves, she zapped a low-cal dinner in the microwave which tasted so uninteresting it felt like a complete waste of four hundred calories, then showered and decided that if she was going to do this online dating thing then she’d better put a little effort into it.
Wrapping her towel around her she padded into her bedroom. She’d bought the town house after her marriage ended and she’d gone out of her way to make her bedroom as feminine as possible. Decorated in soft pinks and creams with a raw silk bedspread and white-and-gold French Provincial furniture, the room all but sported a No Boys Allowed sign on the door.
She opened her closet and tried to work out what one wore to go trolling for men using the Internet. She finally decided on a black cashmere V-neck sweater and black stretch exercise pants that were the most comfortable slacks she’d ever owned.
She let her hair dry naturally, curling down her back as it did when she didn’t ruthlessly straighten and style it, and then she poured herself a glass of wine and logged onto the dating site.
There were a couple of men who’d sent her expressions of interest but she didn’t like the appearance of either of them. Then she decided she’d better look around and see if anyone in her general age range caught her interest. She was clicking listlessly through the offerings when her doorbell rang.
Her video display showed her Dexter waiting at her front door with all the assurance of a man who knows he’s welcome.
Wrong.
She ignored him and padded back to her couch.
Her cell phone rang.
She picked it up. “Yes?”
“I know you’re home,” said the all-too-familiar voice. “I checked. Your car’s in your spot.”
“Hmm, could there be a reason why I might be home and not answering my door? Oh, wait, there is. I don’t want to see you.”
“I came to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” she blurted, much too fast for someone who didn’t want to see the man. She couldn’t believe he was leaving.
“I have to go back to New York for a couple of weeks, but I’ll be back.”
“Oh.” Fine. It was fine. She’d managed without him for years, she didn’t need him now.
“Could I come in? I want to talk to you.”
Reluctantly, she let him in. Was he going to try to seduce her? One for the road? She couldn’t believe he’d be that crass, and yet she must have a few crass bones in her body too for the idea didn’t repel her. Maybe he was bad for her in a whole bunch of ways, but the sex was still so good it wasn’t fair.
However, he didn’t rush in and jump her. Instead, after he’d come in and removed his coat and shoes, he shoved his hands in the pocket of his jeans and seemed a little unsure of himself. In her feminine space, he seemed more than usually masculine and since she wasn’t wearing her heels he towered above her.
“Would you like to sit down?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Can I get you something? Some wine?”
“If it’s open.”
She went into her kitchen and poured him a glass.
Her body felt tingly and the scent of her body lotion rose as her skin heated from the pImages** flashing through her brain. Good thing she’d showered and freshened up, she thought even as she tried to remind herself of all the reasons why having sex with the hottie in her living room was a bad, bad idea.
When she’d run out of lecture, she walked back in to find him sitting, not where she’d left him, but in her chair. And, horror of horrors, he was staring at her laptop screen with undisguised fascination.
He glanced up. “Are you kidding me? Online dating?”
“What’s wrong with online dating?”
“Nothing, I guess. I thought…” He seemed to run out of steam and she didn’t press him to finish his sentence. Instead she handed him the wine.
With a brief word of thanks, he took a sip and then put the glass down so he could devote his full attention to her computer. How could she have been so stupid as to have left the thing open for him to find?
Of course, anyone with any integrity wouldn’t have snooped. But as she well knew, integrity wasn’t Dexter’s strong suit. If she made a big deal about it, he’d only laugh at her, so she decided to humor him. If he wanted to mock her and her efforts to find a nice guy, then that was his problem.
She steeled herself while he continued reading. Until she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Why are you reading the profiles of single men in the city?”
“I’m not. I’m reading yours.”
She rose. Enough already. She’d get that computer out of his hands if she had to wrestle him to the ground for it.
Finally he glanced up and shook his head. “I can’t believe your profile. You missed all the best things about yourself.”
That wasn’t at all what she’d expected and he didn’t appear to be teasing. She faltered. Puzzled. “Why do you say that?”
His expression was impossible to read. “Because no one knows you the way I do.”
11 (#ucb064ee0-dac0-5837-aba9-6a9e4082d1b3)
“ARE YOU SUGGESTING I should get you to write my online dating profile?” she asked, wondering if she could have misunderstood him.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re my ex-husband. It seems a little unorthodox.”
“Like I said, nobody knows you better, or knows all your good qualities better than I do.” He grinned at her. “Of course, I know all your not-so-good qualities, too, but I’ll keep those to myself.”
“This seems like a really bad idea.”
“Come on, let me take a crack at it. If you don’t like what I write, you can delete it.”
Intrigued in spite of her better judgment, she said, “What would you say?”
She had her legs curled under her, sitting in a corner of the couch. He picked up the laptop and brought it over, sitting beside her. His thighs brushed her toes and she felt a zing of connection from nothing more than the denim warmed by his body heat shifting against her foot.
He didn’t move away.
And she didn’t pull her foot out of the way.
He typed. She was certain he was correcting her height, knocking her down to size, but when she couldn’t stand hearing the tap-tap-tap of keys, and watching the concentration on his face as he typed, she finally leaned over to check his progress.
What he wrote was, To know Karen you have to be patient. She’s outgoing and funny, has a laugh that makes people join in and the minute you meet her you feel like you’ve known her forever. His fingers paused and she waited, silent, until they resumed. But to know the real Karen, the one behind the fun-loving social creature, takes work. She doesn’t show her true self to many people, but it’s worth waiting for. She’s gorgeous, with clear blue-green eyes that make you think you’re on the bottom of the ocean.
“Oh, Dex,” she whispered, but he ignored the interruption.
Her skin’s Irish fair, with a few freckles that remind you of the kid inside her. Her skin tastes like rain-washed apples, and she smells like cherry blossoms.
“Do I?” she murmured. It was like reading a love letter while it was being written, both romantic and the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. Those long artistic architect’s fingers moved with precision over the keys, barely hesitating, as though all this had been composed in his mind and it was a simple matter to type it all out.
“You do. Stop interrupting.” He thought for a moment and continued.
Her hair is a rich red, it’s long and curly, thick enough that you could wrap it around your hands like rope, but when she’s making love to you, looking up with those big clear bottom-of-the-ocean eyes, her hair seems to catch fire, sparking flame. Hot and cold. Cold and hot.
“I’m not,” she said, feeling breathless.
“You are.”
And when she’s naked her body is a glory. Breasts so rich and full you can fill your hands with them. But go carefully, for they are sensitive to the touch.
She made a tiny sound in the back of her throat.
He took one hand off the keyboard, as though he were pausing to think, and ran it across her nipples, already pebbled inside her cashmere sweater. She sighed, rippling her body against him like a cat desperate for affection.
He turned his head, looking down at her with lust blazing in his eyes. She didn’t even think, simply pushed her computer off his lap and onto the couch, and then threw herself at him.
He caught her against him, crushing his mouth to hers, shoving his hands into the curling mass of hair tumbling around them, and began giving her what she needed.
Off came her sweater. Underneath it, she wore a sexy black camisole and, since she hadn’t expected company and had wanted to feel at her sexiest, she wore no bra.
He groaned when he realized this, running his hands over her, squeezing her breasts in the way he knew she liked, firm but not too hard, and never squeezing the nipples, which were exquisitely sensitive.
Instead he kissed them, suckled them, bringing her close to climax. She used to be embarrassed by how responsive her nipples were, but she’d learned to accept the easy pleasure. She leaned back, loving the feelings coursing through her body and the murmured appreciation from this man.
But she didn’t want this to be a quickie, like the desktop escapade. She wanted time to enjoy him, especially if he was going to be gone for a few weeks. This was her chance to savor him, and then she could figure out what she was going to do about her inconvenient passion once he was out of state.
So she rose, took his hand and pulled him toward her bedroom. She flipped on the bedside lamps, which cast a muted pink glow over everything. Except Dex, who somehow still managed to look masculine and commanding.
She wanted to see all of him, enjoy every inch of his body, so she slowly undressed him, pulling off his sweater, the T-shirt he wore beneath it.
“I see you still work out,” she murmured, running her lips over the muscular ridges of his belly.
The pale slash of an appendectomy scar, an old and nearly forgotten friend, drew her tongue and he sucked in his breath as she traced the line, something she’d done hundreds of times when he’d belonged to her. Moved by the memory, she suspected, as she was.
He was so familiar to her. His legs with the freckles above the knees, that ridiculous tattoo on his left shoulder he’d got on a drunken college trip to Thailand. He claimed he’d asked for an eagle and somehow either in a bad translation or a lack of artistic talent on the part of the tattoo artist, he’d ended up with a rooster on his back.
Which always made her smile. It was a reminder that her ex-husband might be competent at business and brilliant at design, but he could be crazy and unpredictable and just as stupid as the next person.
“I see you still have Millie.” And who but she would have named a rooster Millie?
He smiled at her, all dark eyes and simmering sexuality. “Do you know how much it costs to get a tattoo removed?”
She laughed at him, running her hands up and down his smooth, muscular back. “You’ve got lots of money. You’re just a weenie about pain.”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her down beside him on the bed until they were in easy kissing distance. “You know me too well.” He kissed her. “Which has some advantages.”
“Such as?”
He grinned at her wickedly. “You know exactly what I like in bed.”
And the truth was he knew the same about her. As he pulled her even closer and began playing with her body, and she began playing with his, she knew precisely what he meant.
Just touching him, feeling his skin warm under her hands, hearing from his whispered encouragement how much he enjoyed her own response got her hot, hotter, and finally too hot to hold. He’d always been able to gauge her response and pace himself accordingly so she had the bone-deep pleasure of feeling orgasm begin to swamp her and then feeling his pleasure double hers. It was the ultimate excitement and she’d never found it before or since.
But once the first round was over, and their urgent need slaked, they began to play, rolling and teasing, laughing and groping until the play turned serious, and they were making love once more.
“I can’t keep up with you,” he groaned, his body slick with sweat, his breathing ragged. “You are the most insatiable woman I’ve ever known. But you’ve worn me out. I need fuel.” He slapped her rump playfully and rolled out of bed as gorgeous as she remembered. If anything his body had improved. It was so unfair.
“What have you got to eat?”
“Nothing. I ate earlier.”
He yawned, still naked, like it was no big deal and then he headed for her kitchen. “Any leftovers?”
“No.” She didn’t want to tell him she’d stuck a frozen diet entrée in the microwave. It seemed so lonely somehow.
But Dexter seemed to think he had the right to entertain himself in her kitchen. Maybe he felt like he could still open her cupboards and fridge as though they were still married.
Because she had to find her robe and slip it on, plus find slippers and run a brush through the red tangle that used to be her hair, by the time she got to the kitchen, naked Dex was standing with his head in the freezer section of her fridge.
