Friendly Persuasion Read online

  That was important. That was worth it, even if they were on an uncertain footing lately, with emotions slipping between their fingers every time they turned around.

  He noticed that the angle of her head would mean a definite neck kink. She needed some sleep, he knew, because she had a presentation tomorrow morning. He’d put her in his bed. Gently, very gently, he reached under her legs and shoulders and lifted her into his arms.

  “Whaaa?” she said, still asleep.

  “It’s okay. I’m taking you to bed.”

  “Wonderful,” she murmured, cuddling against his chest. If only she meant that the way it sounded. He carried her into his room and laid her on his bed.

  She looked so perfect in his room, surrounded by the piles of his clothes and shoes, his weight bench and bicycle and stacks of magazines and pizza boxes. She was a sweet, serene center of the confusion that was his life. And he felt drawn in, pulled to her, wanting to lie there beside her just to be near her.

  Uh-oh. His heart swelled with a feeling bigger than lust. The kind of feeling that made you hold a woman all night and not notice morning breath because you cared so much about her.

  This was more than sex. Way more. This was love. He was falling in love with Kara.

  Could he handle it? Maybe. But what about Kara? If she felt this way about him, would she get hurt when things changed? Because with him they always did. And he’d sworn he’d never hurt her. He felt sick inside. Maybe Kara had been right about stopping. This could get complicated. It might already be.

  But if he just kept quiet about it, his feelings might settle down. If he didn’t tell her, she’d never know. Plus, they had all those ground rules to protect them.

  He backed away now, to let her sleep, his last sight the strip of moonlight shining silver on her hair. He grabbed a couple of sheets from the laundry basket and tried to get comfortable on the sofa, gripping the cushions to keep himself from lunging back into that room and going for it.

  Exactly what he’d be going for, he was afraid to figure out.

  KARA OPENED HER EYES with a start, unsure where she was. In the gloom, she made out a tangle of sheets, then propped herself on her elbows. The weight bench and bicycle told her she was in Ross’s bedroom. The last thing she remembered was watching basketball and nodding off. Ross must have carried her here. She looked at his Roy Rogers clock—three o’clock.

  God. She had a presentation at nine. She’d be exhausted. She climbed out of bed and found Ross on the sofa lying on his back, his head kinked sideways against the corner of the sofa, feet dangling off the end. Poor thing.

  She watched his chest rise and fall and felt a wash of desire. He was gorgeous, of course, but in sleep, she could see his softness. She felt emotions rise in her—affection, tenderness…and something more.

  This is Ross, remember? Peter Pan? Mr. Playful? The guy with a black book so big it’s cross-indexed? But he’d carried her to his bed and slept out here, inviting neck injury rather than send her out into the night or risk their friendship by climbing into bed with her.

  He was so much more mature than he believed he was. He was capable of a solid relationship. He’d described her Mr. Right in materialistic terms—minivans and timeshares—but what was important was the foundation of love and partnership beneath those things. It wasn’t the Sunday brunches and Saturday movies, it was the companionship and intimacy of spending time together. And Ross was capable of all that—and more.

  Or maybe she was just trying to make him into Mr. Right. That was a scary thought. She shook her head. It was too late and she was too foggy for this kind of analysis. She needed sleep. So did Ross.

  She squatted so she was level with his face, fought the urge to kiss him, and whispered, “You can go to bed now.”

  “Hmm?” He turned toward her and his eyes flew open. “Kara. You’re still here,” he said. He smiled in soft pleasure and he touched her cheek.

  “But I’m going home now.” She cupped his hand with hers, a loving gesture she couldn’t resist. “Go to bed before you hurt yourself.”

  “Oh,” he said fuzzily.

  “And thank you,” she said.

  They looked at each other. I wanted to, he was telling her.

  “I know,” she said out loud, and backed away. She felt the warmth of his hand on her cheek all the way out to her car.

  10

  THIS WAS IT, Tina decided. When Tom came over to study on Saturday, they were going to make love. She’d been patient. She’d gone along with his go-slow approach. Enough already. Saturday night would either be her Waterloo or her Love Connection. She almost didn’t care which. She was sick to death of waiting and aching and wondering just how much he really wanted her.

  Was there someone else? A past heartbreak? A dead girlfriend? A problem with premature ejaculation? Impotence?

  Or, worse, was it something about her that made him withhold sex? What? What? What?

  Tonight she would know for sure, one way or the other.

  They knew each other plenty well—so well it made her uneasy. She liked how he listened hard to her, then nodded, considering, as if he had to store away what she told him for a later exam. It was nice, but it made her nervous, as if he was poking around where he didn’t belong. She wanted him inside her pants, not her heart.

  She wasn’t going to assault him or anything. He’d want to be in the driver’s seat. She was secure enough about her sexuality that she could let him steer for a while until he got tired. Then she would take over.

  She wore a deep-veed, clingy T-shirt with shredded sleeves and tight, high-cut shorts, her reddest lipstick, tallest sandals and most seductive scent. She was a formidable sex object. If she were a superhero, she’d be Sexual Woman.

  She’d placed candles in strategic locations, including a bank around her bed, lit some jasmine incense, and turned on jazz lush enough to lead any warm human to sexual thoughts.

  Tom hit the bell right on time, wearing the usual stonewashed jeans and a plain white T-shirt, carrying a book and a notebook under his arm. He had no idea he was soon going to be whipping out of those clothes and flinging those books aside to screw his brains out—or rather let her do it for him.

  “Hey,” she said in the doorway.

  His gaze raked over her body and he licked his lips. This wasn’t unusual. He had more and more been giving her those looks—like a kid with no money looking in a candy-store window—but this once-over was more like a four-over. Maybe five. “You look…great,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”

  “No occasion. I just felt like this.” She took a deep breath of his wake. She loved the spicy soap he used. Simple, but it smelled like Tom to her. “Lots of studying to do?” she asked innocently.

  “Some. I have an exam on Monday, but I’m mostly ready.”

  Good, because she didn’t want to feel guilty about him failing an exam because she’d kept him busy all weekend.

  He paused in the doorway and sniffed the air. “What’s burning?”

  “Jasmine incense.”

  “Nice,” he said, but she could tell he was just being polite. “Nice music, too,” he said.

  “I thought it would be relaxing,” she said. “Can I get you a beer?”

  “After I finish studying.”

  “Come on. It will calm your mind.”

  He looked at her, his eyes flaring with hunger. “Give me two hours and I’ll be all yours. We can go out then if you want. I know you like to dance.”

  “Okay.” But she wasn’t waiting any two hours. This was it. She sat close to him on the sofa and looked over his shoulder, pretending to examine his book when she really was giving him a chance to check out her cleavage, which he did. At length. “Whatcha studying?”

  “Geometry,” he said huskily.

  “I see,” she said, letting her hair fall forward to brush his cheek. “I was always good with shapes.” She traced a parabolic figure in his textbook with a red nail.

  “I’ll bet,�
� he said wryly.

  “Well, I guess I’ll let you get to it,” she said.

  “Just a couple hours,” he said, looking at her with longing. She headed for the kitchen, her hips swinging provocatively. “Maybe less,” he added faintly.

  Yep, this would work out just fine.

  She returned with nail polish and sat in the chair to his right, resting a freshly shaved and lotion-smooth leg on the edge of the table and began to paint her toes red. This position put her cleavage at exactly the right angle and the sensuous task was something she knew he couldn’t ignore.

  Sure enough, Tom’s eyes flickered to her, then back to his book, to her toes, her breasts, back to his book. He shifted in his seat, then looked at her breasts, toes, breasts, book, breasts, breasts, then finally said, “Could you not do that?”

  “Is the smell bothering you?” she asked innocently.

  “You know what’s bothering me.”

  “I’m almost done,” she said, slowly covering her last two toes. She leaned over to suggestively blow the polish dry, then she said, “I’m hungry. How about a snack?”

  “No thanks,” he muttered. She could feel him fighting the urge to watch her sway out of the room.

  She went to the kitchen and fetched a tall cherry Popsicle from the collection she kept for the neighbor’s little girls who liked to hang with her. She returned to the chair, flung one leg over the side, revealing exactly how high up her shorts were cut, then pushed the icy treat slowly into her mouth and pulled it out equally slowly. “Mmm,” she said, closing her eyes. “Delicious.”

  Tom’s eyes zeroed in on her mouth, his lip tugging upward. “Don’t tell me…your favorite flavor.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Call it male intuition. Look—” he leaned forward and gripped her kneecap, a sensation as erotic as if he’d touched her breast “—I don’t know what you’re cooking up, but I’ve got to study.”

  “Your choice,” she said, holding the Popsicle sideways and running the point of her tongue down it and then onward to lick a thin stream of cherry juice that trailed her forearm. Out of one eye, she saw a shudder run through Tom’s big bear of a body.

  Tonight was the night, all right. No way could he hold out.

  Ten minutes later, however, her mouth was numb and her lips tingly and a sliver of wood had poked her tongue from the stick, and Tom was still glued to that damn geometry book. Enough. She tossed the red-stained stick onto the end table and moved to the sofa again. “You look all knotted up,” she said, and squeezed his shoulder muscles with her fingers. “Let me give you a rubdown.” She kneeled beside him.

  “Okay,” he said hesitantly, shifting so his back was within her reach.

  She pressed her breasts against his back as if to get more leverage and dug in.

  “You’re very good,” he said hoarsely, relaxing under her fingers.

  “I could do even better if you took off your shirt.”

  He whipped it off.

  God, he was well put together. Tan and buff, but not overly so. “You’re real knotted up here,” she said, rubbing the shoulder blades area. Her arms were beginning to ache from trying to make headway with all that tight muscle. Her lips were still numb from the Popsicle and now her hands were going that way. She had never had to work this hard to get laid before. Tom just let her rub away, letting out an occasional groan. She worked her way lower to his waist, slipping her fingers under his waistband from the back.

  He took a sharp breath. She slid slightly forward onto his abdomen, her heart racing. She moved closer to his penis, desperate to know he was erect, but he scooted forward and away from her fingers.

  “I think you got it,” he said. “Thanks. I have to read a couple more pages here.” He bent forward to dig into his book, which would have infuriated her, except she saw that the book was upside down and Tom was breathing very hard. She grinned and gently took the book from his hands. “I think it’s time to study something new, Tom.” She tossed the text across the room and straddled his lap.

  Tom looked scared and delighted and full of dread—like an obsessive gambler who had just hit a jackpot and knew he was hooked for the night.

  “How about studying this?” She grabbed the hem of her shirt with crossed arms, tore it over her head and flung it after the geometry book. She was naked to the waist.

  Tom groaned deeply, as if he faced a great temptation. “I don’t think we should do this, Tina,” he said, his eyes full of anguish.

  “Sure, we should.” She took his hands and put them gently on her breasts. “Study away. If you get lost, I’ll help you find the right place.”

  He didn’t answer, but he didn’t remove his hands.

  “We’ve waited a long, long time,” she murmured, and kissed those lips she’d been dying for since their sailing day a month ago. She reached for his penis through his jeans. It was all that she’d hoped for—thick and sturdy and very interested.

  Tom gave a great growl of frustration and pushed her gently off his lap. “Not like this,” he said.

  “What’s the problem?” she said, aching and irritated. “We waited. We got to know each other. So now let’s have sex.”

  “I don’t work that way, Tina,” he said, his blue eyes going indigo with the storm inside him.

  “You seem to be working fine to me,” she said, staring boldly at the bulge in his jeans.

  “I don’t want to be just another man you sleep with.” He picked her T-shirt off the floor and held it over her breasts, as if to hide them from him.

  “You think I’m a slut? Because I sleep with more than one man?” She scrambled to her feet, then furiously yanked her T-shirt over her head. “Men who sleep around are studs, but let a woman have a healthy sex life and she’s scum!”

  “That’s backward,” he said.

  “Bull. You’re the one who’s backward. Get with the times.”

  “I mean your shirt,” he said softly. “And it’s inside out, too.”

  She looked down and saw he was right. “Don’t change the subject. Sex is a perfectly healthy thing two people can share. If I’d known you were so uptight about it, I wouldn’t have ever—”

  “I want more than sex with you, Tina.” He stood and moved close to her.

  “You what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You mean…an exclusive relationship?”

  “More.” He looked at her steadily.

  “I can’t promise more, Tom. You can’t either, really. We could have something great—great sex, great times—but, beyond that, there’s too much pressure, too many expectations.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.” He picked up his own shirt and put it on. She was gratified to see it, too, was inside out.

  “What? You’re just giving up?” she said.

  “What else can I do?” He stared at her. Change your mind, he seemed to be saying.

  “Why does everything have to be your way?” she said, glaring at him. Why do you want so much from me? And exactly what I can’t give.

  “What are you afraid of?” he said, still holding her gaze.

  “I’m not afraid. I’m realistic. And you’re dreaming.” She turned her back on him. He had some ideal of a woman in his mind and she’d never live up to it. She wasn’t even going to try.

  When she turned back, Tom had picked his book up from the floor, grabbed his notebook and was heading for the door. Leaving. Walking out. Her heart lurched. She would see him at the Upside after this. He’d serve her Stingers and Cosmopolitans and Wallbangers, but there would be no light in his eyes when he looked at her, no secret smile, no soft pat of encouragement on her hand.

  When he reached the door, she called out, “Tom,” sounding completely pathetic.

  He stopped moving and when he turned, his face was full of agony—an agony she recognized, because she was feeling it, too. She was so relieved she ran to him. He grabbed her into his arms and
lifted her off her feet to kiss her. “Okay,” he breathed in her ear, crushing her to him. “You win.”

  Thank God. He’d given in. And before she’d had a chance to say she’d try it his way—a thing she’d surely fail at. Joy rushed through her.

  He kissed her again, holding her tightly against his chest, so broad, so sure, like home. His hands slid to her waist and squeezed. They were so big they almost touched in the middle of her back, then they swept lower to press her butt against him.

  Lust scorched her insides. Maybe she was extra horny because she hadn’t slept with anyone since she’d started seeing Tom. Or maybe it was because she’d had to work so hard to get him. It didn’t matter. All she knew was Tom was rubbing himself against her stomach—big and thick and eager—and she was so excited she thought she might faint.

  I’ve waited for you, his body seemed to be telling her. All this time. Then his hands came forward and pushed under her T-shirt to grasp her breasts, holding them securely, his fingers soft on the tips.

  “Tina,” he breathed. Then he released her. She had only a second of empty loneliness before he drew her into his arms and carried her down the hall to her bedroom, his face so full of hunger she felt herself melting. She reminded herself to stay focused. Her job was to make sure he had no regrets about giving in. She would show him how wonderful sex-and-sex-alone could be.

  When they got to the bedroom and he lowered her to the bed, she popped up and pushed him to a sit at the end of the bed so she could undress for him. She tugged her T-shirt off again—for good, this time—then slowly unfastened her shorts and slid them down, revealing transparent white undies.

  Tom’s eyes widened with appreciation.

  She reached down to caress his erection through his clothes. He quaked for a second, then gripped her by the hips and pulled her belly to his face, kissing her through her panties, practically cutting off her circulation, holding on as if her body were a precious thing. She felt herself go liquid.