The Dream Comes True Page 10

  Hungry for everything he gave her, she touched him wherever she could, but the heat he stoked in her soon drove everything from her mind except the release coming on. She erupted with a vengeance, throbbing against him for what seemed an eternity. Lost on the other side of rapture, she wasn’t able to separate her climax from his until she finally returned to consciousness enough to feel the last of the spasms shaking his body.

  Slowly, breathing hard, he lowered himself over her. After a long minute, he rolled to his side and drew her along, still inside her.

  She looked into his eyes, and for a minute she couldn’t speak. Something caught at her throat, something deep and emotional, something she couldn’t—didn’t want to—understand. Making love with John had been the experience of a lifetime.

  As the minutes passed and she regained her poise, she let a smile soften her lip. “Who’d have guessed it?” she finally whispered.

  His brow creased in a frown that was here and gone. “Guessed what?”

  “That slow, quiet, thoughtful John Sawyer was a crackerjack of unleashed virility in bed.”

  His cheeks were already flushed, but she could have sworn they grew more so. “I was inspired.”

  “You certainly were.” Her smile faded. She touched his face. “That was special.”

  He gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?”

  “Do I look hurt?”

  He shook his head. Slowly. “You look well loved.” He touched her lips, which were still warm and swollen, then her cheek, then her hair. “How can hair that is shorter than mine be feminine?”

  “It’s not real hard to have hair shorter than yours,” she quipped, and buried her fingers in the thickness at his nape, “but I like it.”

  “You didn’t at first.”

  “I didn’t like much about you at first. You were slowing me down.”

  “I still am. It’s become my cause.”

  She assumed he was teasing and teased him right back. “It won’t work.”

  “Sure, it will. You’re not rushing off to work right now, are you?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have to be in until ten.”

  “If you had to be in at nine, would you be rushing?”

  “Maybe.” She grinned. “I suppose it would depend on how forceful that thing you’re anchoring me here with is. Doesn’t feel too forceful right now.”

  He grinned back. “Give it a minute.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  She waited a minute, during which time she touched his chest, tracing the hair there, teasing his nipples. “Hmm,” she said, clamping her thigh higher around his when she felt him growing inside her, “I think you may be right.”

  “Of course I’m right.” He caught her mouth and ate at it gently, then less gently as his hunger grew. Fluidly he rolled to his back, bringing her up to straddle him. His eyes were focused on her breasts, which were warm and rose tipped. After guiding her hips for a deeper joining, he left her to her own devices there and touched her breasts.

  Nina watched the long fingers she admired curved around her flesh. She watched them trace her shape and weigh her fullness. She watched them knead, then rub her nipples into hard beads, then draw her forward to meet his mouth. The sight of his tongue dabbing the tip of her breast with moisture that his finger then spread, was nearly her undoing. Closing her eyes, she began to move on him, shifting forward, then back and around, feeling him grow and grow inside her until he was rising to meet her thrusts.

  He brought her to a first climax by tugging her nipples into elongated points. He brought her to a second one by finding the hard bud between her legs and stroking it to fruition. He brought her to a third one by rolling her over and plunging into her with the kind of savagery she’d never have expected from him, but which drove her wild. By the time he’d emptied himself into her, their bodies were slick and spent.

  For a short time, they lay limp and quiet, and at first, Nina enjoyed the closeness. Then her mind clicked on. Slowly picking up speed, it ran her through what had happened, painting pictures of what it meant, and she grew frightened. She had enjoyed herself too much, far too much. John Sawyer as a lover could be habit-forming. But she didn’t have room in her life for a relationship. She didn’t have time for a man like John. She had places to go. She couldn’t be tied down, wouldn’t be tied down, not even by her own desires.

  “Gotta get up,” she murmured from against his chest.

  His arm tightened around her. “No, stay.”

  “Gotta get to work.”

  “Call in. Get someone to cover.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I have a sitter till noon.”

  A sitter. The word represented one of the major differences between Nina and John. Flattening a firm hand on his chest, Nina ignored the lure of damp, warmly furred male flesh and levered herself up. Seconds later, she was out of bed, headed for the bathroom.

  “Nina?” John called.

  “I have to shower,” she called back.

  “Put it off.”

  “I can’t.”

  She turned on the water. As soon as steam rose from it, she stepped under and began to soap herself. She worked methodically, the same way she always did. If certain spots were more sensitive than usual, even tender, she ignored that. She went on to her hair, scrubbing it hard, then rinsed, turned off the water, reached for the towel and began to rub herself dry. By the time she returned to the bedroom, John was propped up against the brass headboard, looking extraordinarily masculine against her bright pink sheets. Everything in the room was bright pink for that matter; still he didn’t look foolish. Just masculine.

  Ignoring that, too, she took underwear from a drawer and put it on, then a pair of silk walking shorts and a matching silk blouse, both in fuchsia. After hooking a pair of turquoise spangles onto her ears, a matching necklace around her neck and a belt around her waist, she stepped into strappy sandals. Then she shook her head, vigorously, peered into the mirror over the dresser and finger-combed her hair.

  “Nina.”

  She looked over at John in surprise. She hadn’t forgotten he was there—no way could she do that—but he’d been so still for so long that his voice, strangely sharp, startled her.

  “Is that it?” he asked. His face was expressionless, his eyes level.

  “What?”

  “We make love, you get up and leave?”

  Opening her makeup case, she began to smooth moisturizer onto her face. “I have to work.”

  “I want to talk.”

  Eyes on her own reflection, she shook her head. “Can’t do that now. Maybe another time.”

  “When?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll have to see when I’m free.”

  “You can be free any time you want to.”

  “I cannot. I have clients to service.”

  “So what about me?”

  Her voice was low, her fingertips busy dabbing eye shadow onto her lids. “Seems to me I just serviced you.”

  John swore. Kicking back the sheet, he rolled to his feet and came to stand over her. Looking in the mirror, Nina caught sight of his nakedness for an instant before her own body blotted out the image, and not a moment too soon. Naked, he was stunning.

  “Don’t use that word with regard to what we did.”

  She forced a shrug, hinting at a nonchalance she didn’t feel, and went on with her makeup.

  “Damn it, Nina, didn’t that mean anything to you? I mean, you’re the very first woman I’ve been with—wanted to be with—since the debacle of my marriage, and you say that you haven’t been with any other man, yet you can just climb out of bed, get dressed and move on?”

  “I have work to do,” she said quietly. “I take it seriously.”

  He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. She could see that much. Even barefoot, he stood tall over her. Warily, with half an eye, she watched him, waiting for him to move or
speak. With the other half, she finished her makeup. He hadn’t said anything by the time she snapped her blusher shut and zipped it back into the bag, but he was giving her a baleful stare.

  “Okay,” she said, turning to him in concession, “so I’m a cold, hard bitch who’s in a rush to get back to work. You can think it. You can say it. You knew it before this ever happened.”

  “Didn’t this mean anything?”

  “Of course it did. I told you, I don’t play around, and I haven’t been with a man in years. But just because we made love doesn’t change anything. You still have your priorities, and I have mine. Neither of us is going to change. You knew that, John. We both knew it. That’s why doing this was so stupid.”

  “So why did we?”

  She tried to find a sensible answer, but the only thing she could come up with was, “Because we couldn’t not do it. There’s something chemical between us. It was building up and building up. This was inevitable.” She turned away to reach for the purse that matched her outfit. “Dumb, but inevitable.”

  He stuck his hands on his lean hips, totally unselfconscious, seemingly unaware of the magnificent picture he made. “And you’re sorry we did it?”

  She hung her head and fingered the purse. “No. I enjoyed it.”

  “But you’ll just turn and walk away from it?”

  Her eyes shot to his. “What would you have me do?”

  “Stay here. Talk to me.”

  “There’s no point. What’s done is done. Now I’m getting back to my life.”

  “You work too hard.”

  She made for the door. “What else is new?”

  “You looked awful when I walked in here,” he said, following her through the apartment.

  “That was because of you. I didn’t sleep last night. I kept thinking of you.” As indictments went, it was a revealing one, but her step didn’t falter.

  “And you think you can stop now?”

  “I’m sure as hell going to try.”

  “How?”

  “By working.” She reached the head of the stairs, and without a pause, started down.

  “You won’t be able to,” he called from the top.

  “Yes, I will.”

  “What we’ve done just now will haunt you.”

  “I won’t let it.”

  “You can’t even look at me!” he shouted.

  Nina hadn’t ever heard him shout before. The sound shook her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, but it wasn’t enough to make her turn. Lest she be stopped cold like Lot’s wife, she hauled open the door and fled without a single glance back.

  * * *

  Nina was determined to do just what she’d said, to get back to work as though nothing as earth-shattering as making love with John had ever happened. Neither John nor his gorgeous body nor his masterful way of loving was going to sidetrack her from her goals of making money, making a name and making a fully independent way of life for herself.

  So she poured herself into work more single-mindedly than ever that Saturday. It wasn’t until after nine that night that she returned to her apartment, and she was off at seven the next morning to drive to Hartford for a one-day seminar. She was exhausted by the time she returned, feeling hot and sweaty and achy, just as she had on Friday night. Knowing John was the culprit and determined to push him from her mind, she refused to answer the phone—which rang repeatedly through the evening—and instead set herself up with a particularly tricky and, therefore, demanding book of figures relating to home mortgage options, shifting interest rates and tax plans. She worked at it until two in the morning, when a combination of exhaustion and an upset stomach got to her. Fortunately, exhaustion was the stronger of the two. She was asleep soon after her head hit the pillow.

  At nine the next morning, Lee popped into her office. “Been here long?” she asked.

  Nina looked up from the papers she’d been poring through. “Since eight. I’m off to show 93 Shady Hill in a couple of minutes.”

  Lee came closer to the desk. “You sound funny.”

  “Funny?”

  “Tired. You look it, too. Pale.”

  Nina put down her pen. “I think it’s a stomach bug or something. Don’t come too close.” Though she’d tossed the warning off half in jest, Lee backed up to the door.

  “Whatever you have, I don’t want. I’m making dinner Friday night at Tom’s place for us and three other couples.”

  Nina lowered her head but not her eyes. “You’re what?”

  “Three other couples, and I know you’re going to say that I’m crazy,” she rushed on, “but I want to do it, Nina. Tom didn’t ask me to. I offered.”

  “But he’s left you sitting home alone for the past two weekends while he’s off playing in New York—”

  “Chicago, and it’s business.”

  “Both weekends, all weekend?”

  “Yes, and he was thinking of me. I showed you the scarf he brought me after last weekend. This weekend he sent flowers. It’s not like he’s off with another woman or anything.” At Nina’s dubious expression, she insisted, “He’s not. Tom loves me.”

  Gently Nina said, “He loves what you do for him, and you love belonging.”

  “So, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing—” She was about to add an “except” and then go on to say more, but caught herself. Much as she hated to see Lee hurt, she hated even more bad-mouthing Tom all the time. Lee was hooked on the man, so Nina was damned either way. It was a no-win situation. She hated no-win situations. Particularly when she was tired. “Listen,” she said, forcing a smile, “maybe it’ll work out. Maybe I’m all wrong, a cynic to the core.” She tried to draw the last, but the draw went flat.

  “You must be feeling lousy,” Lee commented, eyeing her strangely. “We’ve been arguing about Tom for months, but you’ve never given up before.”

  “I’m not giving up. Just taking a breather. You’ll hear from me again.”

  After a minute, softly, a bit worriedly, Lee said, “Are you sure it’s just a bug that’s getting you down?”

  Nina touched the face of a pink slip that lay separate from the rest. “A bug and my mother. She’s not doing well.”

  “Have you talked with her doctor?”

  Setting her pink slip aside, she began to gather up her papers. “A few minutes ago. She seems to be having these little seizures. Her condition fluctuates.”

  “Maybe you should go out to see her.”

  The doctor had suggested the same thing. Again. “How can I go out there,” Nina said, scooping the papers into a folder, “when there’s so much to do here? This fluctuating could go on for a while. It’s not even like she’d know I was there.”

  “But she’s your mother—”

  “And I do all I can. She’s in the best possible place, totally at my expense, and I don’t mind that. But in order to do it, I have to work. Bills don’t get paid by flying all over the country.” Setting the folder aside, she reached for her bag and stood.

  “It’s just Omaha.”

  “And I’ll get there. Right now, things are buzzing here. The momentum is on. Business is great. As soon as there’s a lull, I’ll be on the first plane west.” Holding a palm out she said, “I’m coming through the door. Move, or I won’t be responsible for my germs.”

  Lee moved, and Nina was on her way.

  * * *

  The germs lingered through the rest of Monday and Tuesday, alternately leaving Nina crampy, then not. By Wednesday, she acknowledged that what was ailing her didn’t have much to do with John, other than to kill any thought of sex she might have had. That was why, when John showed up at her door on Wednesday night, she opened it.

  Under the light of the porch, he looked furious. “I’ve been trying to reach you all week. Didn’t you get my messages?”

  Feeling guilty and sad, then angry at herself for feeling either, not to mention the heartthrobbing that the mere sight of him caused, she said, “I’ve been
busy.”

  “So busy that you couldn’t return a single phone call to the man you took to bed last Saturday?”

  “It was the other way around. You took me to bed.”

  “Want to argue about who was willing?” He barely paused, something that unsettled her even more than his words. John took his time, always took his time—unless he was upset. “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m serious.” His fury faded some as he studied her face, and his voice, more tentative now, touched her heart. “Are you all right?”

  She swallowed. “I’m fine. Just busy.”

  “What you’re doing isn’t healthy—”

  “Just for a little bit. This is the height of the season. Come next fall—”

  “Next fall! You can’t keep up this pace till then!”

  “I’ve done it every other year. This one’s no different, except that this time the end is in sight. If Crosslyn Rise comes through the way I want, by next summer I’ll be out on my own. Then I’ll have other people to do the running through the height of the season.”

  “If you’re still alive.”

  “I’ll be alive.”

  He was quiet then, looking at her, pensive in the way she’d come to find both comforting and provocative. Since she wasn’t feeling up to provocative, she took advantage of comforting until he ended it by saying, “What about us?”

  “What about us?”

  “Can I see you?”

  She shook her head. “I need some space.”

  “How much?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Look, I’m not asking you to give up your work.”

  “You were last Saturday—”

  “Because it was so nice holding you that I didn’t want you to leave. But I thought about it after that, and you were right. You had previous appointments, and you hadn’t known I was coming. So all I want now is to arrange a time when you do know I’m coming.”