Letting out a low whimper of frustration, she unwrapped her arms from her knees.As they spread apart, she felt his arousal through his trousers.But it wasn’t enough.Touching him brought back images of what he was like bare, and she was suddenly desperate to feel him that way again.
Hating herself for what she was doing but half-wild with need, she pulled at his belt, unfastened his pants, and lowered the zipper.She slid her hands inside, under the band of his briefs, and with the very first touch she sucked in a breath.
“It’s for you,” he said in a voice that was low and gritty.“Doesn’t get like this for anyone else.”
She wanted to believe him, wanted so badly to believe him that when he began to unbutton her dress she didn’t protest.She stroked him, then raised her hips at his urging.He had her panties off in a second, and in the nexthad her against the sofa with her dress and her bra wide open, her knees bent and spread.
He dominated her world then, took control, blotted out everything else there might have been.If she’d ever wanted more in life, she couldn’t remember.There was nothing but John—John needing her in ways no other man had, ways no other woman could possibly understand.In the afterglow, she truly believed she’d found her place.
Then, speaking quietly in her ear in a voice that was still faintly husky, he ruined it.“Proof is hard to come by, Hillary.Without it your claims are worthless.”
They were sprawled on the sofa, a tangle of arms and legs and clothes that hadn’t been fully removed.She lay still, trying to take in his words, but the deeper they sank in, the more they hurt.
He raised his head.“Are you listening?Write that story, and there’ll be trouble.”
For a minute she couldn’t move.Then suddenly she felt she was suffocating.Scrambling out from under him, she withdrew to the far side of the room.She held her dress together with a shaky hand.
“Did that mean anything to you?”she asked.
He sat up.“It was damn good.”
“Besides a lay.Did you feel anything here?Or here?”She touched first her head, then her heart.
“Ah, shit,” he said and reached for his pants.“Are you going to start in on that?All these years, you were good.That was one of the reasons I kept coming back.You didn’t pretend that there was more than there was.You didn’t expect there to be.”He stood and jerked up his fly.“Do you know how tired I get hearing women talk about love?”
“It scares you, doesn’t it?”
He tugged his shirt into place.“It does not.I just find it a waste of energy.”
But she had hit on something worth pursuing.“It scares you, scares you shitless.Love implies a commitment to another person—not a business, or a stone, or a marketing strategy, but aperson.More than that, it involves expectations, and that’s what you can’t take.You don’t want to be let down.Don’t want to be hurt.So you keep people at a distance.You order them around.You maintain full control, because then when you don’t get what you want, you have someone to blame.You have someone to punish.”
Draping his tie round his neck, he snatched up his jacket and started for the door.“You’ve been reading too much of the wrong stuff.Self-help books are a menace.You’re getting analytical, and that’s very boring.”At the door, he turned and pointed a finger at her.“Don’t write about me, Hillary.I’m warning you.Don’t do it.Keep your nose in your own affairs, or you’ll find yourself in over your head.”
“Do you love him?”Pam asked.
Four days had passed since John stalked out of Hillary’s apartment.Naturally, she hadn’t heard from him.When Pam had come to town on business and called to meet for lunch, she had jumped at the chance.She needed to talk.Now, as they picked through their salades Niçoise at La Caravelle, she knew it was time.
“I suppose.”She held her breath while the admissionregistered, then asked in an unsure tone, “Do you hate me for it?”
“No.I wish I could understand, though.How can you love a man who has treated you so horribly all these years?”
Hillary twisted her fork against a sliver of tuna.“I don’t know.I just can’t remembernotloving him.From the first time I saw him, something was there.”She looked up.“Wasn’t it the same for you with Cutter?Right from the beginning, he was forbidden, still you felt something.Is there an explanation for that?”
“But Cutter is a giver.He’s sensitive and gentle.He’s as different from John—”
“I know.”Hillary didn’t want to go into that.“Don’t ask me to tell you what I love about him.It’s irrational.When we were young, I worshipped him.I saw his potential.I rooted for his success.I look at him now, and he has that success, but he’s not happy.There’s no personal peace.He won’t let anyone get close enough to touch him where it really counts.I look at him, and I hurt.I wish he would let me help, but he won’t.And I hate him for that.”
She put a piece of lettuce in her mouth, simply to have something to do.She chewed it, swallowed, ate another piece.“I’m filling the emptiness,” she said with a wry half-smile.“This is why people gain weight.When there’s a hole in their lives, they stuff something in.Food is the natural stuffer.”
“So why do you look like you’ve lost five pounds?”
“I’ve been working too hard.”She took a long drink of Perrier, then watched Pam sift through the remnants of her salad.“Speaking of which, aren’t you going to ask?”
Pam pushed an olive through several revolutions before setting down her fork and sitting back in her chair.“I figured you’d tell me when you’re ready.”After a minute, she said with quiet resignation.“You’re writing it, aren’t you.”
Hillary nodded.“It’s mostly about John.But there’s some about the rest of you, too.”When Pam looked pained, she said, “You’re my friend.My closest friend.You know I wouldn’t do anything to harm you.”Still Pam said nothing, so she added, “I thought it was a dynamite idea at first.I’m not so sure now.”
“Why?”
