not have it bug you for years.
At least, she couldn’t.
Because she was now in her ninth year of wondering what sex with Daniel would have been like, and, to put it quite bluntly, it was driving her nuts. He was the root of erotic dreams that woke her in mid-orgasm in the middle of the night. He was the reason she had had such high expectations for Robert Novinsky and Charles Morton and probably the reason she had sabotaged relationships with both of them. It wasn’t that she was sexually dysfunctional, exactly, but what if somehow Daniel was the key?
What if she did take him up on his blatant offers and made him put his money where his mouth was? Would that unlock her sexuality? Would it break down this dam that seemed to hold her back in relationships with other people? If she had sex with him, maybe that would be the “kick galvanic” that got her back on track again.
And aside from the therapeutic effects of sex with Daniel, maybe it was simply time to have a little fun.
Fun was not a word she usually used in conjunction with sex. In her experience, sex was comfort, it was payment of an obligation, it was fulfillment of someone’s expectations…but it was very rarely fun. She had no doubt whatsoever that if a girl wanted to have great big dollops of fun with her sex, then Daniel was the guy to serve it up to her.
What would be wrong with having a little fling with him? It wasn’t as though he ever went into a relationship with the long term in mind. The endless string of girlfriends he’d paraded for the media over the years was proof of that. Not that she was keeping a scrapbook or anything, but every time she saw him in a circular for a benefit or in one of the scandal sheets, he was with a different “companion.” If he wasn’t going to commit to one of those beautiful and no doubt intelligent people, it was a safe bet he wouldn’t expect anything from her, either.
Besides, it might be exciting to have an affair with someone who was the next thing to a movie star. The man every woman wanted. He was clearly interested. And she was mature and intelligent and on birth control. Why shouldn’t she have a fling if she wanted to? It wasn’t as if she would lose control and fall in love with him or anything. It wasn’t like fieldwork, where the unexpected could throw your theories out the window or a freak storm could destroy months of work. She could have a fling under controlled conditions, having carefully chosen her subject, the way she might in the lab.
As long as she was the one controlling the conditions, what was there to be afraid of? There was no harm done to either of them, and they’d both enjoy it.
Cate straightened in her chair and slid her empty notebook back into her tote as Dr. Hoogbeck blinked owlishly under the stage lights, seeming a little bemused at the applause as he wound up his presentation. There was always the chance that she’d talk herself out of this, but at the moment it seemed like a fine plan.
Of course, once she’d made up her mind, Daniel decided not to cooperate. At lunch he sat at the faculty table, entertaining all six of his companions with some uproariously funny story that made heads turn and a little prick of envy at being left out needle its way through Cate’s heart. He didn’t go to the afternoon workshops, which made her wonder if that polished blonde who had been hovering behind him at the book signing was keeping him company in his private cottage, too.
It was merely speculation. Not jealousy. The man could have whomever he wanted in his cottage. But once she, Cate, had decided it should be herself, it was a little annoying to have him switch from being on her doorstep every time she turned around to playing hard to get.
She went to the afternoon seminar to hear the latest research on Cretan snake dancers to take her mind off him, and when she came out, there he was, walking under the oaks on the far side of the grounds.
He looked up when she was about fifty feet away. “Hey, Cate.”
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Decompressing. I just spent the last hour with my publisher’s rep, going over the plan of attack for flogging the book in Nevada and New Mexico. I need a drink.”
“Your publisher’s rep is here?”
“Yeah. Stacy Mills. Blonde. About this high.” He held out a hand near his shoulder.
So she had been right. The polished blonde had been in his cottage with him. Plan of attack indeed. Attacking each other, more like. Cate’s mood took a spiraling nosedive and crashed in flames.
“I won’t disturb you, then.” She turned on her heel, but before she could move more than a foot, he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Let’s get out of here, Cate. All these people are driving me nuts. How about dinner?”
Her muscles jumped with anticipation under his hand, but she kept her voice calm. “Where? I didn’t see anything on the way here but a café and some campgrounds.”
“A couple of miles south there’s a place called Nepenthe. Supposed to have a view off the terrace to die for, and good food. What do you say?”
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