style="font-size:15px;"> “Of course I took a cab. I’m not stupid.” And now that she thought about it, the cabbie had eyed her coat with something close to a smirk. “I bet he’ll remember me,” she said with satisfaction, and Jaiven let out a throaty laugh.
“Damn right he will. Best ride of his life, I bet, and all he got to do was wonder.”
He lowered his mouth to her breast, his hands spanning her waist. Louise let her head fall back, let the sensations overwhelm her. They felt so good. “I’m very, very glad you had this fantasy,” Jaiven said in a voice that had turned hoarse with desire. “Very glad.”
Louise laughed breathlessly, driving her fingers through his hair to anchor him more closely to him. “Even if your mother thinks you consort with disreputable women?’
“My mother already thought that. And she couldn’t think less of me if she tried, anyway.” It was an offhand comment, and Jaiven had already moved his mouth lower, his tongue teasing her navel and making it very hard to think, yet even so Louise felt a flicker of curiosity. Wondered about the heart and soul of the man whose body she craved.
Then she stopped thinking at all because he was shucking his clothes and reaching for her, and as his lips found hers again and her legs wrapped around his hips she wasn’t curious about anything but the desire deepening inside her, and how only Jaiven could satisfy it.
Eventually they made it to the bed, a huge king-size affair on the top floor of the house, with skylights above that let in a flood of moonlight.
Louise lay amid the tangled, silken sheets, her legs twined with Jaiven’s, her hand resting palm-down over the thud of his heart. She felt sleepy and utterly sated by sex, and yet at the same time a part of her seemed to hover above the room, taking it all in, marveling at how intimate this all was. How emotional it all seemed.
Just sex, stupid, the rest of her reminded that part, and with a sigh of resignation it came crashing down. She had to go. It was probably after midnight already, and she didn’t relish looking for a cab in this part of the Bronx at such a late hour.
Yet she was so comfortable in Jaiven’s bed, with Jaiven’s body snugged around hers, his breathing slow and easy, his eyes closed although Louise didn’t think he was actually asleep.
“I should go,” she finally said, and began, admittedly only halfheartedly, to rise from the bed. Jaiven just tightened his hold on her and she relaxed back into him even though she knew she shouldn’t. She was pretty sure pillow talk wasn’t part of either of their fantasies.
“Why?” he asked, and she could hear the rumble of his voice through her hand on his chest.
“Because it’s late and I need to cab it back to the Upper West Side. I can’t imagine there are many taxis cruising around the Bronx at one in the morning.”
“If you think I’m letting you go outside and look for a cab dressed in just that coat, you’re crazy,” Jaiven answered. “I could call you a car,” he continued, his arms still wrapped around her. “But I won’t.”
“And why won’t you?”
“Because I like you right here.”
And she liked being here. Too much. So she put up a fight, mostly because it felt like the right thing to do. Draw a line in the sand, as it were: sex, not sleeping. Fantasy, not the all too welcome reality of two warm bodies cuddled together on a bed.
She decided to keep it light. “So, what, you have a fantasy about spooning with a woman in bed while whispering sweet nothings into her ear?”
Louise felt Jaiven’s body tense, his hands still on her bare back, and she realized she’d made a mistake. She’d meant to sound joking but Jaiven had obviously seen through that paper-thin facade to the real and messy emotion underneath.
Because that’s my fantasy.
Except it wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Wouldn’t be, because she wasn’t ready for a relationship at all, much less with someone like Jaiven.
A man like me.
What had he meant by that, anyway? Someone who collected women’s panties as personal trophies? Your average commitmentphobe? Did it even matter?
Clearly she needed to get out of here before he booted her out. Or before she started begging to stay. Either option was awful.
“Seriously, I have work tomorrow,” she said as she slipped from Jaiven’s embrace. His arms fell to his sides as he let her go, and Louise tried not to let that hurt.
This was about enjoying a fling, exploring some sexual fantasies, she reminded herself as she searched for her clothes. And that was all.
“I think you might run into a problem,” Jaiven informed her lazily. He’d rolled onto his back and lay there with his arms crossed underneath his head, unashamedly and quite magnificently naked.
“The problem being?” Louise asked as she stood there, not quite so unashamedly naked, wishing she’d thought about the coming home part of showing up in a trench coat and heels. The return trip wasn’t nearly as appealing.
“You don’t have anything to wear home.”
“I have my coat.”
Jaiven’s gaze swept over her, and she saw the heat flare in his eyes. It still amazed her that he actually desired her. If she hadn’t seen and felt the proud evidence she never would have believed it.
But maybe that was just because despite ten years to get over it, not to mention all the self-help books on female empowerment and a PhD in the politics of gender, she still felt as if she didn’t measure up as a woman. As a person.
Thanks to a husband who had informed her she didn’t—and had shown her in ways she couldn’t bear to remember—all too often.
But she wasn’t going to think about Jack now. She’d managed not to think about him for ten years. She’d like to keep that trend going.
“I can’t,” he told her, his voice silky, “allow you to leave here in nothing but that coat.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not safe.”
“I was perfectly safe coming over here.”
“It was early evening, then, and you weren’t trawling the Bronx looking for a cab.”
“I thought you were going to call me a private car.”
“I said I could. But I think I won’t.”
She shook her head, exasperated, and yes, still naked. Still feeling a little embarrassed, now that the flood of confidence-building desire had receded. How repressed was she, that she could not hold a conversation in the nude? It wasn’t even just about body image; it was about herself. Feeling exposed. Bracing herself to be criticized or worse. All those old hang-ups were coming back to haunt her now, and she didn’t like the feeling at all.
“I’ll call myself one then,” she told him. “It’s simpler
