Take Me Twice

“Fine. Terrific. Whatever.” She lifted her arm, let it drop down against her thigh. “I’ve lived here for eight years—Mom still tells me I better come home where I belong and did I know Geoffrey Wrango was divorced and he’s always asking after me, and my sister is expecting her gazillionth child next month and aren’t I worried about getting too old? Because I can have a career anytime, but the longer I wait the greater my chances of having a kid with Down’s or not conceiving at all, plus at my age the good men are going fast, and by the way my father isn’t going to last forever and how hard could it be to jump on a plane back to Ohio and blahblahblahblahblah.”

She took a huge breath to replenish. “In other words, nothing new. Yours?”

He didn’t answer right away, actually he couldn’t. Or didn’t want to. He stood there, grinning at her, letting delight wash over him. And even though delight was a total girly emotion, damned if she didn’t delight him. He hadn’t felt this buzzed since…the last time he’d seen her. Only clinching a big deal came close to a Laine high.

“Hello?” She quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward as if to inspect his skull for some sign of occupation. “Your mom and stepdad? How are they?”

He bent to match her movement, so their faces were only inches apart. She blinked in surprise, then her sexy mouth curved up and she lifted her other brow expectantly.

“Let’s see.” He dropped his gaze to her grin, then back up to her eyes. Blue and enticing, black-lashed and mischievous. He’d spent so much time inside them that staring at her up close this way felt like coming back to a place he’d always loved. “Paris this month, Costa Rica in the fall, concerts, parties, gardening, dinners at the club, sorry, can’t talk long, the Harrises are due any minute, you remember Bob, don’t you, head of his class at Harvard, he’s now CEO of his own Fortune 500 company. In other words…”

“Nothing new.” She laughed, then lingered long enough to dart a glance at his mouth and straightened. “Come on in and see the palace.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He followed with his bags, staring unapologetically at the sway of her firm rear, imagining himself into the beginnings of an erection. God, what pigs men were. He should be asking her how she was doing, where her life had been, where it was going, not salivating over her ass. But damn it, the woman had one fine ass.

They passed the tiny kitchen area to the left and entered the living room straight ahead, where Laine put the vase on a glass-topped coffee table, picked up what must be last week’s fading bouquet and disappeared into the kitchen to dump it. Regardless of what Laine said, this Ben guy must have reason to think he’d caught the scent to heaven. No guy was that much of a sap otherwise.

Grayson parked his stuff against a beige couch and looked around. Hardwood floors with the Oriental rug she bought in Murray Hill a few years after college, TV in a wooden cabinet whose open doors revealed a disarray of workout tapes and chick movies and a white ceramic lamp that had belonged to her mother. Against one wall stood the dining table; above it hung the detailed print of the Sacre Coeur she’d bought on a high school trip to Paris. He glanced at the overstuffed armchair he and Laine had found on a curb, hauled up to her old apartment together and had re-upholstered. He ran his hand over the armrest. The chair probably wasn’t worth a cent, but to them it had been the fantasy of stumbling over a discarded priceless antique.

Other unfamiliar things must be new acquisitions or belong to her roommate. He walked to the huge windows and pushed aside the sheer white curtains. Pretty decent cityscape thanks to the low buildings around them. Though he bet she used to be able to see the Twin Towers out this window.

He grimaced, then dropped the curtain and turned when he heard her come back into the room. She stood near the couch, clear eyes on him, shooting off her patented Laine energy even standing still. If he didn’t know how amazing it was to be a whole lot closer, he’d swear he could be happy standing here watching her for the rest of the day. God he’d missed her. Didn’t realize how much until he saw her again. No wonder he still dreamed about her. He was ready to dive back in without even knowing where they’d land.

“Want to see the rest of the place?”

“Sure.” He picked up his bags and followed her down the hallway, not understanding the mischievous smile she shot back until she gestured him into a small, unbearably feminine bedroom with flowered curtains and matching yellow bedspread and rug.

“Wow.” He put his bags down and surveyed the room, wondering if he’d emerge from this summer with the urge to wear panty hose. “This is so extra special.”

“I knew you’d like it.” Laine laughed behind him. “You’re so fetching in pastels.”

He sent her a grin over his shoulder. “It’s fine. It’s just what I need, Laine. And thanks for agreeing to let me use it.”

“Well, it helps me out, too.”

He turned, deciding he really liked being in a bedroom with her again. “You scratch mine, I’ll scratch yours?”

“Something like that.” She cocked her head and gave him a strange Mona Lisa smile. “Come see the rest? Or do you want to unpack?”

“Nothing to unpack really, since I’m only staying tonight this time.” He pulled off his tie and threw it on the yellow bedspread, slipped slowly out of his jacket, watching for her reaction. “I am dying to get out of this suit, though.”

“Okay.” She took a step back and paused in the doorway. “I have a couple of e-mails to send, then we can have dinner.”

He tossed his jacket on the bed and started to unbutton his shirt, giving her what they used to call the Green Light Grin. “What, you don’t want to stay and watch me change?”

“Ha!” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, then directed them down to his chest as if she couldn’t help wanting to see it again. “You’ll never change.”

“Ah, Laine, but would you want me to?” He tossed the shirt over the jacket and slowly started to unbuckle his belt, watching her, waiting for when she’d start darting those hungry glances down.

Instead she paused and looked thoughtful, apparently taking the question more seriously than expected. He stopped in the middle of unzipping his fly. He did not want to hear this answer standing in his underwear.

“I guess not.”

“Okay.” He hadn’t a clue how to respond. She guessed not? How was he supposed to take that? “I’ll just be a sec.”

She nodded and left, turning to the right, away from the living room toward what must be her bedroom.

Well, okay. He hadn’t seen her for five years, maybe it was unreasonable to expect that the sight of him in an undershirt would send her into paroxysms of lust. But he knew Laine. She could jump-start into sexual arousal like nothing he’d ever seen. Sometimes all it took was the Green Light Grin to get her going. He’d loved touching her, exploring her body, but unlike other women, it wasn’t so much foreplay as teasing.

Grayson shrugged, took off his pants and undershirt, and hung the suit in the closet next to a brilliant array of female suits and cocktail dresses. Just because he could shake off the years apart at first sight didn’t mean the same was true for her.

He pulled on jeans and a collarless teal polo shirt, a near duplicate of one Laine had bought him shortly before he’d moved away, saying she was sick of him wearing neutral colors. Finally, unpacked and feeling cooler, he scooped up his bathroom supplies and made his way in the direction Laine had gone, found the bathroom and grinned at the nearly bare counter and cabinet.

His ex-girlfriend in Chicago, Meg, had an entire drugstore in her bathroom. Cosmetics and lotions and cleaners—no, excuse him, cleansers—and polishes and waxes and miracle creams and toners, whatever the hell those were, plus puffs and poufs and wipes and assorted metal instruments of torture. No amount of persuasion convinced her she looked fine as is, maybe even better without all that crap slathered on. The fountain of youth was alive and well in the human brain, not in a million dollars’ worth of merchandise. Someone like Laine would still be a young woman at age eighty-five.

He emerged from the bathroom and headed for the only doorway left unexplored in the place. Laine’s bedroom. Where he hoped to be spending a lot of time this summer.

The room was evocatively familiar. She still had the queen mattress they’d bought together—in the same walnut frame—the same rose-colored bedspread, right now strewn with pamphlets and magazines, still had her grandmother’s dark wood dresser and the matching antique vanity. New to her setup, though—a computer workstation and a more up-to-date PC than the one she’d used when they were together.

At this PC, staring intently at the screen, sat Laine, sucking on a lollipop—ever the snack addict. Even though the door was open, he knocked.

“Come in.” She swiveled her chair toward him and smiled. “Got everything you need?”

He bit back the obvious answer and gestured around the room. “This looks awfully familiar.”

“Same old stuff. I’ll just be a second here, then we can have a beer.”

“Beer sounds fine.” He moved toward the bed and picked up a handful of printed material. “What’s all this?”

“I’m planning all kinds of fun this summer. Stuff I’ve always wanted to do but never had time.”

“You’re doing all this?” He shuffled through the magazines. “Yoga? Pottery? Cooking school? Dance classes? Skydiving?”

“Yup.” She hit a key, closed out the window on her screen and jumped up, coming to stand next to him. “Cool, huh? That skydiving place looks amazing. They’re booked up for a few weeks, but I think I’ll sign up. You only need a half hour of instruction, then you can do a tandem jump with one of the instructors.”

“Wow.” He was already envious of the instructors. Her scent was getting to him; she was slightly nearsighted and stood close to see the magazines. If he moved his left arm, he’d probably brush against her breast.

“And this.” She took the lollipop out of her mouth, reached to point, and her breast brushed against his tricep all by itself. “Is the yoga class I signed up for. Judy takes it, too. She says it’s changed her life.”

“Really.” He was barely listening, just taking her in, the sweet smell of cherry lollipop, the warmth of her nearness, the softness of her breast on his arm.

“And this.” Another point to another publication, another brush. “Is a place where you can sign up for cooking lessons. The woman running the place teaches French, Thai, a whole bunch of cuisines. Each session gives instructions for a complete meal. And this…”

Enough torture. He dumped the magazines back on the bed, lifted her under the arms and swung her against the wall.

“Grayson!” His name came out slightly garbled from the lollipop shoved against her cheek. “What are you doing?”

“I was wondering—” he grinned at her breathless tone, the darkening of her eyes, and looked down at her mouth, the white paper stick pressed firmly between her sexy lips “—when you were going to offer me a suck.”