Chapter 11 #2
Patricia was lost to him. She refused to see him—not that he wanted to see her either.
She was a blemish on his record, a miscalculation on his part.
Every time he saw how shattered she was, he remembered the cause.
The accident wasn’t his fault, of course.
He hadn’t been driving the car. Like the affair, the accident was Eugene’s fault.
Eugene had driven them to sleep together.
Now there were other women, strangers to him, whom he bedded.
Having one woman, one night, added to the mystique of John St. George.
It also kept him safe. He didn’t want any woman getting close enough to interfere with his plans for the future.
He didn’t want any woman getting under his skin, discovering his needs, finding that he wasn’t made of steel after all.
Hillary already knew that, which was one of the reasons he kept returning to her.
She was privy to his past and wasn’t part of the crowd he was trying to impress.
She wasn’t part of any crowd at all. Although she had plenty of friends, they were from diverse groups.
She was an individual in that sense, which definitely fit into his plan.
“I like you, Hillary,” he told her one night. They were lying among the twisted sheets of her bed, their love-making so recent that their bodies were still damp with sweat.
She lay on her stomach with her head turned away, but she faced him at his comment. “Thank you, John. It’s nice of you to say that.”
“Are you being sarcastic?” Usually he could tell, but her voice was faintly muffled by the pillow.
“No. I’m serious. It is nice of you to say it. You don’t usually say things like that.”
He took a long drag of his cigarette and let the smoke linger in his lungs before sending it out in a leisurely stream. “Does it bother you?”
“When you say it? Of course not.”
“When I don’t say it. Does it bother you that I’m not a big one for sweet words?”
“No. It bothers me when you don’t call me for weeks and weeks, then expect me to think that you haven’t been with other women in between.
I’m not stupid. I know the score, and it’s fine, John.
Really it is. You have a right to do what you want.
I have my own life, too. I’m not climbing the walls waiting around for you. ”
He didn’t like the sound of that. “You see other men?”
“All the time.”
“I mean socially. Sexually. Are you sleeping with other men?”
She lifted one bare shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I have.”
He breathed in another lungful of smoke, exhaled it. “Are you now?”
“I’m with you now.”
“How many? When you’re not with me, how many are you with?”
“At a time? Only one.”
“You know what I mean, Hillary. How many other men are there?”
Again she shrugged. “Two, maybe three in the last year.”
He was annoyed to feel so bothered. “Are they as good as I am?”
She turned her head away again, but not fast enough to keep him from seeing the small, smug twitch of her lips.
Snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the night stand, he kicked aside the tangled sheet and came over on top of her.
Grabbing her wrists from under her breasts, he pinned them high to the sides.
“Are they?”
“You’re crushing me, John.”
“I’m not crushing you. You’re used to my weight. Are you used to the other guys’ weights, too? Do they do it to you like I do?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said primly.
“No?” Releasing one of her hands, he slid his own beneath her. It cupped her breast, rolled over her nipple, slid down her belly and between her legs. “Do they light a fire down here?” he murmured in her ear. His voice was deeper. He felt himself growing hard against her bottom.
“A fire? They’d have to do that, now wouldn’t they, if they wanted me wet.”
His stroking fingers told him that she was plenty wet for him then, but she always was. “Do you come?”
She was a minute in answering. Her voice was a little higher. “I try.”
He increased his penetration. “Once? Twice? More?” He bit on her earlobe, then sucked it hard into his mouth.
“John,” she whispered, “what are you doing?”
“I want to know what it’s like with them. Do you cry out the way you do with me? Do you ask them to do it harder?” Spreading his hand over her belly, he drew her to her knees.
“John, no,” she began, but his fingers continued to stroke her and her next breath was a helpless moan.
“Do you let them do this?” He touched her where he knew she was ultrasensitive and, at the same time, probed for entry.
“John, don’t—”
But he was rock hard, needing to take her this way. “No, you don’t let them,” he whispered hoarsely, nudging deeper and deeper inside her. “You don’t, because this is our way.”
“You’re hurting me,” she whimpered.
“Only because you’re fighting it. Don’t resist. Take it easy.
” He withdrew, then pushed back into her.
The pleasure was so intense that his voice was little more than a growl.
“That’s it. That’s it.” He felt her hand covering his between her legs, pressing, rubbing, all of which excited him more, but when she began to move against him, drawing him in deeper, holding him there, he lost all thought of caution.
With her cries of pleasure ringing in the air, he thrust into her again and again, harder and harder, until he felt sure he’d split her apart.
His climax was long and hot. She was trembling when he finally pulled out.
“Help me,” she whispered, turning under him and reaching for his head.
He lowered it, took her mouth in a savage kiss, then moved down her body.
With the same savageness, his mouth brought her to one climax, then another.
By that time he was rock hard again, so he entered her that way and brought her to yet a third.
Their bodies were hot, slick, and spent by the time they finally sank back against the pillows.
Closing his eyes, John let his pulse calm while he listened to the way Hillary panted, mixing sighs with low moans of pleasure.
He loved the sound. It was one of the ways she was different.
She wasn’t ashamed of taking her pleasure.
She didn’t try to hide it. She let him do what he wanted, and she enjoyed it. Not all women did.
“So,” he said. “I ask you again. Are they as good as I am?”
It was a minute more before she caught her breath enough to answer. Looking up at him, her dark hair a riot of tangles exotically framing her face, she whispered, “No one is as good as you are, John. You can bet that if I ever find one who is, I won’t be waiting around for you anymore.”
He saw the same twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Bitch.”
“You’re full of compliments today. So what brought on the first? What prompted you to tell me you like me?”
The comment had come in the aftermath of passion, when his defenses were down. She’d been an outlet for the tension that had built inside him for a long time, and he had felt relieved.
Hoisting himself up against the headboard, he reached for another cigarette.
“I just realized that I did, so I thought I’d say it.
” He flicked the silver lighter that she kept around for his use, and talked with the cigarette in his mouth.
“You’re easy to be with. You don’t make demands.
I like that.” He drew deeply on the cigarette, only then taking it in his hand.
“Go on.”
He was feeling mellow enough to indulge her for once. “You don’t cling. You don’t curl up on top of me after we’ve made love, like you’re afraid I’ll run off somewhere if you don’t.”
She gave a throaty laugh. “If you wanted to run off, I wouldn’t be able to stop you. Besides, I’m hot and sweaty. The last thing I want is to curl up on top of you.” She ran a hand under her breasts to catch the dampness there. “Go on. Tell me what else you like.”
“You’re independent. You have your own life. You work.”
“For what that’s worth. It doesn’t seem to be getting me far.”
He didn’t expect that it would. Newspaper journalists were a dime a dozen.
The ones who made it big were aggressive to the point of ruthlessness.
They had guts and grit. Hillary might be independent, but she wasn’t sharp-edged.
Not that he minded. He didn’t want her name in lights.
He wanted her to stay the nobody she was. She wasn’t any threat that way.
Knowing that she wouldn’t understand his line of thinking, he said, to mollify her, “You haven’t been at it long.”
“Three years. I think I’ve been stereotyped. The assignments they give me are fluff pieces. I need a change.”
“To a different department?”
“To a different paper.”
“You’re at the best Boston has.”
“New York’s got a lot more.”
“New York?” He grunted. “Don’t start in on that again.” Annoyed, he took another drag on his cigarette.
“It’s just a thought.”
But he worried that it was more than that. “Not a terribly good one. Living in New York is different from living here, Hillary. For every dollar more you earn, you’ll need two to maintain the same standard of living.”
“I don’t care how I live. It’s the professional opportunity that I want. I want to be somewhere I’ll be noticed.”
“You think you’ll be noticed in New York? Think again. New York is big business. Hundreds of people wanting to be noticed step off planes there every day. You’ll be the smallest fish in the biggest pond in the world.”
“But I’m a good writer. All I need is a chance to show the world that.”
“So they all say.”
She propped herself on an elbow to face him. “Do you have a problem with my trying to make a name for myself?”
“Of course not. But if you go to New York, you’ll be setting yourself up for a fall. I know New York, Hillary. New York won’t take kindly to girls from Timiny Cove.”
Her mouth grew tight. “I’m from Boston now, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a woman.”