Chapter 22 #2
“It’s yours that I’m thinking about,” he said and came to her.
Bending over, he propped a hand on either side of her hips and lowered his mouth to hers.
But while she steeled herself against a kiss, what she got were a series of teasing touches that left her breathless and aching.
Moaning softly, she turned her head away.
“You want me.” He ran a hand up her leg. “Have you been heavy with it, too?”
“Shhhh.”
His breath was warm against her cheek. “You always liked it when I said things like that. It heated you up.” He tongued her earlobe. “Are you dripping for me, Hillary?”
She was sure she was. She was melting inside, despising herself for it, but needing him, just as he said. “Go away, John.”
His hand was on the outside of her thigh, then sliding around. “Open your legs.”
“No.”
“Open them. Let me feel.”
“No.”
But he found his way there anyway, and his breath came sharply. “Oh, yeah. You want me.”
“Doesn’t mean a thing,” she managed to gasp. She was losing her grip, hating it, loving it.
“Hillary?”
“Mmm?”
“Touch me.”
“No.”
His fingers paused in their deep stroking. “Do it.”
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 next had 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 a person. 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 Nicoise at La Caravelle, she knew it was time.
“I suppose.” She held her breath while the admission registered, 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 remember not loving 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?”
“I wanted to tell the truth about John. Give the other side of the story. I thought I knew almost everything, but I was wrong. I’ve learned some things I wished I hadn’t.”
“Like the beating.”
“And the will. For God’s sake, I don’t want to destroy John.”
Again Pam was quiet. She frowned at her water glass, ran her thumb over its rim.
“Say something, Pam.”
“Like what?”
“Like he deserves it.”
“He does.”
“Then you should want me to write this book.”
Pam looked torn. Her response was a while in coming. “My goal isn’t to hurt John so much as to be free of him. I want him out of my way. And he will be. But it has to be done right.”
Once again, Hillary felt a premonition. “You have something in the works, you and Cutter. What is it?”
Pam eyed her sadly and shook her head.
“You can tell me. I won’t say a word. Hell, John walked out on me. I won’t hear from him again in months.”
“I can’t tell you, Hillary. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
“Because you don’t trust me?”
“No. Because I love you. It’s enough that you know something might happen. If I tell you anything more, I’ll be putting an awesome weight on your shoulders. You love John; you hate John. The less you know, the less torn you’ll be.”
“You’re taking over the company, aren’t you?”
Pam didn’t say a word.
“You’ve been courting the shareholders, and you’re going to oust John as president.”
Still Pam didn’t speak.
“Is Patricia in on this?”
“You can ask all you want, but I’m not free to say. And anyway, I don’t know much. I’m just an artist.”
“Just an artist,” Hillary echoed. “Hah. You’re the backbone of the family.”
Pam rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about that. At this point I’m spread so thin I feel like I could break apart with the slightest provocation.”
“Brendan?”
Pam shrugged, then let out a breath. “Not great. I shouldn’t have come down today, but I’ve been putting off this trip for too long.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Just be here if I need a friend. You always have been. I count on that.”
“I’m here.” Hillary paused. “Pam, about the book …”
“Do what you have to. I can’t tell you to stop.”
“Will you hate me?”
“I could never hate you. I’ll worry, though.”
“About what?”
“You. Writing about John. If there was ever any hope for you two, it’ll be gone. He’ll hate you, and I’d hate to see that. You’re the man’s only hope of salvation.”
“Yeah. Well, he doesn’t see it quite that way.”
“He might. The day may come when he’ll need a friend, too.
Not that he deserves one. Not that he deserves you.
And it may be that come that time, you won’t want him.
But if you do, I want you to have him. I’d hate to see you burn that bridge now.
” She tipped her head. “Which means that you’ll be deferring to him again, putting your career second to whatever it is you have or may someday have with him, which is pretty much what you’ve been doing all your life. It’s not right, Hillary.”
“I know. So what do I do?”
Pam considered that, finally saying, “You wait. Take things slowly. See what happens over the next few months.”
There it was again, that warning. “Will you tell me as soon as there’s something to tell?”
Pam nodded. “Will you let me see what you’ve written before you turn it in?”
Hillary nodded with a sad smile. “We reach agreements so easily, you and I. If only the rest of life were so simple.”