No Regrets

Did she really think anything he might see would make a difference to him? Later, he’d talk to her about it, but now was not the time to argue.

He reached out to take the condom, but she pushed aside his hand. “Allow me.”

She tore open the packet and leaned over him, the scarf brushing the sensitive head of his penis. He sucked his breath through his teeth, willing himself to stay in control.

Then her hands were around him, cool and soft, squeezing gently as she slowly rolled the condom on. He felt himself pulse against her palm, and closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation but fighting against it, too. She was torturing him. But what sweet torture.

She straddled him, her calves cool and sleek against his thighs. Then she slid over him, surrounding him with her heat and wetness. He clasped her hips as she began to ride him, matching her rhythm, every movement sending shock waves of feeling through him.

He opened his eyes and watched her, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, her eyes half-closed, her mouth slightly open, cheeks flushed. He moved his hands up to caress her breasts, and smiled as she gasped in obvious pleasure.

She planted her palms on his chest and adjusted the tilt of her hips to a more acute angle. He moaned and his vision clouded. He couldn’t hold back any longer.

His climax slammed into him, stealing breath and sense and leaving him weak as a baby. He put his arms around her and pulled her close, pressing his face against her breasts, dimly aware that she was coming again, tensing around him then releasing. She leaned into him, collapsing into his arms.

They lay like that for a long while, fused together by passion. She was all softness and heat, smelling of flowers, her breath a warm tickle against his ear.

It had been a long time since he’d held a woman like this. He’d forgotten how good it felt. How right.

The thought jolted out of his haze. Where had that idea come from? This wasn’t a matter of right and wrong, only a moment of physical pleasure.

Yet he was reluctant to let her go. In fact, she was the first to pull away. She gave him a sleepy-eyed smile, kissed the corner of his mouth, then got up and padded into the bathroom.

While she was gone, he disposed of the condom, then dragged himself over to the window to check on Ellen Wittier again. Her rooms were dark. She must have gone to bed. Alone, from the look of things; a night-light in the hallway cast a faint glow over the still untouched dinner for two laid out on the dining room table.

He let the curtains fall back into place and crawled under the covers, trying to sort out what had just happened between him and Lexie. It was as if he’d lost himself for a moment, become some other person. A person who needed Lexie in his life.

A dangerous thought.

She came out of the bathroom and slipped under the covers beside him. He opened his arms to her, welcoming her to his side even as part of his brain screamed that he ought to keep some distance. He didn’t have room in his life for the feelings she conjured in him, this tenderness and wanting.

The thought kept him awake long after she was sleeping soundly, her head still on his shoulder, her body shaped to his. The scent of her surrounded him—floral perfume and female musk, so sweet and intoxicating. Only his growing uneasiness drove him to slip from beneath her, out of the bed.

He dressed as quickly as he could, watching her as he did so. He thought about leaving a note, but what would he say? He hoped she understood he wasn’t running away from her. Actually, he was, but he needed time to think, time to gain perspective and put the night in its proper place.

He left, shutting the door behind him, hearing the tumblers of the lock fall into place. If only it were as easy to lock away emotions and feelings and all the messy things that got in the way of a sane, uncomplicated life.

WHEN LEXIE AWOKE she sensed she was alone even before she opened her eyes. The room was too quiet, the only sounds were her own breathing and the muted hum of the air-conditioning unit. She rolled over in bed and stared at the empty space beside her. The pillow still bore the indentation from Nick’s head but when she reached out to touch it the space was cold. He’d been gone for a while.

She couldn’t say she was surprised. Though he’d been an intense, passionate lover she’d had a sense that he was holding something back. While his body had been fully engaged in their lovemaking, some part of his personality had remained aloof.

She could dismiss some of that as typical male behavior, and perhaps a portion was due to the cautious nature of a former policeman. But intuition told her there was more to Nick than a former cop wanting to keep things superficial. She wasn’t sure what exactly was going on with him, but she looked forward to the chance to find out.

She sat up and stretched, relishing the slight soreness that reminded her she had been well and truly sated the night before. Her boldness with Nick had paid big dividends. She smoothed her palms along her ribs, smiling at the memory of his hands on her.

He’d been right about one thing; last night had changed the situation between them. She had no doubt she could continue to be a professional assistant to him, but now there would be an increased awareness between them. Every interaction would have an extra edge, and even as she went about the mundane tasks of her job, she’d be anticipating when they would be together again.

And they would be together again. No way was she going to pass up a chance to enjoy another night like the last one.

Still smiling, she reached for her clothes and began to dress. She’d promised Nick six months before she left for Spain and other adventures. In the meantime, he was just the man to help her complete some of the more adventurous items on her list.

She laughed. Oh yes, she and Nick were going to have a very good time together.

NICK SPENT A GOOD PART of the weekend parked near Ellen Wittier’s condo, waiting for her mystery lover to appear. But from his vantage point he saw only Ellen by herself: talking on the phone, watching television or eating a solitary meal. Stan Wittier returned Sunday evening from his convention and all appeared well.

Maybe Lexie was right. Maybe the woman wasn’t cheating on her husband. He supposed it happened, that there were still married people who were faithful to each other. He just hadn’t had the opportunity to meet many of them in his two careers.

He’d told himself he wasn’t going to think about Lexie, but he might as well try to stop breathing. How could he not think about the woman when he could still feel her imprint on his body, still smell her scent on his hands? Every time he closed his eyes his brain insisted on throwing up the image of her naked, an erotic movie playing out against his eyelids.

Which meant he’d spent half the weekend with a hard-on and the other half annoyed with himself for getting so caught up with a woman that he let her distract him from his work. He was almost grateful when Monday morning arrived with its promise of mundane routine.

Except, of course, that Monday also meant facing Lexie again. He braced himself for her wrath. In his experience, women didn’t appreciate it when you walked out on them without so much as a note the way he had. They didn’t seem to understand that sometimes it was better not to say anything than to risk putting the wrong thing in writing. At least then you had less chance of your words being used against you.

“Good morning, Nick.” She looked up from her desk when he arrived, her voice cheerful, her ruby-tinted lips curved up in a smile. The sight of her, dressed in a clingy red top that dipped low in the front to show off an enticing glimpse of cleavage, sent a jolt through him. Apparently Lexie clothed could arouse him as much as the memory of her naked.

“Good morning.” He nodded to her, trying to act casual, trying to avoid staring.

“Did you have a good weekend?” she asked.

Was this a trick question? Was she waiting for him to bring up the events that had started off the weekend? Did she expect him to admit she’d shaken him up, and not in a good way?

“It was fine.” He threw the conversational ball back to her. “How was yours?”

She assumed a coy expression, her eyes sparkling with teasing mirth. “Oh, I had a very nice weekend. There’s nothing like fantastic sex to get things off to a good start.”

That she’d thought the sex they’d enjoyed was fantastic pleased him. Apparently he hadn’t lost his touch.

But then something black and ugly wrapped itself around him. She had been talking about the two of them, hadn’t she? “So what did you do this weekend?” he asked casually. “I mean, after Friday?”

“Oh, I went shopping. To the movies. Fun stuff.”

Alone, he hoped, then pushed back the thought. He didn’t have any right to tell her who to see or what to do with her time. One night didn’t give him any claim to her.

On this depressing note, he went into his office and shut the door. He focused on catching up on paperwork, and tried to forget all about the woman on the other side of the door.

But the woman apparently wasn’t going to let herself be forgotten. He’d scarcely pulled the first file from the stack on the corner of his desk when she came breezing into his office without even knocking. He looked up, annoyed. “Yes?”

“How did you spend your weekend?” she asked.

Here it was then. She wasn’t going to let it go until she’d wrung some kind of apology from him for running out on her. He frowned. “I really don’t have time to discuss this right now,” he began.

She sat in the chair across from his desk and crossed her legs, a good bit of knee and shapely thigh, clad in sheer black stockings, showing beneath the hiked-up hem of her black skirt. Did she do that deliberately, knowing the move commanded his attention?

“I know what you were doing,” she said. “You were watching Ellen Wittier. Did you find anything? Did her lover ever show?”

He shook his head. “No sign of the guy.”

“I’ve been thinking about this and I think you should let me talk to her.”