Going to Extremes

“If you’d like, I can do some prep with you, Dan,” Rhonda said. “Some Q and A rehearsal for media? If that would help?”

“Sure. That would be fine,” he said, though he instantly had second thoughts, knowing Rhonda’s penchant for chatter.

“So, Dan, can I ask you a question?” Rhonda said.

“Sure.” He was grateful for the distraction from the claustrophobia he felt sitting so near Kathleen.

“In your book, there’s a self-control checklist. What if a person scores high except when they’re in a relationship? What would you say to that person?”

“I’d say that’s good self-awareness,” he said, glancing at Kathleen, who wore a half smile. Make it good, Dan.

“The person would need to determine whether the immoderation came from within—fear or insecurity—or without—the partner’s behavior or attitude.”

“Oh, yeah. Use that Insecurity Meter in your book?”

“Yes. But if the immoderation is external, a discussion would be needed with the partner, who’d have to change.”

“But what if the, um, partner, won’t change?”

“Some relationships are emotional landmines and must be sidestepped.”

“Oh.” Rhonda was not happy with the answer. No one ever was. Love was the biggest danger zone for most of his clients.

“Or,” Kathleen said sharply, “you could go with your feelings, Rhonda, and not catastrophize. Worrying doesn’t fix tomorrow’s problems. It only zaps today’s joy. The point of life is to live it. And where can you feel more alive than in the arms of someone you love?”

“Good point,” Rhonda said with a heavy sigh.

I feel alive in your arms. Kathleen had used those exact words on the afternoon he realized he was losing control of his life. He’d blown off an important meeting with his advisor, frantic to see Kathleen, waited for her to emerge from a news-writing class, then pulled her into a nearby soda-machine alcove and kissed her until he was blind with the need to be inside her.

I love when you want me so much, she’d said, tugging him with her into the narrow space between the machine and the side wall, where anyone close enough to buy a Coke would hear, if not see, them. The machine had been new, the space clean—perfect for two people desperate to make love now—and when she’d unzipped him and offered her warmth, he’d slipped inside before he knew it, helpless with lust and lost to her. He’d gripped her thighs as she rode him, her eyes flashing with need and demand, and they’d both moaned with pleasure.

Footsteps approached, but she held on. We’re almost there.

He’d lunged into her faster, as hard as she could take, caring only about her sounds, her needs, her climax and his release. They’d shuddered to an orgasm seconds before the person dropped coins into the slot. They’d grinned at each other, listening to the tinkle of quarters, the clunk of the soda, the snap and fizz of the can being opened, then feet shuffling away.

I love you like this, Dan, she’d said, while they leaned against the warm machine catching their breath. I love that you lose control with me. Her eyes were tender and he’d let that be enough. He’d refused to see that he’d lost all sense, narrowed his life to Kathleen alone.

Abruptly, Rhonda thrust her arm over the seat between them. “Will one of you please pinch me?”

“Excuse me?” Dan said.

“So I know this isn’t a dream. I can’t believe I get to hear your ideas up close and personal.”

“This isn’t a dream,” Dan said. This was real, all right. Too real. Kathleen was really beside him, her heat and scent and voice and body all he could think about.

Kathleen, on the other hand, seemed completely self-possessed tonight. Last night she’d been nervous. That didn’t surprise him. She’d been far less bulldozed by their affair than he. Too restless to stay with anything long, she would have ended it soon, if he hadn’t acted when he did.

Right now, he wished he could end this tour, fly home to Vermont for some peace and quiet on the lake, take whatever professional fallout came of it. Just get away from her.

He was a man of his word, though, and he could surely master this. If he couldn’t, what did that say about his theory that practice and focus could conquer extreme appetites?

When the driver stopped in the hotel portico, Rhonda suggested a nightcap, but they both declined.

“Oh.” Rhonda’s smile dimmed for an instant, then clicked back into high beam. “No problem. We’ll have lots of drinks over the next ten days. I have such a good feeling about this tour.”

“It’ll be great,” Kathleen said, sounding as weary as he felt.

He climbed out of the car and helped Kathleen out, liking the feel of her hand in his—warm and strong, but soft, too. Like the woman.

“I asked them to put the tea you like in your room,” Rhonda said to him, leaning out the front window of the car.

“Please don’t bother on my account.”

“And the double pillow top for you, Kathleen.”

“You’re spoiling us,” Kathleen said.

“If you need anything or have any questions, call me any time, I mean it,” Rhonda said. “And charge everything to your rooms—breakfast, late-night snacks, in-room massages, movies, whatever. And use the minibar. That’s what it’s for.”

“We’ll be fine, Rhonda, thank you,” Dan said.

“I’ll be here with the car for the airport at nine,” she called to them, waving out the window as the driver pulled away.

“She wears me out,” Dan said, sagging with relief.

“Oh, me, too,” Kathleen said. “She’s like a class-three rapids when you want a bubbling stream.” She shot him a rueful smile that he returned. “We’re just lucky she has a cat waiting at home, or we’d be playing pinochle here with her tonight. Good luck with that media training she’s going to give you, Dan.”

“Lord.”

Her expression warmed with honest pleasure and kind commiseration. He liked this smile much better than the theatrical one she’d worn at the signing. This smile was direct, energetic, mischievous and a little shy, too.

This was the smile that had drawn him the day they met. Along with the fact she was about to be smashed to the ground by the gigantic mattress she was jamming through her apartment door. He’d just moved into the same complex and had rushed to help her get the thing into her bedroom.

I can’t afford this bed, she’d said in her whiskey voice, looking down at the mattress, which filled the small bedroom wall-to-wall. But once I lay down on it, oh, my good glory, I was done for. It said, ‘Sleep on me, enjoy me, use me ’til I sag.’ What could I do? I’d been had.

Before long, he’d been had, too. By Kathleen and how she swept away his defenses, his restraint, his carefully structured days and comfortable routines. She awakened an impulsive intensity in him he preferred dormant. Or dead. He’d lived a quiet, studious life until he’d stumbled upon Kathleen and her bed.

“You okay?” Kathleen said now, as they headed across the lobby for the elevator.

“Me? Fine. Just thinking.”

“How can you? I’m completely wiped. The mattress last night was…bumpy.” The excuse sounded hasty, as if to cover the real reason for her exhaustion.

“You were pretty perky at the signing.”

“All an act, Dan.” Her heavy tone told him there was more acting going on than she intended to reveal.

He understood. He was acting, too—just not very convincingly. She’d surely picked up on his tension, though she was classy enough not to mention it.