Double Trouble Page 17

  “Just like.” James turned to look at me and our gazes locked for a long, hungry moment. I licked my lips without meaning to do so, and he watched. I swear his eyes were more green when he met my gaze again.

  “I saw your suits,” I whispered.

  James shrugged and spread his hands. “What do I need them for?”

  “But you’re used to having them.” I flicked his cuff, needing to touch him, however briefly, but not wanting to explore why. “This is not your look, at least it hasn’t been.”

  Impatience flicked across his features. “It’s just stuff, Maralys. Stuff comes and stuff goes and the only thing that matters in the end is who you are inside, what you do and what mark it leaves in the world.”

  “Oh, do I smell a midlife crisis? The timing would be about right.”

  “Maybe a midlife course correction.” He slanted a bright glance my way. “Or maybe you’re just not used to men who are adults.”

  “How so?”

  “That jerk you married wanted a mommy, not a partner.” He turned to look at me, his gaze slipping over my features like a touch. “You’re very independent, Maralys, and very clever. Most men wouldn’t know what to do with you, though they might find you attractive.” He touched the corner of my mouth with a fingertip. “That mouth and all.”

  “What’s wrong with my mouth?”

  “Just what comes out of it. You spit barbs, Maralys, just to keep everyone at bay.”

  I grimaced. “Doesn’t work with you.”

  James chuckled softly and the sound made my heart go thump. “You’ve got nothing on what I’ve faced in court.” He settled back beside me and I sensed the tension in him. He was going to say something I wouldn’t like. “Maybe you should date a man for a change. An adult.”

  “What difference does it make to you?” I knew damn well what he was implying and the prospect was a whole lot more interesting than I knew it should have been.

  “Lots.” James leaned closer and bumped my shoulder with his. We were both sitting with our arms folded across our chests and our legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. A passing observer might have thought us old pals, but there was a distinct crackle of awareness between us.

  His hands were tanned now, even the mark left from his wedding ring faded to just about nothing. James has great hands, have I mentioned that? I’ve always thought them very sexy. I stared at them now and let the buzz come to life in my gut. His legs are long too. There’s something great about tall men.

  In a drawer far far away, Captain V was getting jealous.

  “When was the last time someone listened to you, Maralys?” he asked softly. “Really listened to you, as if you knew things worth knowing?”

  The answer was never and he knew it so I admitted nothing.

  “The last time a guy did what you asked?”

  I held my tongue.

  “Or solved his own problems instead of waiting for you to do it? When was the last time you dated a man who didn’t need you to tie his shoes? Come on. Admit it.”

  “Never, and you know it! What the hell difference does my taste in men matter?”

  “Hey, maybe you prefer men who are really little boys. Maybe you like being in charge. Maybe you don’t want to lose control by trusting someone.” James turned to face me, his expression avid. He was challenging me and I was ready to take his dare. “Maybe you’re afraid that you might meet your match.”

  “Not likely,” I snapped, but the words didn’t have nearly enough zing. James smiled in a predatory way and I couldn’t look away from him, as much as I would have liked to.

  His gaze dropped to my lips and he whispered. “Was that kiss really as hot as I remember it being?”

  My mouth was dry. “You have an active fantasy life, clearly.”

  “Oh, I do,” he mused. “And there’s a consistent theme. Maybe I should say, a consistent character.” He watched me for a minute, maybe waiting for me to say something or move. I didn’t. James dipped his head, brushing his lips lightly across mine.

  It was an exquisite kiss. Tender and demanding and so delicious that I wanted more. A lot more.

  And I wanted it now. I started to sit up and give back as good as I got. James turned in his seat, both of us forgetting where we were and why, forgetting who we were.

  My father fixed that.

  “I’m thirsty! ” he cried, a feeble version of his usual tone, then coughed. “I’m thirsty!”

  I broke the kiss with a jerk and stumbled to my feet. James stood and reached to steady me with his hand on the back of my waist. I think he said my name, but I raced away from him. I lurched into Dad’s room like a drunk, I was in such a hurry to put distance between us.

  There were too many memories there. And I was shocked at how easy I found it to just lean into James’ kiss and forget everything else around me. It was dangerous stuff, to be able to lose yourself in someone else, especially someone else who you weren’t supposed to be kissing, someone whose motives you didn’t really know.

  Nope, I had to get the moat dug and the gates closed ASAP.

  I found the cup of water and lifted the straw to Dad’s parched lips, my hands shaking as though I was at ground zero of a nuclear blast. He was paler than usual, his pupils dilated from the painkillers. The light was dim in the room, or maybe I’m just making excuses for him in hindsight.

  Because he smiled at me, really smiled at me, and my heart just had time to clench hard with gratitude that he was okay before he ruined it all.

  “I knew you’d come,” he whispered, stretching out one hand for my face. “Tell Maralys to go home. You stay with me now. You’re all I need.”

  He must have seen my shock. But he smiled at me, as beatifically as an angel.

  You’ve heard about the proverbial straw breaking the camel’s back. This was more like a two by four, that’s what it takes for me to get the message. It didn’t matter whether he’d mixed us up or not - he wanted my sister, not me, and the drugs brought the truth from his lips.

  I put the cup down on the side table, turned and walked out of the room.

  Enough was enough. I was out the door and on my way.

  “Maralys!” James shouted from behind me but I didn’t care. I wasn’t turning back for anyone. Not now. Not ever. The gates were up and double-bolted, the island inviolate.

  I snagged my jacket without losing a step, and flung it on. I walked down the hall, past the nursing station, not really seeing where I was going, unshed tears blurring it all. I was on autopilot, heading out of my father’s life. I was numb, at least long enough to get to the elevator.

  Then as I stood there, waiting, I started to shake. I’d been incredibly dumb, thinking that I owed him anything, thinking that anything I did might change anyone’s mind, thinking that people owed each other anything out of respect and or out of blood.

  The age-old simmering stew came to a boil, a red hot frothing boil, spilling over the side of the pot and sizzling when it hit the flames.

  “Maralys!”

  To hell with them all. I was going back to Osaka.

  The elevator was too slow and I could hear James’ footsteps, so I impulsively dashed for the stairs. I ran down them faster and faster and faster with each floor, my heels slamming against the tiles. It felt good to flee, to feel my blood pumping and my lungs working, to peer over the railing and know that I could slip and plunge to my death.

  I liked the taste of my own mortality.

  I don’t know how long it took me to run down those stairs. I don’t even remember how many floors up we were. But that run made me more determined to live each moment to the fullest, to take what I wanted and to hell with the rest of them. No more duties, no more obligations, no more worrying about the future.

  I’d thought for years that that was what I was doing, but it was all a lie. A lot of talk, as James said, because my actions were those of a dutiful daughter.

  I was indeed the good Catholic girl that I’d never persuade
anyone that I was, no matter how hard I had tried. Oh, it was bitter, acrid even, to face the fact that my father would never ever love me for what I was. I faced it and I hurled the truth of it out the window and I ran as fast I could toward my new life.

  I hauled open the steel fire door at the bottom of the stairs, out of breath and damp with my own perspiration, and stopped cold. James stood there, cool and composed, his eyes snapping. He was big enough to make a good roadblock.

  “I’m giving you a ride home,” he said in a most parental tone.

  “Wrong. I’ll take care of myself, thanks.” I made to brush past him but he snagged my elbow. I fought him, thinking that a scene would change his mind, but there were very few people around and none of them were interested. I called him a few choice names and he didn’t even blink.

  In fact, James snagged me by both elbows. He marched me to the door, his grip resolute and his expression grim. “You’re going to lose this one, Maralys, so you might as well give it up.”

  “I am not going anywhere with you!” I kicked and I bit and he gave me no quarter.

  “Got it in one. You’re going home. I’m just your means of transport.” He shoved me none too gently in the direction of the parking lot.

  “It’s a matter of principle,” I snarled. “I’m not going to owe anyone anything ever again.”

  He was undaunted. “Fine. I owe you for picking up the boys the night Marcia left. This evens the score.”

  “The contract revision evened the score.”

  “Then I owe you for the advice on getting rid of the shopping.” James stopped beside a motorcycle and briskly unclipped a pair of helmets. He handed me one with a look that brooked no argument.

  I stopped dead, incredulous. “You’ve got a bike?”

  “I’ve had it for twenty years.”

  “Get out of town.”

  A smile touched his lips, then was banished. “That was the point.”

  “I never knew.”

  “It’s been stashed in the back of the garage. Your sister hated it but I couldn’t get rid of it.” He glared at me, belligerent as I’d seldom seen him. “Call me sentimental and you can walk.”

  My mouth opened and closed. I was lost in a major way. It was an old bike, but lovingly maintained, its chrome gleaming.

  “Why did you bring two helmets?”

  “Just thinking ahead. I knew you’d be here.” James put on his own helmet and got astride the bike. He kicked off the stand and started the engine, balancing on his heels as if anxious to go. “Helmet or no ride.” This was clearly a limited time offer.

  I pulled on the helmet and seized the moment. Truth be told, the bike suited my mood perfectly. We roared out of the quiet hospital lot and rocketed through the quiet streets. I could feel the tension in James, both in the aggressive way he drove and the tautness in his muscles. That kind of thing is tough to miss when you’ve got your legs wrapped around a guy.

  The wind bit at my face, the air salty from the sea. There were a thousand stars in the sky and a million lights in the city. It was magical, it was perfect, it blew the old skin of me away and buffed the new me to a sheen.

  “Faster,” I whispered.

  I don’t know whether James could hear me but he kicked it up on the straightaway. I could feel his heartbeat beneath my fingertips, my breasts were pressed against his back. I tightened my legs around him and leaned into the curves with him, loving the sense of moving together toward a common goal.

  And when we rolled to a stop in front of my building and I got off the bike, it seemed perfectly natural to catch his chin in my hand and kiss him hard. I think at first I just meant to thank him, thank him for picking up the slack, for bringing me home, for blowing away the dust and giving me a new view. For not asking questions or making demands, for understanding that I just am the way I am.

  And maybe for liking me that way.

  But he kissed me back with a hunger that I knew was mine alone. This wasn’t about my twin, it wasn’t about loneliness, it wasn’t about anything but the lightning bolt that hit every time his lips touched mine.

  “You should bring the bike up to the loft,” I said when we finally parted, our breath steaming the spring night. “It might get ripped off around here.”

  James looked at his watch. “An hour and a half, max,” he said, his voice tight. “The boys will be getting up for school.” His gaze searched mine, trying to read my response to that, letting me see how much he wanted to come up.

  But I knew James had kids and I knew that he took his responsibilities seriously. It was one of the things I admired about how he’d handled all of this. It was hardly a news flash.

  “What’s the matter? Did your sexual performance really peak at twenty-one? Is it really going to take that long?” I taunted, then kissed him again. He pulled me into his lap and there were no performance issues, I’ve got to tell you.

  I don’t know how we got upstairs, really. We were kissing the whole way - no, we were just about devouring each other - I was half on the bike and half off of it. The helmets rolled across the loft floor, my shirt was undone and James had his tongue underneath the lace edge of my bra. He whispered my name, then teased my nipple as he picked me up, cupping my butt in his hands. I had my fingers in his hair and my tongue in his ear, my legs wrapped around his waist.

  And things only got more enthused from there. The first time was frenzied and demanding, it culminated in a mutual orgasm that left us both shaking.

  The second time, we took it slow, savoring each other, peeling of the last of our clothes and tasting every increment of each other’s flesh. We shared a long slow kiss as we came, James cupping my jaw in his hand, and my orgasm lasted at least a week. We fell asleep then, and lo, my girly girls, I was pretty much glowing in the wake of the best sex I’d ever had.

  Oh yes, Captain V was definitely out of a job. There ain’t nothing like the real thing.

  * * *

  Subject: what am i doing wrong?

  aunt mary -

  all my friends are getting married but i’m not. even the ones not getting married have found mr. right. i’ve looked high and low and can’t find him. :-( what now?

  lonely

  –-

  Subject: get a grip!

  Dear Lonely -

  Change your world view. No woman needs a man to make her life complete. Marriage only works when someone (i.e. the woman) sacrifices their life at the feet of their partner. You can be married and miserable, or single and self-determining. There are no Mr. Right’s in our post-modern world - just (if you’re lucky) a long line of Mr. Right Now’s. The old rules no longer hold true.

  You wouldn’t make yourself choose just chocolate or vanilla for all the rest of your life, would you? So, with men. Take the man of the moment, enjoy, then move on. Work your way through all thirty-wonderful flavors, then start over again.

  Aunt Mary

  ***

  Uncertain? Confused? Ask Aunt Mary!

  Your one stop shop for netiquette and advice:

  http://www.ask-aunt-mary.com

  I woke up when James’ weight shifted on the bed. The light was heading to pearly, that grey of a morning thinking about dawn. I had been sleeping on my stomach and James kissed between my shoulder blades, then the back of my neck. He shoved a hand through my hair, letting his fingers linger.

  “Evening Aubergine,” I mumbled, hearing the silent question.

  He laughed beneath his breath. “Purple to the rest of us.” He lay on top of me, lacing his fingers with mine. I could feel his chest hair against my back and something else a little further south. I smiled into the pillow.

  His whisper was warm against my neck. “What color is it really?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How long since you’ve had a look?”

  “Mmmm, I’ve been coloring it since forever.”

  James ran his tongue along my earlobe. “I’ll bet it’s the exact color of melted chocolate. Bit
tersweet chocolate.”

  It was, more or less, but there was no need to tell him as much. I turned into James’ kiss and took a chance. “You must have been hell on wheels when you were twenty-one.”

  His eyes gleamed, a split second warning that I had miscalculated. “You should know.” He winked and slipped quickly from the bed, whistling as he headed for the bathroom.

  I sat up, fully awake now. “What?” I actually squawked. It wasn’t a pretty sound. That’s what I get for invoking the wrath of Bolivian cockatiels by naming their species in vain.

  “You know what.” The man sauntered, untroubled, dead certain that I would follow him.

  I swore. I hate being predictable.

  Then I bounced out of the bed and ran after James. “No. NO! You tell me what it means.” I swung around the bathroom door, the only door in the place, and gripped the frame so tightly that my knuckles went white. I was breathing hard. “What exactly did you mean?”

  James took his damn time. I did take a small look, just because I was there, and had all my earlier suspicions confirmed. It had been dark in bed, too dark to look. He was in good shape, great shape really, and completely comfortable in his own skin. He moved with a kind of grace that was imminently masculine. Sure, he was thicker around the waist than he had been in his younger days, but the jeans had told no lie.

  He slanted me a glance now as he washed his hands, one so bright that I jumped a little.

  Or at least my heart did.

  Then he reached out with one fingertip and touched the mole beside my left nipple. The nipple tightened like a raspberry and I tried not to shiver. He looked me in the eye and spoke too softly. I knew he’d say something dangerous as soon as I got a hint of that tone.

  “I’ve been looking for that mole for twenty years, Maralys O’Reilly. You’re not going to get rid of me now.”

  My heart stopped. I felt the blood drain from my face, but then I chided myself for being surprised. I always knew he was too damn smart. “When did you know?”

  “I suspected for a long time, but didn’t know for sure until now.” He washed his face with that methodical thoroughness that only men can show in a time of total crisis. I was having a meltdown of my defenses and he was checking the growth of his whiskers. “Remember that theory of mine?”