“It’s … both.”
His stunned silence made her aware of little things. The scent of his understated aftershave, the leather tapestries of his car, how she was surrounded by male scents. The roar of his car engine. She decided right then if he didn’t want to sleep with her, it was no big deal. She would be no worse off than she was right now. So she could definitely start breathing again.
“A lot of my single friends have male friends who occasionally sleep with them,” she explained as casually as possible, while stirring uncomfortably in her seat. “I can think of no one else who I could learn the ropes from and let loose with other than with you.”
When the light turned green, she stole a peek at him when the car didn’t move. All his attention was focused on Monica. He stared directly at her with eyes so beautiful, they shimmered with the lights from outside the window.
Slow as ice melting, he took her hand within his bigger one and drew it over his lap, his lips curling in mischief as he pressed her palm down hard. Hard. “Yes. I’ll be your special friend.”
Monica’s breath tangled in her throat as the unmistakable bulge of his erection filled and practically overflowed her small hand. Had she given him that? When? How?
Her eyes held his green ones in stunned silence, that incredibly sexy smile of his still in place.
She began to shake violently under the combined shock and pleasure of feeling his hardness in her hand, and she feared no amount of brainpower could suppress the tremor that went through her. An empty ache settled between her legs, completely unexpectedly.
A car honked, and Daniel slowly returned her hand to her own lap, then he changed gears and sped ahead, staring at the street, his smile gone. He spoke in a low, raspy voice. “Your place or mine?”
Monica’s heart pounded in nervousness. “I warn you I’m really bad at this. Really bad, Daniel.”
“Yours or mine, Monica?”
His voice sounded even thicker. His eyes glimmered. Her heart was near bursting.
“This would only be for a week or two. Roland and I are supposed to talk and try to work things out when he returns from London,” she rushed. “So, no sleeping over, no complications, and definitely no press. Just friendship and … sex. Also, please, not every day. Just when I … call you.”
The smile in his eyes held a strange new intensity. “Just tell me where you want to do it first.”
She expelled a breath. “Yours. Yours is closest.”
He changed gears again, and she noticed how the engine went from a low purr to a hard roar. He went to second. Third. Fourth. Back to third. Second. Third. Fourth. The motor hummed, and with it, her excitement grew, a heady mix of anticipation and relief overwhelming her.
She’d tried many times to have sex, never with such anticipation and never, of course, with such an experienced man. Or with someone who inspired such trust in her. She wasn’t sure whether her sudden agitation was due to the fact that she’d always failed and could never quite get to the finish, or due to the fact that she and Daniel had fallen completely silent now, and the silence was the first one between them in years that was full of tension. It crackled like a fire, heating the air between them.
She stifled the urge to fidget with her hair and began to wonder who he’d been dating recently, but then she told herself it didn’t matter. Did it? She wasn’t looking for commitment from him. He’d be the last man standing, she was sure, when all the rest got married. He enjoyed his single status too much, had fun aplenty with his variety and his big-boy toys. And Monica really needed to get to the bottom of her problem.
Roland had gotten angry two weeks ago when Monica had, once again, failed to climax, and her failure to get aroused had caused his own erection to wilt. She’d asked him to please help her achieve orgasm, but he’d seemed to think she was blaming him for her lack of passion, and that had really not been the case.
She didn’t know why she had so much trouble shutting off her mind. While a man would touch her, she would think of Davenport’s, make lists of errands she needed to complete, remember things that happened in her childhood, and she could never really quiet her mind enough to enjoy her body. But there was no denying the enjoyment she derived from the mere sight of Daniel. A simple smile from this man caused … a reaction. There was no way a woman could keep closed off from a man like him. Was there?
Hell, if she couldn’t react to a man with his experience tonight, then she might as well stop even trying and become a working nun.
Minutes later, with her heels in one hand, she followed Daniel barefoot into his building. She’d been here before. She’d actually lived with his family upstairs in the penthouse for over a month, almost a decade ago. The Lexingtons owned the top two floors, and even after her brief stay, Daniel had later invited her over to proudly show her his new, separate, apartment.
Rather than killer views, he’d chosen security and technology, and Daniel had built the place with steel outer walls that were able to withstand a nuclear bombing, among other natural disasters. Now, as Monica stood next to him, he pressed his fingerprint into the first of three steel doors. When they moved to the second nook, the space narrowed, and he stood behind her, taller and wider than her.
His chest pressed into her back, his outstretched arm grazing her shoulder as his thumbprint was recognized. Her tummy whirled and suddenly she was aware solely of that contact of their bodies. As though her cells had absorbed the knowledge that they would be having sex, she could feel a strange tightening awareness in her breasts, her tummy, her thighs.
They went to the third door, and his body still crowded hers in a way that made her indisputably aware of the fact that he was incredibly muscled and big, and was standing right behind her. His free hand cupped her waist and he bent to whisper in her ear, “You okay?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, and once the door opened, she stepped inside, taking in a deep breath. She was tempted to explain to him she had been penetrated but not really taken … tempted to explain to him she had been kissed but she had never really gotten lost in it … but before she could do all this, he started taking off his jacket. Muscles rippled under his stark white shirt.
“Will you unzip your dress for me? I’d like you in panties when I sit down to talk to you.”
She unzipped without preamble, for physical nakedness had never been the problem with her. She wasn’t self-conscious about her body. She worked hard for it: daily yoga, a marathon a year, and she ate like a rabbit half of the day with greens to spare. Which was, in part, why she couldn’t understand the unsteadiness in her legs as the material pooled at her feet, and the shakiness in her hands as she quietly folded the dress onto a living room chair.