Nothing to Hide Page 16

  “Sorry to hear that. Hey, is that your doorbell? I’ll wait while you answer.”

  She looked in confusion at the apartment’s buzzer. “No.”

  “I heard it ring.”

  “Must have been something on your end.”

  “Nope. Yours. Or maybe it hasn’t happened yet. I’m psychic, you know.”

  Sandra narrowed her eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Not yet.”

  Her buzzer rang. Sandra jumped about a mile. “Holy Mary, mother of God, the doorbell.”

  “Told you. Go answer it.”

  “Well, I... What the hell is going on?” She stepped over to the buzzer and pressed it cautiously. Had he orchestrated some kind of delivery? “Hello?”

  “Hey. Let me up.”

  “Erik.” Her jaw dropped. She laughed in disbelief. “Okay. You got me. How did you get here?”

  “Drove like a demon.”

  “You can’t come up, I’m not dressed.”

  “I’m sorry, were you expecting me to object to that?”

  Sandra grinned, shaking her head, and pressed the button to let him into the building. Erik was here. He’d driven four hours to see her.

  She rushed into the bathroom and put on the barest hints of eyeliner and blush. The apartment was a fourth-floor walk-up. It would take him a while to—

  The knock came on her door. He must have run up.

  She rushed to answer, then forced herself to slow down. Whoa, wait a second, girl. Sandra from Southie didn’t go all flustered and silly for anyone, least of all a guy. She’d made that one mistake, letting down her guard. It appeared she wouldn’t have to pay for that, but she’d be sure not to make another.

  Centering herself, she arranged her features into utter calm and opened the door. “Well, well, Mr. Meyer.”

  He was gorgeous. Rain had dampened and darkened his hair, and the humidity had curled it slightly. His eyes stood out, blue and intense, in the dim hallway. He held a grocery bag in one hand and a bouquet of mixed roses in the other, as if he was an old-fashioned gentleman come courting.

  She loved it.

  “Hi there.” He gave her a casual kiss and strolled into her apartment, looking around, not betraying any reaction. “I brought us a late supper.”

  “What are you doing here?” She closed the door behind him, thinking how wrong he looked here, how out of place anywhere but a mega-mansion.

  “I missed you.” He put the groceries on her table.

  “Really.” He missed her! This was good. A relief, really. She hadn’t blown it. She’d just have to be careful today. And every day.

  His eyes darted around again, from the groceries he was unloading to the orange shag. The scuffed cabinets. The linoleum counters with the metal strip bent and peeling off one corner. The garbage can she had to keep by the refrigerator because there was no room under the sink. The cracking paint. The tiny living room through a doorway on one end. The tinier bedroom on the other.

  Sandra folded her arms across her chest. “Welcome to how the other half lives.”

  “Hey, it’s a nice location.” He folded the paper shopping bag and offered it to her.

  “You can say it, you know.” She took the bag and stuffed it in the crack between the refrigerator and sink where she kept the others.

  “Say what?”

  “That you’re uncomfortable because you live in a palace and I live here.”

  He huffed. “You think that matters to me?”

  Sandra pulled another wineglass from the cabinet, forming her answer carefully. “I would guess that you don’t want it to matter, that intellectually it might not, but that coming here and looking around, you are fairly shocked and possibly repulsed.”

  He looked startled for a moment, then stepped to the table, poured a second glass of wine and held out the first for her, his eyes warm. “I’d say that once again you have cut through bullshit and forced me to acknowledge a subconscious truth. My mom constantly warned Jonas and me about women after our money. She never told us about women who’d hate it.”

  Sandra shrugged uneasily and gulped some wine, which she should be savoring sip by sip. Maybe it was just as well that he got the impression she hated his money. Though it made everything even more complicated. “So, what have you brought?”

  “Ah.” He reached toward the table and held up a baguette from the local organic food store, which she couldn’t even afford to step into. “Basics. Bread, cheese, salads, plums and chocolate.”

  Locally made bread, foreign cheeses costing upward of twenty dollars a pound, deli salads with fresh artichokes and imported caper berries, organic plums and exclusive Hawaiian chocolate.

  Her hunger had been renewed. For this meal, for that life...and for Erik.

  They settled on her stained couch in the living room, food spread out on the coffee table she’d found at a rummage sale.

  While they stuffed themselves, they chatted about her show, about Allie and Jonas, about Lake George, about Boston versus New York, until the bottle was empty, the food decimated.

  “So, Sandra.” Erik moved closer to her on the couch. “We have some unfinished business.”

  She sent him a withering look. “Did you really just use that line on me?”

  “No.” He shook his head violently. “Absolutely not. That was someone else.”

  Sandra giggled, buoyed by the wine and Erik’s really fun company. “I believe you owe me one more secret.”

  “Do I?” He took her wine, put it down next to his, drew her to him and kissed her, gentle and sweet. He smelled amazing, of spice and leather. Her body responded—but so did her heart. “I thought maybe we could do a short recap first of previous sexual—”

  “Not so fast.” Sandra told her heart to cut it out. “You owe me that secret first.”

  “And I intend to pay up.” He put his hand to his heart, then took hers and pressed it there, as well. “But you have to go first this time.”

  Sandra snorted. “Why, you want to make me cry again?”

  “Ah, but you cry like an angel.”

  “Ha!” She smiled unwillingly. “You’ve never seen one.”

  “Not until I met you.”

  Sandra ignored the piercing sweetness in her chest. “Save the lines for your other women.”

  “Ooh.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately...there aren’t any.”

  “No?” She pretended to be surprised, wanting desperately to smooth back hair that had fallen over his forehead.

  He looked down at his hands clasping his wineglass. “I’m not sure what’s happening to me, Sandra, but I’m starting to suspect you might be it for a while.”

  “Because...” Her heart started thumping. This was dangerous ground. “You’re becoming a monk?”

  “Never!”

  “Oh.” She patted his knee sympathetically. “Impotence, I understand.”

  He shot her a glance. “Just try me.”

  Sandra laughed, feeling twenty times better than she had an hour before, and swung her legs over his, easing into his lap. What had she been worrying about? Everything was back to the way it was. Everything was fine. “I don’t think that’s a good idea just yet.”

  He held her gaze, looking more serious than she’d ever seen him. Forget thumping, her heart was hammering now; instinct was warning her, fight or flight. “I want to make love to you, Sandra.”

  Lord have mercy.

  She managed to keep her reaction mostly under control. Only the smallest gasp leaked out. “Sorry, that wasn’t the deal until after the third secret.”

  “I’m changing the rules.” He pushed her legs off him, stood and dragged her to her feet with more force than he needed so she overbalanced. As she cried out, he bent down, catching her across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, and strode with her back into the kitchen.

  “Oh for—” She was half laughing, half turned on by the macho act. “Put me down.”

  “Soon.”

  “I mean i
t, Erik.”

  “I know you do.” A few more strides and they were in her bedroom. He knelt by her bed so she could dismount. Just as she straightened, ready to let him have it, he lunged up and tumbled her onto the mattress, covering her body with his.

  “Well, Sandra.” He grinned lazily down at her. “Here we are.”

  Her alarm bells were still sounding. His words echoed in her ears, I want to make love to you, Sandra. “Off me, you pig.”

  “Umm...no, thank you.” He pushed her robe open and took in a sharp breath, gazing at her nakedness. “I have dreamed of you, Sandra, missed you, wanted you.”

  His words blasted through her attitude, and without that she could say nothing, just lay staring at the ceiling as his mouth found her breast. Then she closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the sensation, telling herself he was flawed, mortal, not worthy of her goddess status, trying to remind herself that she was the great invincible Sandra, who’d never fall for any man, no matter how charmingly he presented himself. To give in to the warm, sweet feelings welling up in her would spell her doom, and the end of his interest.

  No weakness.

  He kissed down her stomach. Sandra waited, fists clenching the bedspread. The first lick was a long, slow caress. Then nothing. She stayed motionless, her arousal peaking, then dissipating. His tongue made the long, slow trip again. Again, she lay still, controlling her breathing and her heart as best she could.

  Then touches, light ones, gentle flicks across her clit. Her breath caught. She suppressed a moan, forced herself not to move. Her desire shot up and hung like a firework in the sky, waiting to explode.

  Then nothing but the room’s cool air.

  A whimper escaped her. Erik whispered her name, then slid a finger inside her, started the gentle touches and licks again, taking his time, bringing her nearly to the edge, backing off and letting her come down. She fought him, not wanting him to make her lose control, even this way.

  “Come for me, Sandra.” He was breathing fast, and his voice was low with emotion.

  She shook her head. “You owe me a secret.”

  He got off the bed and began taking off his clothes. His emerging body was familiar, beautiful, not perfect, but muscled and totally masculine. She swallowed. Never in her wildest dreams did she think this game would turn out to be so deadly serious, the rules she’d made up as a way to manipulate him so threatening to her own peace of mind.

  Then he was naked, except for a condom, getting back onto her double bed, pulling off her robe, laying her back down. She submitted, anxious, eager, reluctant, impatient, terrified.

  She’d never made love to anyone she cared about this much. The realization brought tears to her eyes.

  No, she couldn’t do this.

  “Erik...” She couldn’t believe the fear in her voice. Where was Sandra the Southie now?

  “Shhh.” He kissed her, his erection warm and promising between her legs. “What is it? What are you afraid of?”

  You. Me. What I feel for you. She shook her head. “The big bad wolf.”

  He chuckled. “You are bigger and badder than he can ever be.”

  “But I’m not...” She couldn’t go on. Couldn’t explain. He had no idea who she was or how she felt.

  He stroked her hair back from her face, kissed her tenderly, laid his head down next to hers. “I’m going to tell you my secret. You said it had to be something I’d never told any other woman.”

  An instant before he spoke, she guessed what he was going to say, and her heart rose in panic. This was what her instinct was warning her about. This was the difference today. She’d spent her life building barriers against this moment, barriers that she had no idea how to take down, or if she even wanted to.

  She struggled to get away from him, lifting her hips, trying to slide to one side, out from under his body. The movement gave him his chance—or maybe he misunderstood. He plunged inside her, making her cry out in pleasure and despair.

  “Sandra.” He pushed farther, gaining depth with each thrust until she felt he would take her over forever. “Sandra. God help me. I love you.”

  13

  JONAS SWITCHED OFF the engine. Allie sent him a nervous smile and got out of the car immediately. The ride from the bus station had been torture. Julie had been wrong—it was a mistake to come here again this weekend. She should have waited until next week, when Jonas was back in Boston and she could pack up the clothes at her leisure with Erik’s help, and bring them back to New York.

  Seeing Jonas again was a mistake. When she’d gotten off the bus and seen him standing, waiting for her, tall and solid, even more handsome than she remembered, her heart had started pounding with equal amounts of joy and nerves, her smile had stretched to enormous proportions across her face—and so had his. They’d met with a bump of bodies, with arms flung around each other. Anyone watching would think it a passionate reunion of longtime lovers.

  On the way to his car, he’d asked about her trip. She’d recounted her frustration with the delay. He’d talked about the traffic on the Massachusetts Turnpike. He’d loaded her bag, which he’d insisted on carrying, gentleman that he was, into the backseat while she asked about Erik and Sandra. They’d gotten into the car to drive the half-hour-plus to the house, he’d asked a few questions about her second interview, she’d asked him about his work...then conversation had all but lapsed.

  Shouldn’t they be chatting up a storm? Shouldn’t there be hopes and dreams to share, special moments they wanted each other to know about? Should she tell him one of her brothers was arrested that afternoon for cocaine possession? That her mother had been on the phone to Allie for an hour, drunk and crying over her worthless children, and why wasn’t Allie with her in her time of need, and why didn’t she ever visit, was she ashamed of them? Allie had always thought she was too good for them, didn’t she...and on and on and on until Allie had cut her off, saying she had to go. Then things got really ugly.

  Yeah, that would get the weekend off to a rousing start.

  The only way Allie had been able to cope was to shut it all out, pretend these were distant acquaintances, and she was a horrified stranger, hearing of their sad, sad circumstances.

  Now what? She’d put on some antique outfit and pretend she was really into seducing a man she shouldn’t be here to see?

  “You must be starving.” He lifted her overnight bag out of the car.

  “Yes, I am.” She would be if it weren’t for the nerves clogging her stomach.

  “I got us dinner.” He pulled a plastic shopping bag from the car. “Some excellent sandwiches from a place not far from the station.”

  “Thank you. That was sweet.”

  He shut the car door, looking at her curiously. “You’re welcome.”

  She came around to join him on the walk to the cottage, remembering their times there before, desperately wanting to get closer to him and to keep him farther away, feeling stuck in some emotional bog she hadn’t asked for and didn’t quite understand.

  “You all right?” He led the way around to the lake side of the cottage. For the first time she thought she’d rather be in the larger house.

  “Just tired.” She cringed at the clichéd excuse. But what could she say? I’m not sure why I’m here or what I expect to find or what you want from me or what I want from you or... “I’m sure I’ll feel better after I eat something.”

  “Coming up.” He gestured at the deck where he’d laid out a table with silver candlesticks, beautiful blue-and-white china and crystal wineglasses. A low vase held an assortment of colorful zinnias.

  For sandwiches.

  She closed her eyes briefly. What was wrong with her? The table wasn’t for sandwiches, it was for her, and she should be incredibly pleased that Jonas had gone to all the trouble to make their meal special.

  “How beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” He touched her shoulder. “Food’s not special, but I wanted your welcome to be.”

  “It’s..
.beautiful.” She said that already. For heaven’s sake.

  “I’ll get the wine.”

  While he was in the kitchen, Allie plunked herself in one of the chairs, staring out at the lake, feeling worse than ever. The nicest guy in the world was waiting on her hand and foot and she was being a petulant child. She owed him an apology, and a lot more effort to be good company.

  Minutes later, he emerged again, holding a bottle of white wine, which he started pouring into their glasses. “Want to start with wine or just dig in?”

  “Jonas...”

  He looked up at the sound of her voice. For a second before he forced his features blank, she saw fear, and felt worse than ever.

  “I’m sorry I’m behaving so badly. I think I must be worried about this job...”

  He shrugged, clearly not satisfied with her answer, and handed her a glass. “I get it. It’s exhausting facing a big life change.”

  “Yes.” She took the glass and drank a polite sip. “Though it’s not really that big. I mean it’s the same job I was just doing. So it shouldn’t...”

  Jonas frowned. “Let’s eat, okay?”

  “Sure.” She sat, wishing they weren’t going to have to have this dinner, wishing she was in his arms, or back home without him, anywhere but this odd limbo.

  The sandwiches he’d picked out were delicious: tuna with capers, onion and avocado; grilled eggplant with pesto and mozzarella; and roast beef with caramelized onions and arugula. As she feasted happily away, Allie began to cheer up.

  “So whenever you’re ready...” His blue gaze was steady on her, one dark curl blown nearly vertical in the breeze.

  Her heart sped. “Yes?”

  “You can tell me what’s really wrong.”

  “Oh.” Allie put down her sandwich, lowered her eyes. “I guess the job thing wasn’t that convincing.”

  “Nope.” The syllable was clipped.

  “I’m sorry.” She pushed back from the table, unable to stand its confinement, taking her half-finished wine with her, and stood at the railing, thinking of the last two times she stood there, in fabulous silk and in sexy sequins. How different from tonight.