Skintight Page 6

  “But what about you? Didn’t you wonder when he didn’t make a move?”

  She shrugged. “I thought he was just being a gentleman.” And that was the truth, as far as it went. The deeper truth, however, was that she’d been relieved.

  She wasn’t about to admit that to Carly, however.

  It seemed as if every woman she’d ever known—with the possible exception of her mother—adored sex. So perhaps the reason she’d understood Big Jim’s reluctance to have his friends learn of his dysfunction was because she had a serious disinclination of her own to share just how lousy she was in the hootchie-kootch department.

  She didn’t understand it. She certainly loved the kissing and the foreplay. But when it came to the main event, she just didn’t get the attraction, even though she liked an orgasm as much as the next woman. She’d even been known to help herself to one on occasion. She and the handheld shower massage were on very close terms.

  But with men—well, she had a small…issue…with losing control, and apparently that was a prerequisite to attaining a guy-sponsored climax. So, as much as she hated to admit it even to herself, she was a bust in bed. One guy she’d slept with had gone so far as to tell her she was about as much fun in the sack as a cadaver.

  “I can’t believe you married the guy without sampling the merchandise. What was the attraction for you if it wasn’t the sex?”

  “He seduced me with his attentiveness.” She laughed at the expression on her friend’s face. “I know, I know, it doesn’t sound like much. But believe me, given the way I was raised it was actually quite a lot. There was just something so great about being more to him than tits and ass. He actually listened when I talked. He noticed the things I liked. Paid attention to details. You’ve met my mom and pop. They’re good people who love me without question. But they’ve had a rough life and were always too beaten down just trying to survive to fuss over things like birthdays or holidays.”

  “Oh, man, not Big Jim.” Carly laughed out loud. “Your thirty-fourth birthday party will probably go down in infamy.”

  “Yeah, he made it one of the most special nights of my life—and he’d already found out by then that his cancer was back and had begun feeling pretty lousy. He did a lot of stuff like that for me. My favorite thing, though, has to be the way he made me laugh. I never knew how much fun everyday life could be until I met him.”

  “He was a sweetheart.”

  “Yeah. I know a lot of people think I married him for his money—and I can’t deny it was fun not having to worry about finances for a while. But the real reason I married him was because he kept telling me how much he wanted to take care of me.”

  “That had to be a first for you.”

  Stretching out her leg, Treena nudged her friend with her toe. “I love that I never have to explain things to you. But, yeah, it was. I’ve taken care of myself for as long as I can remember, and Jim’s wanting to give me a break was more seductive than all the money in the world.”

  “So how unfair is it, then, that instead you ended up taking care of him?”

  She hated to admit it, but she’d thought the same thing herself, and more than once. They hadn’t been married long before illness had begun ravaging Big Jim from the inside out. She was soon consumed with responsibilities once again. Whenever she’d had a moment away from his sickbed, she’d tackled a mountain of bills and watched as expenses mounted to the point where they’d finally sucked not only Jim’s fortune dry, but her own savings, as well. The only thing she’d managed to hang onto was her condo.

  But she merely shrugged, for when it came right down to it, no one had promised her life would be fair. “Yeah, well, shit happens.”

  “More often to you than others, for some damn reason. I’m confused, though, Treen. By the sounds of things you’ve been sex deprived for a long time now. So why didn’t you take advantage of that sexy man wanting to jump your bones tonight?”

  “I just—I don’t know.” A flash of the way she’d felt in that garage made her clamp her thighs together, and she rapidly pushed the resulting panic aside. Her chin inched up. “I’ve never been a one-night-stand sort of woman, I guess. Plus, I can’t seem to get past the fact that I’ve known Jax for all of about ten minutes. I’m not ready for something that intense.”

  And perhaps she never would be. She thought about that all night long, as she tossed and turned and tried to reconcile the greedy sexuality she’d experienced those few brief moments on her car hood with the in-command-of-herself woman she’d always been. Unfortunately, she came to no conclusions. All that her restless self-questioning gained her was a sleepless night, and the vehement desire for a respite from having to think about Jax Gallagher at all.

  Easier said than done, as it turned out.

  He’d left a message on her machine while she was at Carly’s and he called again the following morning. Uneasy over the possibility that the ringing phone might be him calling, she allowed the machine to answer for her.

  “Treena, are you there?” There was a moment of silence, then his voice, deep and a little desperate, said, “Please, if you’re there, talk to me. Don’t leave me hanging like this. I’ve got a poker game scheduled in L.A. this morning, and I really don’t want to get drummed out of it like some rank amateur. But I’m probably going to be because I scared you off or something last night, and now I can’t concentrate for shit on the game.”

  She snatched up the receiver. “You didn’t scare me. I don’t scare.” It was important he understood that.

  “Glad to hear it. Then you’ll go out with me tonight.”

  The way her heart jumped at the idea made her literally take a large step backward. She shook her head, then felt like an idiot, because of course he couldn’t see. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “It’s a great idea. I know I moved too fast for you last night, but I won’t push you again, I promise. Just…don’t shut me down. We could have a quiet evening or something. I’ll come to your place.”

  “No.” She didn’t want to be all alone with him where her big comfy bed was just a short walk down the hallway if things got out of hand again. But neither could she bear the idea of not seeing him at all. “I suppose we could go to a late movie. Or, I know, we could go dancing.” That suggestion ought to discourage him. Men never wanted to risk dancing with a professional. And if he reined in whatever this thing was going on between them, it would let her off the hook.

  He surprised her. “Yeah, sure, we could do that,” he said easily. “But you gotta do me one favor, all right? Ride to work with your friend this evening. At least let me see you home myself.”

  Since visions of being alone with him again in the parking garage had her heart thundering like crazy, she agreed, then qualified it by adding cautiously, “But only if I can catch Carly before she leaves to run her dogs. She’s often in and out and hard to get a hold of. Either way, I’ll see you tonight. Same place by the elevators in the main salon.” She hung up before she could change her mind, then wondered if she was making a huge mistake.

  If so, it was too late to do anything about it, so she put it out of her mind, and she was finally starting to settle down again when her doorbell rang. She went to answer it, smiling to see her petite next-door neighbor Ellen Chandler on the other side.

  “Hello, darling,” the older woman said. “I’m sorry to show up unannounced like this. Have I come at a bad time?”

  “Not at all.” Charmed as always with the retired librarian’s manners, she stood back to let her enter, happy for the distraction. “Please, come in.” She found Ellen’s company soothing, and she loved the way the fifty-nine-year-old often spoiled her with some of the best home-baked goodies she’d ever tasted. She gave the foil-covered plate in Ellen’s hands a covetous glance.

  Ellen caught her at it and extended the plate. “For you.”

  “Thank goodness! For a second there I feared I was just a pit stop on your way to deliver it to someone else.”
Grinning, she took the plate and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll put the coffee on. What did you make me this time?”

  “Nothing special.” Ellen followed her around the breakfast bar that divided the small, cheerful room from the main living area. “Just a few snickerdoodles and chocolate drops.”

  Treena guffawed. “Nothing special, she says.” Pulling off the foil, she breathed in the rich, home-baked aroma. “Ohmigawd, Ellen. I think I love you.”

  “That’s why I keep baking for you, sweetheart. You’re so easy.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But I’m not cheap.”

  When Ellen laughed it was a deep, rich, surprisingly bawdy sound at odds with her short salt-and-pepper hair and neat-as-a-pin gray tank top, trim belt, and walking shorts. “Some might say that’s debatable if I can buy your affection with a plateful of cookies.”

  “Hey, I’ll have you know it’s a cumulative effect. It took a lot of platefuls to get me to this point.”

  “Well, that’s a relief—I’d hate to think you were selling yourself short.” She straightened a magnet on the refrigerator, then looked over at Treena. “So tell me about this new man in your life. A hottie, I believe is how Carly described him.”

  The smile slid from Treena’s face and her hands stilled over the coffee fixings she was assembling. “Carly talks too much.”

  Ellen’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, dear. Was I not supposed to bring him up?”

  “No. It’s fine. I’m being rude—I’m sorry.” That seemed to be her favorite new phrase. “It’s just that I’m a little confused about my feelings for Jax at the moment, and I don’t think I’m quite ready to talk about it.”

  “Then we won’t. Did I tell you I’ve been debating joining a tour for that trip to Italy I’ve been wanting to take?”

  Treena studied the petite older woman for a moment, then released the tension that the introduction of Jax into the conversation had settled in her shoulders. She shot Ellen a smile and resumed getting their coffee ready. “You have got to be the politest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Yes, well, what can I say?” Ellen shrugged. “Early training digs its roots deep.”

  “It’s very nice. I’ve never known anyone quite like you. So what’s the debate?”

  “I don’t want to go to Italy by myself. But I’m not sure I care to travel with a bunch of strangers, either. Then there’s the being-at-the-mercy-of-a-tour-group’s-schedule factor.”

  “Yeah, it’s that last thing that would stop me,” Treena agreed and asked the other woman to grab the cookies. She poured two cups of coffee and carried them to the small dining room table. “Strangers, you can always get to know. But I’d want to be able to explore all the sights on my own timetable.” She reached for a cookie. “Don’t any of your friends want to go? I know I’d go with you in a heartbeat if I had any vacation time coming.” She smiled ruefully. “Well, that, and if it were even remotely in my budget.”

  “I took an early retirement and most of my friends are still working. And the only one of them I can actually imagine living with day in and day out for three straight weeks is Lois. In fact, we’ve sort of dream-planned this trip for years, and this fall was going to be the time when we actually took it. But her daughter in Minnesota found out two months ago that after years of trying she’s finally pregnant, so Lois is saving up her vacation time instead to go help out after the baby is born.” Ellen raised one delicate-fingered hand and sipped her coffee. “I’ll probably just postpone the trip until next year when she’s free to join me.”

  “You must be so disappointed, though. I’m sorry.”

  Ellen flashed her an affectionate smile and reached across the table to pat her hand. “You’re a good girl.”

  “Can I have that in writing? My parents are positive my job is a one-way ticket to hell.”

  “Ah.” The older woman nodded wisely. “I imagine it’s hard for them to realize their baby dances topless in one of the shows.”

  “Um, no, that would merely be the clincher. They’ve pretty much reserved my handbasket for the trip without ever having learned that part.”

  Someone pounded on the front door and they both jumped. Treena got up to answer it, stopping to peek through the peephole first to see who it was. “Ah, Mack,” she said. He was the neighbor who lived on the other side of her.

  Ellen made a small hissing sound of disapproval, but Treena ignored it and opened the door. “Hey there,” she said to the burly man on her threshold and cocked an eyebrow. “Is the building on fire?”

  “Nope. But rumor has it your libido is. Hear you’ve got yourself a hot new guy.”

  “Boy, that Carly’s sure been a busy little beaver, hasn’t she? I can see I’m going to have to talk with her.”

  “Now, don’t be mad, sweetheart. She’s just excited for you.” He sniffed the air. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  “It is. And some truly divine cookies to go with it.” She opened the door wider and stepped back. “Come join us.”

  “Us? Who’s us?” He stepped over the threshold, five feet nine inches of raw energy that stopped dead when he saw Ellen sitting at the table. “Oh, hell. It’s you.” He thrust a weathered hand through his curly gray hair and glowered. “I should have known. Don’t you have a home?”

  Ellen took a dainty sip of her coffee and gave him a bland look. “I could ask the same of you, Mr. Brody.”

  “Mack,” he snarled. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Mack? Is that so fricking hard to remember?” He hooked his thumbs in the back pockets of his Levi’s and muttered, “Hearing myself called Mr. Brody makes me feel like a goddamn old man.”

  She looked him up and down and raised perfectly groomed eyebrows.

  “Yeah, so, big deal,” he growled. “I’m no spring chicken.” He crossed to the table where he pulled out a chair, spun it around, and straddled it. Stacking his sinewy arms upon the top rail, he propped his chin atop them and returned her perusal. “But then neither are you, Miz Librarian.”

  Treena sighed. She adored both her neighbors but when they got together it wasn’t pretty. “If you two are going to spar, take it outside,” she ordered. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Whoa.” Mack turned to look at her. “What’s got your undies in a twist? One would think you weren’t getting any.” He jerked his chin at Ellen. “Now, if it was this one I’d understand—”

  “That’s enough, Mack,” Treena snapped, and Ellen pushed her chair away from the table and rose to her feet.

  “I have to go.”

  “Ellen, please, don’t rush off.” She started toward her but the older woman smiled determinedly.

  “Thank you for the coffee, darling. I’ll talk to you soon.” She nodded at Mack without really looking at him. “Mr. Brody.”

  A second later she was gone.

  Seriously irritated, she turned back to Mack. “Are you happy now?”

  Mack jerked his frowning gaze from the door. No, he wasn’t happy. He hadn’t been since the day more than a year and a half ago when he’d taken one look at Treena’s new neighbor and fallen headfirst in lust for the entire tidy little package even though he’d received nothing but cool-eyed disdain in return.

  “I don’t know what’s the matter with you two.” He heard Treena chastising him as if from a distance, but he tuned her out. What was he doing fantasizing about a frozen-lipped little librarian? Like most guys, sex was pretty high on his list of gotta-haves, and age hadn’t slowed down that particular need a whole helluva lot. He was a handyman by trade since retiring from the aircraft industry, and that meant he was good with his hands. His wife, Maryanne, God rest her soul, had always thought so, anyway.

  But he knew that even if he was God’s brand-new shiny gift to women, little Miss Ellen would hardly notice, and even if she did, the result would probably be about as much fun as fiddling with a piece of sheet metal. The woman was colorless, for God’s sake. He’d rarely seen her smile, and he’d never seen her wear anything that
wasn’t a shade of gray or black or tan or that taupe color.

  “You always start talking like some randy old goat,” Treena said, “and she invariably goes from sweet and funny to stiff and cold. And then there I am, stuck in the middle. How does that old song go? ‘Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right’?”

  He’d expected that during the year Treena had sublet her place, the two of them would run into each other less. But he’d discovered that exchanging stiff little nods in the hallway was ten times worse than exchanging insults in Treena’s cozy little apartment. He admitted that while Ellen remained cool on the outside, he noticed that her cheeks heated up a little, and her pretty hazel eyes flashed fire when they sparred. He enjoyed seeing that.

  He’d gone too far today, though. She’d refused to look at him after he’d said what he had, but he’d seen the hurt on her face anyhow. And now he felt like shit for being the one to put it there.

  “I’m sorry I busted up your hen party,” he said in self-disgust, ignoring Treena’s sudden silence and look of surprise. Shaking his head at himself, he climbed to his feet and headed for the door. And for the first time in his life, he felt like the old man Ellen had implied he was.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JAX CAME BACK from Los Angeles with a feeling of accomplishment in his chest and a sizable wad of cash in his pocket. He had the taxi driver drop him off at Bellagio, and grinned at a young bride and groom in full wedding regalia when they crossed his path several minutes later in the area where Bellagio gave way to Caesar’s Palace. He’d seen more wedding gowns in the past few days than he’d seen in his entire life.

  He headed for Appian Way with the vague intention of buying himself something to celebrate today’s success. Once upon a time, he’d been a lousy dresser, but when he was sixteen and a junior at MIT he’d discovered the value of a good jacket. Once he’d learned a designer sport coat, a silk T-shirt and a pair of jeans would work for damn near any social situation, he’d never looked back. Every now and again he enjoyed adding to his collection.