AFTERGLOW (14 page)

He shrugged and sat down on her sofa. "No game. Now what is your experience with men?"

She stood in front of him, her hands on her hips. Well, one hand on her hip; the other was holding the remnants of her wine. She set down the glass with a thwap.

"You've never been married, have you, Chelsea?"

"No, I haven't, and I don't think I ever will. As for my experience, Doctor, let us say that I, too, very much enjoy reading about a hero who can not only enjoy himself but also the heroine, and vice versa. It's a marvelous fantasy," she added, trying for sarcasm.

David looked at her for a long, thoughtful moment. "I see," he said finally. "Have you ever been in love, Chelsea? Ever wanted a man?"

"No! And tell me, Doctor, what does
want
mean in your marvelous lexicon?"

"As in desire, lust after, sigh over, make cute little noises, yell when—"

"Stop it! The answer is no, and frankly, as Rhett would say, 'I don't give a damn.'"

"Do you plan to spend your life experiencing pleasure vicariously? Through made-up characters?"

That drew her up short. Dear heavens, she thought blankly, is that what I'm doing? "That smacks of voyeurism," she said aloud, her voice thin and high.

He grinned at her. "I've got a wager for you, Chelsea."

"The Friday night poker game isn't until next week," she said.

"Not that kind of wager. Do you want to hear it?"

"I think I'll get another glass of wine first," she said, and left the living room.

He said very softly, "The Mark I hero has become cunning. You'd best make it a very large glass of wine, sweetheart."

Chapter 8

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"
W
ell, what is this wager of yours?"

"Drink a bit more of that wine and I'll tell you."

She did, set the glass on the coffee table and sank to the floor, tucking her bare feet under her. "Well?"

"You seem to have had crummy experiences with men," David said matter-of-factly.

"No, not crummy, probably just the same kind of experiences that many women have had, I guess."

"Ah, yes, the proverbial wham, bam, rolling over and deep snores."

"Don't be crude." She dropped her eyes a moment, knowing that she wasn't being honest. Two men did not a statistical analysis make. And they'd been young and inexperienced, just as she had been. She sighed. At the tender ages of twenty-one and twenty-four she'd been willing and eager to fall in love. Indeed, she'd believed for a while that she had been in love. But now she knew she hadn't.

"Your wager, David?"

"I want to make love to and with you."

She stared at him. This, she thought blankly, from a stuffed shirt, uptight doctor from Boston who'd once accused her of not being serious enough?

"Why?" she blurted out.

"Damned if I know," he said thoughtfully, but she saw that gleam of amusement in his eyes.

"Does this go along with being a doctor and wanting to save lives and stomp out disease? As in, see this poor confused woman who needs a man?"

"I don't think being a doctor necessarily equates to being a good lover. But if it pleases you to think so—"

"It doesn't, and this is ridiculous!"

"I've always thought that every woman needed a good man."

"And you're applying?"

"For part of it, anyway. The wager is this, Chelsea. Make love with me. If you don't like it, I'll order every male resident at the hospital to read every one of your books. Look at it this way," he continued quickly, seeing that she was probably on the brink of colorfully describing his antecedents, "even if you found the experience a total and complete bore, you'd probably save a good half-dozen guys from continuing in their doubtless selfish and egocentric ways with women. I doubt that any of them, myself included, have ever read about sex from a woman's perspective. An eye-opener, I promise you."

She thought about some of her love scenes, spun from an ideal model, so to speak. She looked at him thoughtfully. He was a beautiful man, no doubt about that. His jaw, she noticed for the first time, was as stubborn as hers. And she did like him when she wasn't furious with him. She probably liked him a lot more than he deserved. And he'd already seen her in the buff, so she wouldn't have to be too embarrassed.

"I don't know," she said finally, fiddling with her wineglass.

David, who had expected to be castigated to the fullest utility of her powers of speech, felt a jolt of very intense desire. "You could," David said, trying to sound like a detached scientist, "consider it an experiment, I suppose." He shrugged. "Who knows? The sky might fall. The earth might move. You might like it."

"Are you talking about tonight?"

He gave her a wicked smile. "What better time than the present? I have this awful feeling that even if you agreed to our wager now, you would chicken out by tomorrow."

That was a definite maybe! She shifted her weight, stretching her legs out in front of her, leaning back and balancing herself on her hands. She eyed him again, very searchingly. "Why do you want to make love to me? I seem to remember that
I'm
the most irritating woman you've ever met. And don't you dare say 'damned if you know' again!"

"Okay, I won't." And he said nothing more.

"Well? Why?"

"I find myself thinking at very odd moments that you're incredibly adorable. Like your heroes, I want to take you and love you until you yell with pleasure."

"A nice fantasy," she said.

"We'll see."

"I haven't agreed yet," she said sharply.

"What about George and Elliot? Do you think George resorts to technology and Elliot rolls over and snores like a pig?"

"Of course not. They're
…
different."

"I don't consider either of us particularly run-of-the-mill."

Chelsea fell silent, her mind skipping from one objection to another. He was also, she decided, a very good talker. She said in a rush, "What if I like it, and you?"

"Ah," David said, leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "Then I would imagine we would be constrained to continue the experiment, to verify and recheck, of course." What the hell was he getting himself into? he wondered. What if she agreed and it was a fiasco? He came out of his fog at the sound of her voice. "What did you say? I'm sorry."

"I said yes."

Now, David thought frantically, what would a Mark I hero do? Grab her and carry her into the bedroom? Show triumph with a demonic laugh? Think about submission and surrender? He grinned at his thoughts, rose and stretched. No, he thought, he'd just have to be himself and hope it was good enough. After all, he was a
good
man, wasn't he?

"Well?" Chelsea asked, her eyes staring at his sneakered feet and moving upward. His thighs were thick, she saw, doubtless from jogging and swimming. She wondered if
…

"Well, what?"

"The wager, David!"

"Actually, the wager is quite one-sided at the moment. What will you give me if I—we—turn out to be the greatest thing since sliced bread?"

"I will die of shock."

"That's a start, I guess," he said. "Come here, Chelsea. I want to make love with you in the bedroom. Your carpet doesn't look too thick and soft."

Chelsea gulped and slowly got to her feet. Standing in her bare feet, she didn't even come to his chin. "Oh, dear," she said, then stopped as he gently pulled her against him.

"A nice fit," he said, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. He rubbed his large hands very lightly up and down her back, forcing himself to stay away from her bottom, for the moment at least. It occurred to him as he leaned down and gently began to nuzzle her ear that he had changed. Changed profoundly. This small, very mouthy woman made him laugh, made him see life from a slightly skewed angle, or maybe, he added silently, he'd lived most of his life according to rules that no longer fit him. It was certain that all signs of his incipient ulcer had disappeared. He wondered how that could be possible when she also made him want to wring her neck. And love her until they were both too weary even to snipe at each other.

He felt her stand on her tiptoes, and he sucked in his breath. Her breasts slid up his chest, and her belly was pressed firmly against him. Very slowly he brought his right hand around and cupped her chin. For someone who hadn't slept with a woman in a good many months, he was pleased at his restraint. Very lightly he kissed her pursed lips, not demanding, not forcing her in any way.

"You taste like shrimp salad," he said between nibbles on her throat.

"Sarah's shrimp salad is yummy. I'm not sure about this," Chelsea added in a very worried voice.

"Just relax. Isn't that what your heroes tell their heroines? Trust me? Give yourself to me?"

"Yes, sometimes, but—"

"But nothing. Stop worrying and kiss me again."

She did, with more enthusiasm this time. He tasted very good himself, she thought, and she liked what his hands were doing on her back. She pressed closer, sliding her arms over his shoulders. She was feeling warm, and very interested.

He slipped his hands beneath her sweatshirt, and she stiffened. Stop being an idiot, she told herself. You are not one of your heroines, nor are you a coy eighteen-year-old. You are also letting him control everything just as if you were a silly, helpless twit.

"You feel good, David," she said against his mouth. "Your body feels nice." To her immense delight she felt his entire body shudder with reaction. She also felt him hard and pressing against her stomach. She blinked. That felt very nice, too. It would stop, she thought, when he got down to basics.

"I'm not wearing a white coat now, Chelsea," he said, smiling down at her.

"No," she said. "No, you're not."

To her surprise he lifted her into his arms. She felt so good, David thought. When she nestled her face against his throat he began to believe that this was one of his finest ideas.

Her bed wasn't made, and David smiled, his gaze falling on a wispy pair of bikini panties tossed onto a chair. He guessed that this had been one of Sarah's days off.

He deposited her on the bed, then sat down beside her. He didn't touch her, simply smiled down at her.

She looked expectant, a bit wary, but her eyes gleamed.

"When I first met you at the Mallorys'," he said, taking her hand in his, "I thought, now there is a very cute woman. I've since changed my mind. You are intelligent, warm, unpredictable and very sexy. I like your hair. It's irrepressible, like you." He tangled his fingers into the black curls over her left ear.

Think of something witty to say, idiot, she told herself, but she couldn't. She moved her head so that her cheek was against his open palm.

"I always wanted to be blond, like George. Most of my heroines have light hair," she said.

"Oh, no," David said. "Don't you realize how enticing you are? The black hair and the very white skin?"

He moved his palm against her cheek, smiling. "I'd like to see more of that beautiful white skin, Chelsea." Before she could even think of objecting, he grasped her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head.

Chelsea felt dreadfully exposed, and her hands flew to cover her breasts.

"No, don't," David said, gently drawing her hands away. She found herself watching him as he looked at her. He looked very intent, and she realized that she wanted him to touch her. She squirmed just a bit.

David very lightly laid his open hand over her breast. He closed his eyes a moment, savoring the incredible softness and the tautening of her nipple. He could feel her heartbeat speed up. "Very beautiful," he said. "Very white." He began to trace the tip of his finger around each breast.

Chelsea was taken by surprise at her own reaction. She arched her back upward, wanting him to fondle her. Instead his hand roved downward to her jeans. "I don't like one course at a time," he explained, seeing that she might protest. "I like to see everything at once. Hold still, Chelsea."