Afterlife (25 page)

He’d told her to meditate for an hour.

When she dutiful y

stretched out on the floor of her

workout room, she chose

the position she preferred when she

was under great

stress, Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man

pose. Since it was a

symbol of proportion and balance, it

had helped her in the

past. Legs spread out to form a

roughly equilateral triangle,

arms stretched out to either side and

pointing up so that a

straight line could be drawn from one

to the other through

the center of the head.

Assuming the pose, she scoffed

inwardly at the idea that

she was going to be able to calm and

center her mind,

knowing how difficult the meditation

portion of her previous

night’s class had been, and the

restless night she’d had.

However, while she lay there, trying

to focus on the

breathing, things took an unexpected

turn.

As she brought herself to

mindlessness, spiraling down,

breathing slow and deep, she became

aware of every

movement that such breaths made

across her body, as if

she’d become a pond with a flirty

breeze dancing over it.

And she wondered what would

happen if she stopped

trying to fight it.

She didn’t mean give in to her body’s

desire to climax,

flout his wil . Not that. However,

instead of struggling to stay

so far from that climactic edge she

made herself crazy over

it, she wondered what would happen

if she instead played

near it. What if, instead of keeping

herself so far out of

range she was out in the cold,

miserable and envious, she

enjoyed the heat of that fire without

immolating herself?

So as she lay in her somewhat

meditative state, she let

her hand drift first to her throat, then

down, trailing over her

sternum. When she cupped her breast,

her lips parted on a

tiny sigh at the feel of it. She had soft

skin, and tonight it

would be even softer. She’d already

put out those bath

beads, the moisturizers she’d add to

the bath water tonight.

She had a honeysuckle scent she

thought he’d like.

She also had a honeysuckle vine

growing on her back

balcony. Maybe she’d don a robe

briefly to bring in some of

the blossoms, scatter them in the

water. Draw out the

center stem to touch that one bead of

sweetness to her

tongue, imagine it as a bead of fluid

on the tip of Jon’s

cock. She’d hungered to taste him

yesterday, enough that

she’d begged for it. If he had let her

leave his office the way

she came to him, she would have

been mortified

remembering that now. Instead,

locked in the erotic

restraint he’d given her, she licked

her dry lips, recal ing the

way he’d looked, the thick root of

him hard against his

slacks.

When her fingers grazed her nipples,

her hips pressed

deep into the carpet, her pussy

making that ripple. She

kept traveling down, her palm against

her stomach, tracing

the edge of her pubic area. She didn’t

touch the clit piece,

but she played along the creases of

her thighs, wiggling

and smiling a little at the sensations

that chased

themselves up and down her body.

God, she was alive, and

on fire. Yet she was also a mixture of

other things. She was

al sensation, every element known

and unknown.

Lifting her arm, she blew along her

skin, watching the fine

hairs rise. As she dropped the limb

back beside her head,

she arched up, readjusting her stance

to that Sleeping

Thunderbolt pose, remembering Jon

in it, but now

imagining he’d ordered her to hold

this
asana
while his

palms molded her breasts, while he

inserted a vibrator in

her pussy so she came in this

restricted position, al

muscles straining, a scream bursting

from her throat like a

war cry. A cry of freedom…the

freedom to chain herself to

him, accept his col ar with no guilt or

worries. The muscles

strummed in her thighs, her lower bel

y.

You’re fooling yourself. You’re

visiting Disneyland, and

when you come back out the gates,

you’re going to be the

same middle-aged, tired woman who

went in there. You’ve

just been dazzled by pixie dust.

Fine. She’d let herself be dazzled.

The col ar on her

throat gave her permission, right?

The knock on the door was

unexpected, but she wouldn’t

be surprised if Jon had sent his

driver back with bagels this

morning, an excuse to make sure she

wasn’t trying to run

errands by herself. No worries there.

She’d been so

worked up last night, she’d had the

driver take her to the

grocery store after yoga, certain that

she wasn’t going to

leave the house at al today. Having to

pretend she wasn’t

on the cusp of a knee-buckling

orgasm around normal

people had been too difficult to

contemplate.

If it was the driver, she’d have to

apologize. Beyond

hardly noticing him in his position in

the shadowed front

seat, she wasn’t sure if she was

supposed to have tipped

him. He’d been considerate, not

engaging her in any

superfluous conversation, though

he’d escorted her to her

fourth-floor apartment, carrying up

her groceries and

making sure she locked her door after

him. She’d

remembered a large man who

reminded her a little of

Peter. He’d had serious eyes and a

steady hand at her

elbow, but beyond that the details

were a little hazy.

Rising from the floor, she slid into

the terrycloth robe, the

only robe she had. She wished she

had something silky

and provocative, but then, it wouldn’t

matter tonight, would

it? Jon didn’t want her to wear a

robe. For one heart-

jumping moment she wondered if it

could be him at the

door, his plans changed so that he

could come early and

end her torment, but Janet had told

her they were definitely

traveling.

Therefore, she was mildly

disappointed but not surprised

to see the driver through the

peephole. She
was
surprised

to see who was with him. Unlatching

the door, she pul ed it

open. “Dana. Good morning.”

The slim black woman smiled and

tapped her cane

against the driver’s calf. “I told Max

I could figure out how to

get up three flights of stairs and count

down to your door,

but he’s like a big, goofy guard dog.”

Max lifted a brow. Now that she saw

him in the light of

day, she realized he was in fact a

great deal like Peter. Not

as in family resemblance, but in build

and coloring. Dark

blond hair, gray-eyed, large boned

and lots of trained

muscles that she’d bet had been used

in military service.

He towered over both women, and

had shoulders perhaps

even wider than Dana’s fiancé.

Rachel decided Max could

be quite a lethal guard dog when he

wanted to be.

However, his gaze was laced with

fondness for his charge.

“Maybe I wanted to see a sweet-

natured woman for a

change, so I thought I’d come up here

with you and see Ms.

Madison.”

“Nice.” Dana punched him in the

side. With approval,

Rachel noticed she packed some

strength behind it.

“The shoulder’s doing wel .”

Dana cocked a brow. “I’m not here to

visit my physical

therapist, thank you very much. You

try to bend me into a

pretzel today, I’l leg sweep you and

pound you like a

sandbag.”

Rachel laughed. “Come on in then. I’l

offer you some tea.

Max, would you like some coffee?”

“No, but thanks.” He guided Dana

over the threshold, met

Rachel’s gaze. “I’l come back for her

when she gets out of

line. Which wil probably be about

the time I get to the car.”

“Go away, Cujo.” Dana waved her

cane in his direction.

“Go maul a few preschoolers. I’l cal

you when I’m ready to

leave.”

Max gave Rachel another smile. His

gaze drifted briefly

over the loose fit of the robe, the col

ar it revealed. Was it

her imagination, or did he linger on

her cleavage, tracking

that tempting silver chain until it

disappeared into unseen

regions? He didn’t make it overt or

inappropriate. Two

days ago she might not even have

registered such a quick

flash, but her ramped-up hormones

were honed to any

evidence of male awareness.

On her side of things, now she

couldn’t help but notice

the way his shoulders fil ed out his

chauffeur’s uniform or

wonder what his lower torso might

look like without the

drape of the coat hiding it. Her

cheeks flushed as he caught

her gaze on its downward sweep, but

he simply gave her a

nod and turned back toward the

stairwel . “Lock the door,”

he cal ed over his shoulder.

After Rachel drew Dana in and

closed the door, the black

woman made a face. “He’s such a

worrywart. Believe me,

he’s standing on the stairwel

listening. And he’s like one of

those trick ponies that can count. If

you slide the deadbolt in

and out real y fast, like twenty times,

he’l stil know if you

stopped on locked or unlocked. He’l

come back if it’s not

locked.”

Rachel gave her a glance as she shot

the deadbolt in

place with a definitive thud. “That

sounds like the voice of

experience.”

Dana grinned. “A girl has to get her

fun where she can.

The blindness gig comes with

exceptional hearing, so

sometimes I wait until he’s almost

walked back up to the

door to turn it into the locked

position that last time. Then,

when he’s turned around and gone

about five steps away, I

might slide it back out again, to keep

him on his toes.”

“Poor Max.” Rachel shook her head.

Then she couldn’t

help but laugh. “Oh Dana, I think I

real y needed you today.”

She hugged the other woman, a

suitable gesture for the

occasion, but as the woman’s body

made contact with

hers, Rachel realized body contact

might have been a

mistake. Dana wore a form-fitting

stylish tee over her snug

jeans, and even through the

terrycloth, Rachel was hyper

aware of the curve of her smal

breasts, the slope of the

spine beneath her palms, the scent of

her skin. She found

herself holding on a little longer, a

little closer, than what

was expected for a friendly hug.

She wasn’t into women, but with her

erotic awareness

stoked to simmering, the ability to

touch was a genderless

craving. Though the man she wanted

with every ounce of

her aroused body was Jon, it was the

same reason she’d

noticed every single one of Max’s

pleasing features.

It was kind of scary to realize the

only thing keeping her

lust contained was that col ar, not

social constraints.

Otherwise she might have given Max

an equal y

enthusiastic hug, with far more

wandering hands. She was

on the verge of embarrassing herself

and couldn’t seem to

care.

Dana seemed to pick up on it,

because she ran her own

palms over Rachel’s back, dropped

them down to catch her

fingers in the robe’s front tie and

tugged on it a little, letting

the ends slip through her fingers

before she at last stepped

back. “They get you pretty wound up,

don’t they?”

“Is it that obvious?” Rachel thought

about Peter

yesterday, the way he’d touched her.

The way Lucas had,

as he eased her farther into the office.

A remarkable bond

seemed to exist between the K&A

men. And that would

likely include the women. How much

did Dana know?

Rachel wasn’t sure if it would bother

her on a normal day.

Al she knew right now was it didn’t.

“Not too obvious.” Dana flashed a

grin, underscoring the

obvious lie. Then she sobered.

“Jon’s protective. They al