Improper English (9 page)

“Alex?” My voice sounded hoarse and thick, like I had a cold.

“Mmmm?” He had reached the spot behind my left ear where my jaw connected to my head, tearing a low, throaty whimper from me. I closed my eyes and briefly gave myself up to the wonderful feeling of his hair as it slid like silk over my mouth. The need to kiss him again was building again, threatening to shred the little control
I had left. I desperately fought the need his touch ignited, knowing that if I didn’t, I would be completely lost. With more strength than I’d ever found before, I dragged my fists to his chest and pushed myself backwards, ignoring the searing pain that followed our physical separation.

He raised his head and looked at me, our noses almost touching, his eyes black with passion.

I swallowed and tried to wake up my numb mind before it gave up the ghost. A faint flutter against my arm warned me the roses were falling as he stepped back. I caught them and held them out to him. All that was left was a bunch of stalks and a couple of stray petals clinging drunkenly to several naked rose hips, but he took them nonetheless. I swallowed again and tried to think of something to say, something that would tell him just what that kiss had meant to me, something that would let him know it transcended the purely physical for me, that I felt as if our souls had entwined, merged, blended into one being.

I tried to think of the words, but my mouth—my brainless, tactless, idiot,
bane-of-my-existence
mouth—had other ideas.

“Alex, can I have my pot plant back, please?”

“Open. Yield to me.”

The deep growl warmed Lady Rowena as no other voice ever had. She parted her cherry-kissed lips, moaning gently as Raoul’s tongue surged into her mouth like an enthusiastic spelunker in a particularly moist cave, drawing from her the passion that he kindled deep, deep within her core of womanhood. Every part of Rowena’s being vibrated with pleasure in response to the forceful love play of Raoul, leaving her feeling like a smoldering ember of love, craving his touch, needing his incandescent fire to set her soul ablaze, desperate to taste him just one more time.

“Alix?”

“What?” The memory of Alex’s fiery kisses dissolved as I blinked at Bert, sitting across from me. She blinked back owlishly through an oversized pair of glasses.

“You stopped. Is there more? I’m enjoying it tremendously.”

“Romantic,” scoffed Ray as she handed me a glass of wine before walking back to the kitchen.

“Terribly,” Bert said with a smile. I grinned back, happy to have found someone who was a dedicated reader of romantic novels, pleased that Ray had interrupted me earlier in the day, when I was hard at work on my story, to invite me down later for drinks and nibblies. Once I had accepted, she inquired why the flat was papered in manuscript pages.

“It’s the way I plot,” I had told her. “I’m writing a book, and I’ve got all this stuff to keep track of. I read somewhere that a famous author spreads out all of her notes and picks them up randomly, then assembles a story from them. I’m at a bit of a sticking point on my story, so I thought I would give that a try.”

“Does it work?” she asked.

I looked down at the handful of pages I had picked up before answering the door. “Well—I’m not sure yet. Do you read romances, by any chance?”

Her eyebrows pulled together in a solid line. “Never.”

“Ah,” I said, mentally striking her off my list of potential readers.

“Bert does,” she added thoughtfully, then reiterated what time they would expect me, and jogged off down the stairs.

Three hours later I was seated on a green and gold couch, sipping chardonnay and eating brie while discussing popular romance authors with Bert. I pegged her as being in her mid to late forties, and knew from a prior comment that she was a secretary to a high-powered solicitor. She was also a good five inches taller than Ray,
had lovely honey-brown hair that framed her heartshaped face perfectly, and glowed with a warm, sunny nature that stood out starkly against Ray’s gruff, abrupt manner. I liked them both very much, but was ready to name Bert as my best friend when she asked if she could read some of my book.

“I just happened to bring the latest chapter with me,” I said without the least little bit of guilt, and spent the next half hour telling the two women the storyline, then reading the chapter aloud. It’s just too bad that the images the words generated brought to mind the unpleasant scene of the evening before.

“Yes, there’s more,” I told Bert when she prompted me to finish reading the chapter. I glanced down at the paper in my hands, a sour taste in my mouth as I remembered the scenes written hours before I had made the trip upstairs to see Alex, before I had experienced the giddiness caused by his kisses…and more. I looked at the words on the page, but my mind refused to resolve them into meaning; they were only black marks on a white page, nothing more. Just black marks—appropriate for someone who consistently ruined every good thing in her life.

“Yours will be a life of bleakness and loneliness,” my mother had once prophesized, then proceeded to tell me I had a lead touch. I was beginning to think she might be right.

“May I hear more of it? Alix? Is something the matter?”

Dammit, I wasn’t going to cry in front of Bert and Ray, and I wasn’t going to wallow in self-pity anymore either. I was a strong person, I could handle a little thing like a romance crushed before it even got off the ground. I
could handle this disaster—Lord knows I’d handled plenty like it before. I was woman, hear me roar.

Everything was all right until I glanced up and saw the concern in Bert’s eyes. Ray came and stood behind her, one pale hand resting on the warm tan of Bert’s shoulder, her own gray eyes mirroring the concern in Bert’s hazel ones. Both women were dressed in shirts and shorts, but where Ray wore a pair of baggy, beat-up khaki shorts and a stained yellow T-shirt, Bert wore a cream and white striped blouse belted into a pair of linen navy shorts. I envied their freedom, their happiness, their obvious satisfaction with life. Self-pity welled up inside me, rocketing off my misery meter.

“No, nothing’s the matter,” I lied, and with a little sob set down my manuscript. “I’m sorry, I think you’re about to be exposed to a shameless scene now. If it embarrasses you too much, I’ll be happy to leave.”

Bert leaned across the ottoman that stood between us and handed me a box of tissues. I gave in to the inevitable and had a good cry. I was really getting into it, wailing and sobbing into a succession of tissues, more than a little worried because I didn’t seem to be able to stop myself, when a timer went off behind me.

“Three minutes,” Ray said from the kitchen, and walked around to hand me my wine glass.

“Three minutes?” I asked, blowing my nose and mopping up the rest of the waterworks.

“We have a rule,” Bert explained, scooting over to sit next to me, putting an arm around me in a little hug. “When we get depressed, we let ourselves have three minutes of solid cry time. After that, we’re ready to talk about whatever is causing the problem. You don’t have
to tell us what’s bothering you, of course, but if you’d like to, we’ll be happy to listen.”

“Bound to be a man,” Ray said darkly, perching herself next to me on the arm of the couch.

Bert made a little shooing motion with her hand and gave my shoulder another squeeze. “It doesn’t have to be a man, Ray. Probably Alix is just a bit homesick.”

“No,” I sniffled, going through another handful of tissues in an attempt to stop my nose from running. “She’s right, it is a man.”

“Black,” Ray nodded, and went to check on the baconwrapped shrimp she’d stuck in the oven. I stared at her in horror and wondered if my sins were written on my forehead.

“Alex Black in number eight?” Bert asked me.

I nodded dumbly and, wiping my nose, asked Ray how she knew.

“Saw you dancing,” she said cryptically.

“Oh, yes, that’s true,” Bert said, giving my arm a slight squeeze before moving the platter of cheese and crackers. “I’d forgotten that, but you’re absolutely right, Ray. Just so you know,” she said, handing me a little plate and a napkin, “both Ray and I were married before we met each other, so don’t feel like you can’t mention certain subjects to us.”

I looked at the two women. Ray was sucking on a finger she had burned pulling out the shrimp, a short, stocky, disheveled, and unkempt woman whose abrasive exterior no doubt hid a proverbial heart of gold. Bert was a study in contrast: Tall and elegant, she had a soft voice, warm smile, and she smelled like she worked in a flowery glen. She was the mother I had always wished I had.

“What on earth brought you together?” I asked before I could stop myself, then blushed when I realized how unkind the question sounded. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me—you don’t have to answer. It’s just that I’m always curious how people find each other when there are so many pitfalls and so many…well,
losers
out there.”

Ray snorted and went back into the kitchen for tzatziki and pita bread. Bert smiled and offered me the shrimp. “Our husbands worked for the same company,” she said, nibbling a piece of brie. “We knew each other for years, and knew we were meant to be together, but I wanted to wait until my children were grown before I left my husband.”

“That’s so considerate of you, putting your children’s happiness before your own,” I said, awed that she had that much moxy. And determination. I wondered if I would sacrifice my life that way for my children.

To my surprise, she shook her head at my comment. “I’m not proud of what I did. If I had it to do over, I would have left Max and moved in with Ray as soon as possible. I know now that it would have been better to bring the children up in a loving home, rather than perpetuating an unhappy marriage. It would have done far less damage to them to have their mother known to be a lesbian than to suffer through ten years of verbal and emotional abuse by their father.”

“But surely you were thinking only of their good—”

“Life isn’t fair,” Ray said, setting down the bowl of tzatziki. Bert nodded.

“I believe that we are blessed with finding our true soul mate but once in our lives,” she said, giving Ray a private little smile. “To risk losing that person because of minor inconveniences, or because you anticipate trouble
where there is none, is foolishness. Life is too short and too uncertain to let that one person who is meant for you slip away without doing everything you can to be with him or her, don’t you think?”

I shrugged. I knew exactly what she was hinting at, but I didn’t think it applied to my situation. “I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person when it comes to happily ever afters. My track record is one of failures: a failed marriage, failed relationships with men, failed relationships with my family, failed jobs…the list is pretty much endless. And even if what you are oh-so-subtly hinting about Alex is right, it wouldn’t matter. I failed there, too.”

“Don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” Ray said as she plopped down on an oatmeal-colored chair. “But Bert’s a smart woman. She’ll pick through the rubbish for you.”

“And Ray’s an excellent listener,” Bert added with an encouraging smile.

I stared glumly at the tzatziki and wondered how much they wanted to hear. How much did I want to tell them? That whole evening with Alex had been such a disaster—with one shining, brilliant exception. Almost.

Alex had been utterly shocked when the words that came out of my mouth following The Kiss concerned my cute little spiky plant.

He needn’t have looked at me like I had an extra head, though, for I was just as surprised at what I said as he was. More than that, I was embarrassed, since it made me sound like an utter airhead, a cheap little ditz who used her body to get what she wanted.

“Alex, can I have my pot plant back, please?” I had moronically asked.

Alex’s eyes narrowed as my words sank in, and with only a tightening of his jaw to show what he thought of them, he let go of me and spun around to walk up the stairs. I slowly followed after him, mentally kicking myself and asking what the hell I thought I was doing. Alex said nothing. I wasn’t sure if he was so angry with me he couldn’t be bothered to say anything further, or if he was struggling to keep control and needed a little distance after that powerhouse of a kiss.

He stood waiting by his opened door, a tall, dark shadow in the gloomy upper landing. I knew what I had to do. I didn’t want to, but I owed it to him. When I was about a foot away, I sucked in my gut, squared my shoulders, raised my chin, and tried not to flinch when I met his eyes.

“Alex, I’m sorry, what I said came out all wrong. I don’t really care about the plant.”

He didn’t move a muscle, just stood holding the door to his flat open, his eyes lifeless and flat. An excruciating minute of silence passed before he spoke. “Then why did you say it?”

I looked away for a moment. What I could see of his flat wasn’t comforting—it was done in stark black and white. I glanced back to the stone statue of a man who was standing before me. His jaw was tight, the knuckles on his fisted hand showing white, and he was very, very still, watching me like a predator watches its prey. This was one angry Alex.

I looked back up into his eyes. When you strip all of the pretence away, what you’re left with can leave you vulnerable. Not a comfortable feeling. I hoped I hadn’t misjudged him. “I’m not sure why I said something so asinine. I think perhaps you scared me.”

He became more still, if such a thing were possible. I wasn’t sure he was even breathing when he asked, “How did I scare you?”

“That kiss, Alex.” I smiled and leaned toward him to trail a finger across the lush curve of his lower lip. “Nobody’s ever kissed me like that before. I’ve never kissed anyone like that, either. In fact, I didn’t know it was possible to feel all those wonderful, marvelous, earthshatteringly fabulous things just by swapping a little spit.”

One chestnut eyebrow rose as he reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward him. I let my lips curl a little more. Suddenly he wasn’t a stone statue anymore, suddenly he was very much a man, a man who looked like he wanted the very same thing I wanted.

“Swapping spit?” he growled, and pulled me up against his chest. I let him. I’m a sucker for an alpha male. “Was that all it was to you?”

His eyes weren’t flat any longer, now they were hot with a promise I fervently prayed he intended on keeping.

“No, it was much more than just a kiss,” I smiled against his mouth. “It was—”

It’s a good thing he didn’t let me finish that sentence, because I had no intention of telling him just how important he had become to me, and how much I suddenly realized I wished I were a different person, one who could have a life with him. Luckily, I was saved from baring my soul by the sound of voices on the stairs. Alex pushed me into his flat, closed the door, and pressed me up against the wall in a kiss that was hot enough to scorch paint off a barn.

I held out against the lure of his mouth for as long as
I could—about three seconds—then gave in to his wordless demand and parted my lips enough for him to sink inside. If I thought he had me burning with desire before, now he sparked a wildfire, starting deep in my belly and spreading out to warm every inch of my skin. Coolness from the wall I was pressed against seeped in through the thin cotton of my sleeveless dress, coating my back like ice from Siberia compared to the heat generated by the man covering my front.

“Please,” I begged when he pulled back just long enough to take his hands out of my hair, running them down the length of my arms before sweeping around to cup my breasts. I groaned at the marvelous way his hands fit.