MAKE ME A MATCH (Running Wild) (17 page)

Henry nodded and said, “You know of a program like that?”

“No, but I’d like to set one up.”

“I could help.” Henry was looking animated. “So, how much you paying for this Synchronicity?”

“A fair price.” This was a person with no boundaries.

Gladys said, “How much is fair?”

These were two people with no boundaries. Tessa shot a save me look at Eric.

“It’s not settled yet,” he said. “And it’s bad luck for Tessa to talk about it now.”

Gladys nodded. “Superstitious, huh? Superstitious is good.”

Tessa nodded, bewildered.

Gladys said, “Chinese people very superstitious. And we have always used astrology for matchmaking. I tried for Henry.” She scowled and waved a fork at her son. “My friend Susie has a daughter, not much older. Astrological charts fit. Nice girl, good cook. Smart. What more is there?” She flung the fork down in disgust. “He said she too fat. Look at him. How can he say she too fat? Talk about double standard. You ever come across a nice woman for him, you let me know, okay?”

Henry said something in Cantonese and Gladys gave up on English and went on at him in a loud, shrill voice for some time.

Henry was unaffected. He shrugged his heavy shoulders and bent over his second loaded plate, methodically eating his way through his mother’s tirade.

Tessa gave up on food, expecting blows at any moment.

“You had enough, Tess?”

She wasn’t certain whether Eric meant the food or the company. She nodded to both.

“C’mon then, I’ll show you around.”

“Thanks for lunch, Henry. Nice meeting you, Gladys.”

Both stopped in what appeared to be midsentence. Henry got to his feet and gave Tessa a half bow, and Gladys smiled sweetly.

“I’ll get back to you on the computer,” Henry promised.

“Come again soon,” Gladys said. “Nice meeting you in person, now I know who boss is talking to when you phone.”

“And isn’t that a big plus, now she can inquire about your bowel habits before she gets me on the line,” Eric muttered as he led Tessa down the hallway. The argument in the kitchen had begun all over again.

Tessa glanced back and whispered, “Are they always like that?”

“Always. Makes for a tranquil work atmosphere, huh?”

“Why did you hire them both? And where’s Mr. Wong?”

“I didn’t hire her, Henry did. And Mr. Wong died years ago, relieved beyond measure to get away from those two.” Eric opened a door and stood aside so she could enter. “This is my office.”

“Wow.” It was all she could think of to say. The massive desk was oak, his chair was leather, and there was another weird lamp made from pipefittings beside it. A two-seater couch along one wall was actually the resurrected front seat of a car, placed on a frame concocted from drainpipes. Under the single window a leafy green plant spilled from a hubcap mounted on a twisted metal frame. Live fish swam in the screen of an ancient television cabinet, and on the wall behind the desk, photos of Eric’s sisters and nephews smiled out from frames made of pipes.

“Eric, where’d you get all this—this stuff?”

It was truly hideous.

He who hesitates is a damn fool (Mae West)

“I made it. It’s my hobby making stuff from valuable secondary material. Junk art,” he added with a grin, closing the office door behind them, and then locking it with a bolt.

“Why the heavy security?”

“Because Henry is a snoop, and Gladys’s worse.”

Tessa walked around. The furnishings looked just as bad close up. “Have you ever exhibited at shows?”

“God, no.” He sounded horrified, thank god. “I find stuff and weld it together for my own pleasure.”

“Do you have a studio?”

He shook his head, and her heart sank. He did this at his home?

“My apartment. I had to redo the wiring and knock out some walls, but now there’s space there for junk and my welding equipment.”

It was all she could do not to shudder.

“Your landlord didn’t object?”

“He appreciated the rewiring.”

“You didn’t mention this on your form at Synchronicity. I’ll have to start matching you up with someone artistic.” Actually, blind would be better.

“You and I match, Tessa. I told you before. How about you dating me?”

He kept asking, and she kept thinking about it. There was chemistry, no doubt about it. But he’d be detrimental to her health. He didn’t want babies. He drove an ancient orange van. And now there was his hobby.

“I’d rather we just stayed friends.”

“What, friends don’t date? I thought you told me that friendship was one of the things most important between couples.”

“It is. I just think it would hurt too much when the hook came out.”

He waited a minute, frowned, and then shook his head. “You lost me with that one.”

“Catch and release, Eric. Meet ’em, date em, drop ’em.”

“C’mon, Tessa, you gonna hold my past against me again? Maybe it wouldn’t be that way with us.”

“But probably it would, and I’m an old-fashioned lady, long-term, commitment, marriage, kids. The whole nine yards. I told you that.”

“So what’s wrong with having some fun along the way?”

“It’s a detour. There’s only so much road ahead for me, and I’ve already taken too many wrong turns.”

‘You do random acts of kindness, though, right?” He was truly devious.

“Where are you going with this one, Stewart?”

“Karen’s flying out tomorrow. I got her a ticket on an excursion thing. Sophie has the boys, but she has a meeting Tuesday evening. I promised the kids I’d take them to the fair, but I’ll need help. You can’t call that a date, can you, coming along with me and two kids to a fair? It’s more like an act of mercy.”

Say no, Tessa, say no, say no, just say no.

“The kids would love it, they like you. They asked me if your hair was really real or if it was extensions.” He reached out and took a strand between finger and thumb. “Hairdresser’s kids, I ask you.”

Did hair have nerve endings? She could swear she felt it like a long, slow shiver. She moved away a little.

“It’s real. My hair.” Well, apart from a little color to cover a few strands that were growing in a lighter shade of pale.

Karen’s kids. That beautiful energy, those amazing minds, that innocence. Those missing front teeth. Their uncle. He fought dirty.

“You did offer to do whatever for Karen, I heard you, and I could lose them on my own, all those people. They’re gonna be missing their mom, too, poor little beggars.”

“Eric, that’s outright blackmail. ”

“It’s the only way to get ahead in this cutthroat world.”

She puffed out a breath and said in an exasperated tone, “Oh, all right.”

He grinned and made a thumbs-up gesture, and came over to her, way too close all over again. “Well, Tess.”

“Well what?” She should move away.

“Well, I’ll look forward to seeing you Tuesday.” He smelled good. He must have one hell of an internal thermostat, because she could swear he was giving off waves of warmth. Or was that her? She had a couple days to get ready. She could try that new sugar stuff she’d bought and get all the hair off her legs. And there was her bikini line to consider. And there were always her eyebrows, and her toenails. Maintenance was a real pain. She wasn’t doing it for him, either. It was for Simon and Ian.

Yeah, right.

He was a kind man, though. Dogs probably followed him everywhere. Female dogs, anyway. If only she didn’t know what he felt like naked and swollen.

“I’ll pick you up at four.”

She’d have to close the office early. He was standing way too close. The room was too small. She edged away.

Did he still make those noises when he came?

“How long since you went to a fair, Tess?”

She cleared her throat. “Not since I was a kid.” She thought of the Ferris wheel, and cotton candy, and tilt-a-whirl. Did they still have tilt-a-whirl? She felt as if she was on one right this minute.

“We can grab junk food at the fair, and then after we drop the kids off we’ll go out for a decent dinner afterward, okay? We’ll need to unwind, they’re pretty high energy, those two.”

“You just keep pushing, don’t you?” Being close to him caused a physical reaction, a tightness in her throat, an ache in her chest, a fullness and heat in her abdomen that spelled out plain old lust. Besides, she couldn’t back up any farther; she was against the desk.

“I do when I want something.”

Going out for dinner without the kids was a bad idea. What the heck, going out with him with the kids was a bad idea. Being in here alone wasn’t the smartest move she’d ever made, either.

“Okay, dinner. But that’s it.”

“Thanks, Tessa.” The crooked killer grin came and went. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Was I promise right up there with trust me?

A lady never shows her underwear unintentionally

He was sort of touching her arm, just with his fingertips, running them up and down her bare skin and pretending it was absentminded and he didn’t know what he was doing, the jerk.

Oh, the hell with it. What if she just went ahead and scratched this itch that drove her nuts each time she was around Eric? What if she treated it the way guys did, just a quickie, no emotional attachment, sex for the sake of sex, for old times’ sake? Could she do that?

She could try. What would he do if she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist right this minute? There was a lock on the door. She was wearing a mid calf dark cotton dress, and she’d stripped off her pantyhose in the car, and she wasn’t having her period. She had on lovely French underwear. Navy, with pale pink flowers.

Never mind matching underwear. Was he strong enough to hold her up if she jumped him? What if he staggered? She’d be humiliated. She’d never done that, wrapped her legs around a guy. She’d lost weight when she divorced, but she probably still weighed too much to attempt it. She’d never wanted to before like she did now.

He was strong, Eric was. That chest. And she could see the muscles in his arms. And then there was that bulge in the chinos.

It seemed a good time to start if she was ever going to; she wasn’t getting any younger. He was looking at her with those blue eyes, and he stopped stroking and put his hands on her shoulders instead. “Tess, you make me crazy,” he said with a resigned sigh. “I’ve been trying not to make a move on you, but it’s out of my hands.”

He pulled her forward, and she went willingly. His hands dropped from her shoulders to her waist, and she let herself touch him with her breasts and hips and thighs, and her breath came shallow and her heart pounded when all of her places pressed against all of his. Hers were soft, but his weren’t.

She breathed in a long, trembley breath. Her nose was near his neck, and a subtle, natural smell, not aftershave, not men’s cologne, but pure essence of Eric, took her instantly back to his beaten-up old Ford truck, and the way it had felt to have him inside her. He’d smelled this exact same way that night. Other things might age, but apparently smells stayed just the same.

He kissed her. He tasted like soy sauce from the food they’d eaten, and she figured she must taste the same way, salty, dark, fermented. And then she stopped figuring anything at all, because kissing him made her so hungry, the texture of his tongue, the way he cradled her face with his palms. His hands were hot. Her skin was hotter.

He slid one hand over her breast, cupping her through her dress and her nice bra, using the other down low on her butt to press her crotch against his. She sighed and looped her arms around his neck and opened her eyes.

He was looking at her, looking straight into her eyes, and it was the heat in his that pushed her over the edge.

“God, Eric.”

“Yeah. I know. Me too.” His voice came in jerks from deep in his chest.

It seemed the ideal time for the leg thing, because she simply had to get closer, tighter, or die. She lifted her right leg high and got a death grip on his neck, and he made an eager, encouraging noise, cupped her bottom and hoisted her up. She gulped and wrapped her other leg around him, high as she could reach, and understood right away why women liked doing it this way. Tab A was in instant unopposed contact—except for her best panties and his chinos—with Slot B.

But she could see that those navy bikinis and thick chinos presented a problem. With him valiantly holding her up, and her holding on for dear life to his neck, there were no hands left to get their clothes off.

He took two big steps, holding her up with no visible effort—she thought of the game she used to play, take a giant step—and then her rear was resting on his desk.

“Radio.” He flicked a switch, and she jumped a little when Chuck Berry was right there with them, doing “Let’s Twist Again.” And she knew Eric was remembering the way she’d moaned the last time they’d twisted.

“Golden Oldies. Henry eavesdrops.” He was kissing her again, and her legs were still wide apart, and her breath wouldn’t reach down into her chest. Now he was standing in between her thighs, undoing her zipper, sliding her dress up and over her head.

“Eric.”

“Yeah, Tess. I know, honey.”

This was okay. This was a one afternoon Saturday stand.

It didn’t mean a thing.

Oh lord, he’d unhooked her bra. The way his mouth felt on her nipple, how did he know to flick his tongue that way? Lots of practice. Don’t think about that—suck your belly in, Tessa; sitting this way your fat’s going to bulge. But she was bulging between her legs, all of her pushing and pulling in and pulsing and longing, and wet, she was so wet. Get with it, Tessa, strip him, no fair having a fat bare belly alone.

Her fingers were deft on his buttons. He wasn’t wearing anything under his shirt except curly golden chest hair, and his skin, god, his skin, smooth and salty on her lips and then his belt came open really easy. Damn, she had good hands.

She shoved at the jeans, they were tight, so he took his hands away from her skin and pushed at his clothes impatiently, and then the part of him that she’d tried hard to forget and never could popped up hard into her hand, hot, veined, thick. She tightened her hold on him and he thrust and groaned and stopped and shuddered, and now Jerry Lee was singing “Great Balls of Fire.”

“It’ll all be over if you keep doing that.”

The visual was graphic, but she was greedy. She felt herself go up too many notches to wait.

“Now, Eric. Now, okay?”

So she was begging, what did it matter if she got what she was after?

“Okay.” He didn’t take her pants off. Instead, he slipped his fingers under the crotch part and pulled them to one side, and she’d never wanted anything more, but he was pulling away.

“Hey, you can’t—don’t stop—”

“Damn, I almost—”

She had to lie almost flat while he mashed her into the desk and flicked up the lid on a small wooden card index box. He came back with a condom—no babies—he kept them, right on his desk? How often did he do this here?

Don’t go there, Tess, stay focused—

“Hurry, please, hurry—”

He did and then he used his fingers again, testing her wetness, easing the panties away even more, and then, oh my, he slid into her, and it felt the same as it had that one other time.

Heaven.

He reached around behind her and tugged her closer still, impaled her on him, and her legs closed around him by themselves, and then her insides closed on him, too, and they rocked and it was a little clumsy and she didn’t care. She was making noises and her head was rocking from side to side. Had he had other women this way, in his office, here, on his desk—

Stop.

Pay attention.

This is for now, Tessa, this is for you, there’s nothing but now, now, NOW.

“NOW. ” She heard herself moaning it, over and over, louder and louder, and she didn’t care if every employee he had heard it and burst through the door, she didn’t care if the whole world heard it, because she was coming and coming, oh, she couldn’t stand it, but she did.

And he was making that sound, like an engine revving, the sound she remembered, and she opened her eyes and his head was tipped back so she could see the underside of his chin. He’d missed a place there shaving, and he was shuddering. When he stopped, he slowly tipped his head back down and looked at her for a long moment.

“You’re so good at this,” he said in a reverent tone. Then he sort of shook all over, and shoved her back until her bottom was more firmly placed on the hard edge of the desk. They’d knocked papers and a jar filled with pens to the floor, and she hadn’t even noticed.

When she figured she could put two words together, she said, “You’re not so bad yourself.” Heaven help her, she’d violated the very first rule of serious matchmaking: Sex is biology. Use it to encourage courtship.

“I need to get down.” It was one thing to be spread-eagled and horny. It was quite another to fully appreciate that it was afternoon, and sunshine was pouring in his window, and she had on black medium-heeled sandals and a pair of bikini panties, which were a little the worse for wear.

Fortunately, he had blinds on the window, and although they were open, none of his employees were pressing their noses to the glass.

She slid her feet to the floor, and realized that he was in worse shape than she was. He’d done away with the condom, but his jeans and a set of red underwear were down around his ankles. Red? Just when you thought you knew someone.

He had his shoes on, too, white and blue trainers. He gave her a weary grin, bent over and pulled his pants up as she retrieved her bra and dress and wriggled into them.

“Bathroom’s right in there, Tess.” Fastening his belt, he walked over to the door, slid the bolt back and flung it open.

“Henry, goddamn it,” he bellowed. “Get away from my door.”

Feet pounded off down the hallway.

“I’m gonna fire him.” Eric’s face was blotchy and red, but she figured that was from sex. “I’m gonna fire him, the pervert, listening at the door.”

Tessa was shaking, but that, too, was the aftermath of sex. Damp, eager parts of her were still throbbing, slow to acknowledge history.

“Don’t fire him until he finds me a computer.” She was having trouble being an emancipated woman. She’d just had great sex with a man she didn’t want to date, and she was going to have to walk past Henry and Gladys to get out of here, because she’d stupidly left her handbag on the front counter.

They’d both know what she’d been doing, and she was feeling a little low on chutzpah. The mirror in the bathroom reflected a dazed slut with a satisfied expression, swollen lips, and blurry eyes. There was nothing she could do to repair anything. She’d just have to brazen it out.

“I’ll walk you out to your car.”

He looked as done over as she did. “I think I can find it myself.”

“I’m being a gentleman. Don’t discourage me.”

Tessa straightened her spine and tried to look innocent when they got to reception. She needn’t have worried. Gladys’s attention was totally on the soap unfolding on the television. Tessa’s purse was on the desk. She snatched it up, looking around for Henry. He’d disappeared.

“Bye, Gladys.”

“Nice meeting you, Tessa,” Gladys said, not even glancing her way.

Eric walked out beside her and held his hand out for her keys. He unlocked her car door and she got in.

“Tessa, we still on for Tuesday?” He sounded less than certain, and this was the moment when she should bail. Sex was one thing, going out with him was another.

He must have read her mind. “A promise is a promise.”

“Okay, four o’clock, Tuesday. Pick me up at work.”

She decided in a brilliant burst of afterglow that she’d maybe forget about the courtship thing for a little while and just go for sex, especially when he bent over and pressed a kiss on her mouth.