Sets Appeal. Virginia Taylor
talked about herself.
He knew her opinion on the weather, musicals versus plays, comedies versus tragedies, the last musical to hit town, the university drama course, and the benefits of volunteering to get a job. And nothing about herself, other than hearsay from Ilona, in that she hadn’t deserved her rich, brilliant husband, Tim Nolan.
As she had last night, she pulled the covers to her chin. Her hair looked messy but glossed with health, and her eyes shone with suspicion. “Are you going to tell me who she is?”
He stared at her, contemplating a morning of exploratory sex now that they knew more about each other. A one-night stand with her would have been doomed to fail. She thought she wanted a hard dick and nothing more. Apparently, that was all she’d ever had. He could give her much more. He could give her pleasure. If he had taken her last night, she would have been shocked by his speed, and so would he. A quick screw wasn’t for him, nor for a woman who needed much more, though at this stage, he didn’t quite know what she needed. He only knew he didn’t perform to order, though of course he could have. The moment he had seen her, he had wanted her but he wanted her to relax and enjoy sex the way he did. He wanted her to enjoy him.
“I’ll have the first shower,” he said, breathing through his teeth. He was the master of self-punishment. “She’s just a friend, no one you need worry about.”
“Nothing worries me,” said the woman who was afraid of him looking at her naked body in the light. “I just wanted to be sure that I’m not the wrong part of a threesome.”
He gave her a light kiss on the lips and went to his wardrobe, snatching out a few articles of clothing. She had been the wrong part of a threesome while she was married. Lonny, the other participant, had just walked out his door.
During the next couple of months, if his attraction to this surprisingly appealing woman didn’t fade, his balancing act would be a tad shaky.
* * * *
With a smile on her face, Vix stepped into JD’s slippery bath to take a shower. JD was clearly attracted to her, which was pretty darned fantastic, but he and she weren’t meant to be. The condom had proved that. He’d made her feel sexy, but nothing had happened. She could leave this morning without any regrets and without feeling cheap. And never, ever, would she drink too much again.
She wondered how his face had looked before the scar. Probably not quite as tough. He had regular features with a good strong nose and jaw. His skin was clear and tanned and his stubble held a glint of gold. The old white line of his scar was only a slight disfiguration. Before he’d asked, she hadn’t concentrated on his eye color, just the appealing gleam of interest, but after he had questioned her, she had noted the unusual khaki green.
She washed her hair with his man-shampoo, knowing that with squeaky-clean hair she wouldn’t feel so bad about not putting on fresh underwear. Maybe she could send him a big box of chocolates to thank him for his consideration last night. She would mention the doubtful state of her sobriety, which would excuse her slutty behavior. Though, his tousled, bristled look this morning was still a turn on. She blew out a breath, awed by the over-activity of her hormones.
After rinsing off, she stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in a thin blue towel. Looking for a hair dryer, she searched his bathroom cabinet, but she didn’t find one. However, she did find a box of condoms big enough to give the impression he could service the whole of the state’s sexually active females without having to buy extra supplies.
She sucked in her bottom lip, even more ashamed of herself. The woman in the kitchen this morning must have been his girlfriend. For some reason, she hadn’t attended the production party with him last night and today she had cancelled a date. He hadn’t taken this amiss. Clearly, he and she trusted each other, and with good reason. Last night, he had faked the condom mishap with Vix because he didn’t know how else to get himself off the hook with a prospective workmate who had practically ordered him to service her, as if she had the right.
Her face flared red and hot. Champagne was clearly far more insidious than she thought. She tried to remember if he had been drinking, but although he had filled her glass, he hadn’t been holding one of his own.
However, despite not being even slightly intoxicated, he had wanted her. Even someone inexperienced with men could see that. At the party, his gaze had lingered on her face and his eyes had gleamed with interest. Without a hint from her, he suggested the ride home, and when he said coffee, his voice had purred with innuendo. In bed, his physical reaction was blatant and quite exciting. Although she didn’t know too much about men, she knew an aroused male when she saw one. Given the opportunity to be unfaithful…he couldn’t, unlike her ex-husband.
She toweled her hair as dry as she could and dressed quickly. Preparing to be as casual about the awkward morning-after as he was, she re-entered the bedroom, gathered up her handbag, retraced her steps to the bathroom, and applied her makeup. Without a hair dryer, her hair behaved unfashionably. Sighing, she swirled a knot on the top of her head and, holding the bun in place, she padded into the kitchen, knowing her blond hair looked fake and her skirt was too short and tight.
He stood over an ancient electric stove, which over the years had been chipped of white enamel on the corners, watching a pan full of sizzling calories. He smiled at her.
Her hormones overreacted with a perceptible thud. “Do you have a pencil I can borrow?” she asked in a voice that came out husky. She evaded his gaze.
He reached into an overhead cupboard and pulled one out. “Will this do?”
She wriggled the HB through her hair. “I hope you’re not cooking break—”
“You look nice.”
She angled her head on the side. “You don’t need to fake interest.”
“Okay. I’ll file that. How many eggs do you want?”
“One.”
“Should I flip over your egg?”
“No. Oh, glory. I haven’t had a fried egg in a year.” She sat at the gray-painted table that matched the gray-painted chairs that screamed to be stripped along with the lovely, uncovered Baltic pine floor.
“I hope you’re not allergic.”
“Only to calories.” She cleared her throat. If she tried for a normal conversation, she could get through this awkwardness. “They’re gorgeous old chairs, those clunky ones. I suspect you would find satinwood beneath that gray paint. They’re art deco, I think.”
“Like this table and the chairs. They all starred in Noel and Gertie and they’ve been heavily repaired by me, which is how I got them as a job lot for forty dollars after the production.”
“Noel and Gertie? I saw that.”
“What did you think?”
“The set was shades of gray, although only four, and Noel and Gertie wore black and white throughout the show. The old film look was effective, and I would have been impressed if I hadn’t known it was a copy of the Broadway set.”
“Did you see the Broadway show?”
She nodded. “Before I was married, when I wanted to see every set I could.”
“I didn’t know it was a copy.” He rubbed his chin. “I built that set from…er, the designer’s drawings.”
“You don’t have to name names. He always copies his sets. It’s a shame there’s no copyright. I don’t understand people who don’t want to experiment with ideas of their own.”
“Nor do I. Speaking of which, you heard me stood up this morning. I don’t need a date, but you might be interested in coming, anyway.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Because?”
“We’ll be in the warehouse we use for set-building. It’s where you’ll be painting, too. You might want to look the place over while we’re playing indoor volleyball.”