Beyond Seduction. Kathleen O'Reilly
you to know that I love you, and you’re the best sister I’ve ever had.”
“We’re not going to crash,” she muttered tightly.
“Well, you might. And if you do, I don’t want to live with crushing guilt, so I love you.”
“You do not,” she said, and then quickly hung up. There. If she was going to die, he was going to have to live with crushing guilt.
She powered off her phone, opened her computer, and prepared to work, picking up at the spot where she’d last written…
There were times when she wanted to go into a bar, find a man, and screw his brains out. Not for the sex, not for the intimacy, but for the shock of adrenalin to her system. The danger, the mystery, the feeling of taking a step off a cliff into the air, not knowing if you’ll fly or fall. He was that cliff, that leap of faith, but deep in her heart, she knew she couldn’t fly. Was it worth it to begin a love-affair doomed from the start? She opened the curtains on her apartment, letting the warm rays of the sun touch her. She loved the morning, loved the feeling of a new beginning. She looked to the building across from her, and noticed the man. He was there everyday, sitting at his desk, talking on the phone, typing. A boring, nondescript existence.
She smiled to herself, smiled to him, and began the morning ritual. Her fingers worked the buttons on her pajama shirt slowly, parting each one, letting the fabric caress her skin as she peeled the shirt back. From beneath her lashes she peeked across the way, feeling his gaze on her. The sun touched her as a lover would, tracing a path across her belly, her breasts, her shoulders.
Carefully she folded the top, putting it on the back of her couch, before slipping her fingers under the edge of her bottoms and pushing them down to the floor. For a moment she stood, framed in the window, nude, enjoying the warm rays on her skin, enjoying the feel of a man’s eyes on her body.
She looked up, and met his gaze, and felt the urgency inside him. It echoed the urgency in her. The need to do more, to drink life in long, dragging gulps.
Normally, this was where she stopped. Her body was one thing, to share her secrets was another. But today she could taste the thrill of adventure on her tongue, in her nerves, pulsing through her blood. Across from her, the man wasn’t smiling, merely watching. Waiting.
When she hesitated, he picked up his phone and began to talk, his fingers dancing on the keyboard. Back to his meaningless, nondescript existence. Back to her meaningless, nondescript existence.
It was time, that moment of stepping to the edge of the cliff.
She sank into her chair, the comfortable old chair that kept her from being alone, and parted her thighs. His head turned, his fingers stilled, and even from here she would see how his conversation slowed. She leaned back, arching into the soft cushion. At first, her fingers stroked her breasts, gliding over her nipples, back and forth.
Gently, as if she were—
A nervous cough jerked her back to reality. She looked over to see McCreepy ogling the words on her computer. Gah! She slammed the lid shut and stared. “Do you mind?”
“What was that?”
“I’m an author,” she stated flatly, her tone missing the usual zest that she put in the words.
“That’s going to be in a book?” His eyes widened, in such a hopeful manner, she almost forgave him. Almost.
“Yes.”
“What’s the title?”
Mercedes debated, her sense of security vying with her sense of marketing and sales. Marketing and sales persevered. “The Return of the Red Choo Diaries. It’ll be out in the fall of next year.”
“I’ll buy it.”
“Thank you,” said Mercedes, putting on the complimentary headphones. She didn’t dare open her computer again all the way to San Francisco.
3
THE RITZ-CARLTON SAT HIGH on Nob Hill, the city laid out before it like a serf at the feet of his liege. Sam stood at the window, watching as tiny pinpoints of silver moved through the sky, planes approaching the airport. She was out there. Somewhere.
Sam frowned. He had work to do and he couldn’t stand here daydreaming. He, Kristin and Charlie were camped out in his hotel suite, planning for tonight’s show, but Sam was having a mighty hard time concentrating.
“What time is the judicial expert scheduled at the studio?” he asked, letting the curtain fall, covering the sky.
“Six,” Kristin answered.
“And Ms. Brooks?”
Kristin checked her watch. “Her plane just landed.”
“Where’d you book them?”
She looked at him, confused. “The supreme court expert? He lives here.”
“Ms. Brooks?”
“At the Lafayette, down by the wharf.”
The wharf. That was a long away. A good twenty minutes by cab to the Ritz-Carlton. It wasn’t a sterling reflection on his character that he was planning a seduction with all the precision of a military campaign. His viewers would be shocked, hell, even he was shocked. It shouldn’t be like this. A man shouldn’t feel this internal combustion inside him once he got out of puberty. He was too old and too settled. A thirty-nine-year-old man should be contemplating his sanity, his golf game, and his retirement package.
“The Lafayette?” he asked, forgetting about his retirement, and wondering why Mercedes wasn’t staying at the Ritz.
“Yeah. Why?” Kristin asked. “It’s four stars, Sam, and I love their desserts. You should try the crème brûlée. Fabulous. She’ll love it.”
Sam pulled a face, not wanting to hear about four stars and fabulous crème brûlée. “The last time I stayed there, I really hated the room I was in. Heater didn’t work, and there was some dark stain on the pillows that I didn’t want to know about. It’s a dump. We should move her. I don’t want to give that place any more business. Exercising my consumer rights, and being a good American.”
“The Lafayette? We’re talking about the same hotel?”
“It’s a dump,” he lied.
“Okay, Mr. Good American, her plane’s at the airport, driver waiting. Where do you suggest I move her to in the next five minutes?”
Sam pretended to think over this problem. Then he got a look in his eyes that he hoped looked like enlightenment rather than ball-busting lust. “Call downstairs. I bet this place has an extra room available.”
Kristin grinned. “I’m at the Lafayette. Can I move, too?”
“Sure,” he said, knowing the bean counters would have a fit, but he could handle them. Sam looked at Charlie. “You’re here, right?”
Charlie didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
“Good,” said Sam, nodding. “So, we’re all settled in the lodging department. You have the video of the judge’s confirmation hearings?”
“Yeah, we’ll cut to that after you finish with the discussion of the affirmative action ruling.”
“Charlie, did he weigh in publicly on the age discrimination case against the State of Massachusetts?”
Charlie shook his head once. “I don’t know, but I’d be surprised.”
“Find out, will you?”
“Sure thing.”
“Good, the bit with Mercedes should be easy. We’ve got what, ten minutes, with one break?”
Kristin nodded, so Sam continued on. “And then there’s seven minutes of commentary on alternative energy and