Friendly Persuasion
“Goal? I’ve never heard you use that word,” she said.
“Let’s say I’m motivated,” he said with a suggestive lift of his brow. “The goal is to show you how to have fun with sex.”
“But it can’t just be me. You have to have fun, too.”
“Oh, I’ll have fun. Don’t you worry about that.” He gave her that look again.
She shivered again.
“Next, this can’t interfere with dating other people,” Ross said. When she looked at him quizzically, he shrugged. “There’s a hottie I’m working on at LG Graphics.”
“And who could forget Lisa, the accountant with the high IQ from the Upside? You’re such a hound,” she chided. But then added, “Actually, that’s perfect. If I know you’re seeing other people, I couldn’t possibly get attached.” This just might work. “Number five is we have to be honest,” she said, writing the words BE HONEST in all caps. “No being polite just to please the other person.”
“And if we’re not sexually compatible, we quit. That’s number six, I guess.”
She stopped, her pencil in midair. “You think I’m boring, but I’m really not. The granny panties were only because—”
“Relax.” He chuckled. “I just mean sex is like dancing—sometimes your rhythms don’t match. No biggie.”
“I guess so.” She frowned, worried.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine. You’re hot, I’m hot, we’ll be hot together.” He winked. “Oh, and if there’s something you want me to do—sexually—you just say it and I’m there.”
“Okay, but nothing too racy.”
“Nothing you don’t want,” he said, but his eyes said, Or that I can’t talk you into.
She gulped. “I guess. But if it gets too, um, complicated, I can quit, no questions asked, right?”
“Rule number two, remember? No harm, no foul. Any more rules you can think of?”
“You’re positive about rule number one? Friendship first?”
“Absolutely. I couldn’t survive Siegel on the rampage without you keeping me from putting my foot in my mouth. Anything else?”
She pondered, taking a deep swallow of her beer. This was completely new territory for her, so she had no idea what rules she might desperately need at some point. “One more,” she said. “If we need a new rule at any time, we can add it.”
“Oh, God. The Queen of Revision appears. Now this feels like work.”
“Being flexible is a good thing,” she said.
“Mmm, I’ll say. I know a woman who can lift her ankles way up to her—”
“Stop it, you’re scaring me,” she said, slugging him. “I’m no contortionist, so don’t expect anything spectacular.”
“You might surprise yourself,” he said, low and sexy. “We might unleash a tigress.”
A nervous giggle erupted from her. “I’d settle for a sex kitten.”
“Oh, me, too. With sweet little claws that dig in just this side of pain.”
Her insides heated up. “Anyway, I guess that’s it,” she said. “Shall I read them back to you?”
“I got it,” he said, “and you do, too.”
“Okay, then.” She slid her notepad back in her purse. She’d make a copy for both of them later.
Then, there she was, sitting knee to knee with Ross, with nothing to do but look into those hot green eyes and wonder about the woman with her ankles up to her whatever. She grabbed her beer bottle to take a drink and banged it into her teeth. “Ouch.”
“Careful with that thing,” he said, taking the beer from her icy fingers and putting it beside his on the table. He extended his arm along the couch behind her and scooted closer. “All this talk has me in the mood. How about we get started?”
The only light in the room was the golden glow through the stretched rawhide on Ross’s Roy Rogers lamp. Romantic in an adolescent kind of way. And Ross smelled good, she noticed—clean and fresh with a sporty scent. He had such a sensuous smile. And he wanted her. Would she disappoint him? Suddenly she wasn’t ready. “It’s getting late. Maybe we could start fresh on Saturday.”
“No time like the present, Kara,” he said, his eyes raking over her in eager appraisal. “Don’t you always say procrastination is the enemy of progress?”
“Not fair to use my work ethic against me.” He was right, though. If she waited, she’d have Thursday and Friday and all day Saturday to get nervous. She did need to learn how to keep things casual. If not Ross, then who? Someone she’d have to start fresh with. Why not now? “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do this thing.”
“You make it sound like a project.”
“No. I don’t mean that. I’m just—”
“Nervous, I know. How about a little atmosphere?” He leaned past her and pushed a button on a remote. The gravelly voice of a seventies singer known affectionately as the Walrus of Love swelled into the room.
“God, you’re using your warm-up move on me,” she said. He’d told her of the magical effect Barry White on auto-play had on women.
“Sorry,” he said. “I go with what works.”
“Try to stay fresh for me,” she said. “In honor of our friendship?”
“Deal.” He leaned in and she braced for a replay of last night’s kiss. Except he went for her neck with a soft, nuzzling motion. Mmm. Women love you to mess with their necks—another tidbit from Ross’s repertoire. It did feel good and her body started a slow melt until she remembered the woman Ross had dated whose leg twitched just like a dog’s when he hit a certain place. Kara burst out laughing.
Ross stopped, frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“Sorry. I just remembered Lorraine. Wasn’t she the one with the twitching leg?”
“Yeah, right. Focus, okay?”
“Sure. Sorry.”
“Let’s do something I know you’ll like.” He moved in for a kiss. It started like the Tuesday one, then got better. Everything inside her went soft and melty. She leaned in closer. Ross’s hands slid up to touch her breasts. Sooo good.
Then he started patting her chest. He broke off the kiss. “Is that one of those water bra thingies?”
“What if it is? Come on.” She went for his mouth again.
“You don’t need that fake thing. You have perfectly good breasts.”
“The darts are big on this blouse. I need some padding. Just ignore it.”
“Right,” he said. He shifted her body so she was lying on the sofa and he was half on top of her. Lovely, but she kept thinking this was just the next step in his usual mating ritual.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said.
“Is that a line?”
“Of course not. You are beautiful. Your contacts show off your eyes. Crystal-blue. Nice shape—kinda almond.”
“Thank you.” It was glorious to hear compliments like that from Ross. This situation had tremendous potential.
“Remember the time that guy licked your eyeball and swallowed the lens?” Ross said.
“Yeah,” she said. “Never date a man who still lives with his mother at age thirty. They get strange.”
“Enough talk. We’re losing momentum here,” he said.
“Right.” She pulled him down for a kiss.
“Mmm,” he murmured, “that’s what I’m talking about.”
She felt a momentary thrill, then she noticed a lump behind her head. She reached around and fished out transparent red bikini panties. She held them out. “Either you’ve got some explaining to do about your wardrobe or one of your ladies left a souvenir.”
He shrugged. “Suzee forgot, I guess.”
“How could she forget her underwear?”
“Ah, honey, I get them so hot they forget their own names.”
“Pul-eeze. You may be good, but, trust me, a woman knows where her underwear is at all times. She left this to mark her territory.”
“I don’t know…Suzee’s kind of scatterbrained.”
“I thought you didn’t date bimbos.”
“I don’t as a rule, but she can do the most amazing things with her tongue.”
“Could you stop raving about the sexual skills of other women? I feel like I’m being haunted by the ghosts of lovers past.”
He took the panties from her and tossed them over his shoulder. “Forget other women and their clothes. Let’s get you out of yours.” He slid his fingers under her blouse, but maybe because she was nervous or because he was Ross, his fingers stimulated her tickling reflex. She jerked away, giggling. “I’m ticklish there.”
“Oh, hell,” he said. “How about here?” He pushed his fingers higher.
“That’s okay, but…” She tried to hold it in, but laughter burst out.
“Are you trying to make me feel bad?”
“You got the tickle thing going. Let me get on top.”
“Somehow I knew you’d want that.”
She ignored the dig and wiggled out from under him, but missed the edge of the sofa and fell to the floor with a squeak, dragging him with her. “Ouch,” she said. “Your elbow’s in my boob.”
“Sorry. How can you feel a thing with that inner tube in there?”
“Cut it out.” She went for his ribs and he laughed and jerked away, so she tickled him in earnest. He returned the favor, and they were soon rolling on the floor laughing and tickling each other.
“This is hopeless,” Kara said, pulling herself to a sit.
“I’ve just begun to fight,” Ross said. He leaned in and kissed her, slow and sweet. Then he moved his tongue in a way that reminded her of the eyeball licker and she laughed into his mouth.
“You’re giving me a definite case of shrinkage,” he said. “Lucky for me, I know I’m a stud.”
“Lucky for all the women on your speed-dial, you mean.” She grinned at him. He really was sweet and very sexy, with his longish dark hair tousled across his forehead. She touched his face. “This just feels too silly. Thanks for trying, Ross. You’re a good friend.”
He sighed with regret. “Too bad.” He slid his hand across her left breast. “I’d love to get under all that water.” He straightened her collar and patted it. “At least we worked some of the starch out of your blouse.”
“Yeah.”
“The kissing was nice, don’t you think?” He rubbed his thumb over her chin sensuously and with regret.
“Very,” she said. For a second, she wanted to go at it again, but she’d start giggling, no doubt. And it was a relief they wouldn’t be risking their friendship, ground rules notwithstanding. “I’m just going to have to meet somebody new to figure this stuff out. A stranger I could never fall in love with.” Even though it had fizzled, this preliminary trial showed her the potential of this approach. It could change her life for the better. It just wouldn’t work with Ross.
“How do you plan to do that?” Ross was looking at her intently.
“I’ll go to a bar, I guess.”
“Not a biker bar or anyplace rough. Because I can’t let you do that.”
“I’m not crazy,” she said, touched by his protectiveness. “I’ll just find somebody who’s like you. Someone not my type. A ship passing in the night. A musician. Or I could find a business traveler. Or a pilot.”
“Where will you go?” he pressed. “What bar?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the downtown Hyatt. Lots of pilots and flight attendants stay there and there are always business conventions. Don’t worry about me,” she said, shoving at him gently. “I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.”
“Okay, I guess.” He looked her over again. “Don’t settle for just any guy. You really are hot. I hope you don’t have any doubt about that. Ditch the water bra. And make sure to use a condom or see proof of a blood test.”
“Okay, okay, Dad. Thanks for being my friend.”
“Too bad I couldn’t be your stranger.”
“Yeah, too bad.” If she could meet a stranger who kissed like Ross… That would be too perfect to be possible.
3
ROSS SPOTTED Kara right away. She sat at one of the high round tables in the middle of the Hyatt bar, looking very hot in a black dress as tight as a second skin, with a scooped neckline that revealed lots of creamy breast. Her fair skin looked luminous in the dim light.
He ran his fingers through his moussed-back hair. She wanted to sleep with a stranger, so he was giving her one—a South American playboy, to be exact. He’d bought a European-style collarless black silk shirt and a burnt sienna linen suit, borrowed a gold bracelet from a friend, and practiced his Spanish. He’d stopped short of a fake mustache, figuring it would interfere with his kissing and what if it peeled off?
Why was he doing this? For one thing, the thought of her flashing her shy smile at strange men just about killed him. What if she got into trouble? He had to watch out for her.
There was something more, something primitive related to the night before. Holding her—even while she giggled—had reminded him how attracted he’d been when they’d first met, and if she hadn’t burst out laughing, he would have gone for it. Her skin had tasted great—like vanilla and cinnamon and she’d felt delicate but sturdy. He wanted to hear how she sounded when she came, listen to her make those soft, desperate noises of pleasure. Couldn’t wait for them, in fact.
She needed a stranger, so he’d be a stranger. Of course, he could just pick out a nice guy for her, set them up on a date—first threaten the guy’s life if he hurt her, of course—but who better than him to help her out? They’d gone through the ground rules. He knew how to keep it simple and carnal. He just wanted to do it.
He hoped Kara would get into the game right away. He didn’t want to look too closely at his motives.
There she sat, looking nervous as hell, completely oblivious to how sexy she was. He found that delightful. Plenty of men were checking her out, too. A car-salesman-looking guy at the bar had just caught her eye. He looked the guy over. Used cars, for sure.
She smiled tentatively, nervously wagging her crossed leg—spike heels on her feet. Mmm. She sure as hell didn’t have on granny panties tonight. Probably lace—red or black? He hoped it wasn’t a pair of those edible things she’d bought yesterday. Just thinking about Kara’s underwear got him aroused.
The car salesman smiled at her and rose from his seat.
You can do better than him, Kara, Ross thought. Don’t settle. He had to act quickly before she was tempted to take this sleazeball home for a peek at her red lace panties. He rushed forward, tripped, but caught his balance on a table before anyone saw him acting uncool.
The lounge lizard noticed him heading for Kara and sat down, frowning.
Sorry, guy. The best man just won.
“May I join you, señorita?” he asked Kara in his best Spanish accent.
“Excuse me?” Kara glanced at him, then away, then back. “My God. Ross? What are you doing—?”
“Perdóname, señorita. I do not know this Ross person. My name is Miguel. I am from Argentina. I am a stranger here in your city. Business brings me here and I am, sadly, alone.”
“You’re what?” Kara couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Ross had smoothed back his hair, bought a stylish suit and now was pretending not to know her. He wasn’t grinning, so he wasn’t teasing her. He looked absolutely serious, this Miguel.
He was being her stranger, she realized. Bless his heart. He certainly looked different. He’d moussed his hair back, revealing his high, elegant forehead and making his swarthy complexion seem more dramatic. He’d even worn a different cologne, something more musky than usual. Dressed this way, he seemed mature and exotic and devastatingly sexy.
“Please, sit,” she said, patting the stool beside her. She was intrigued that he’d come—and relieved, she had to admit. A creepy guy at the bar had been about to head her way, and her heart had begun to pound. She’d been losing her nerve. Meeting a stranger just for sex seemed too chancy, too awkward. But here was Ross. Thank God.
“Es mi honor,” Miguel said, sliding onto the chair. He leaned close to her. “Can you tell me something?” he asked. His eyes, gleaming in the candlelight, were gorgeous. Together with his dark hair, they made him seem mysterious and a bit dangerous. And he smelled so good.
“Anything,” she said in her sexiest voice. She leaned forward the way Tina always did to emphasize her cleavage. Her nervousness had evaporated, she realized. If Ross could become a stranger, why couldn’t she?
“How is it that a woman so beautiful is alone on such a night as this?”
“I was waiting,” she said, then paused for effect. “For you.” She almost laughed at the B-movie line, but then Ross—Miguel—looked into her eyes, and said, “I am so happy,” and it became the perfect thing to have said. “Shall I buy you something to drink?” he asked.
“I have a better idea.” And then she did the most amazing thing. She took him by the lapels of his expensive jacket and pulled him close and planted her lips on him, even pushed her tongue forward a little. She was shocked at herself, but maybe not really. This exotic stranger was also her dear friend, after all. He was exciting, but safe, too. And his being a different person gave her permission to be different, too.
Ross—Miguel—made a sound low in his throat and kissed her back, even better than last night.
She felt so weak she feared she might slide off the stool and fall to the floor. “Is there somewhere we could go?” she gasped, breaking off the kiss.
“I have a room in the hotel.”
“You’re kidding!” she said.
“Would I joke about a thing like that?” he said in his own voice.
“I guess not,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me. And you bought new clothes, too.” She felt emotions rise in her—tenderness and gratitude and lust. Lots of lust.
“I’m doing this for both of us, señorita,” he said, resuming his role as a Latin lover. “What may I call you?”
“Kar—no, Katherine,” she said, choosing the first elegant name she could come up with. “Take me to your room, please.”
“My pleasure,” Ross-Miguel said, and tucked her snugly against his waist and walked her out of the bar to the glass elevator that led to the guest rooms.
She couldn’t believe she was about to make love with the same man who drank milk out of the carton in the S&S kitchen, wandered around the office barefoot, and collected Superman comic books. Now, he was an urbane cosmopolite looking down at her in a way that told her he knew exactly how to drive her mad with lust and planned on doing so.
He held the elevator door for her, the gold bracelet emphasizing his strong hands. The elevator soared, sending her already-jumpy stomach to her knees. At the seventeenth floor, Miguel held the elevator door for her, then walked her down the hall, holding her so tightly she felt each talented finger dig into her muscles.
Outside his room, he turned her against the door. “I can’t wait another momento para tus…para tus…¿Cómo se dice…?” He frowned, looking for the word for lips, she was certain.
“Labios,” she provided.
“Exactamundo,” he said, butchering the Spanish, but she didn’t care because then he kissed her. Actually it was un gran beso—full of romance and desire and it made her weak with wanting.
Behind her back, he opened the door and they stepped into a room so sumptuous Kara was seized with worry that Ross couldn’t afford it. “I’ll pay half,” she blurted before she realized the effect that might have on the magic of the moment.
“But, Señorita Katherine, I am a wealthy man. My only joy is to spend my money on the people I care about.”
“Oh, right,” she said. “Sure. But think about it.”
In answer, he pulled her into his arms and stroked her body through the silk, lifting her dress tantalizingly high on her thighs. “This is beautiful,” he said. “So thin I can feel the texture of your skin.” He cupped her bottom.
“No granny panties,” she murmured.
“I’ll say,” he said, stroking her again, then moving up to the top of her zipper. He was going to strip her and she couldn’t wait.
“And if I’d known I would meet you tonight, I wouldn’t have worn any.”
“Mmm,” he said, slowly lowering her zipper to her waist, his eyes on her the entire time. Cool air teased her back where her dress had opened. Then he pulled the front of her dress down far enough to reveal the black lace teddy she wore underneath. His eyes gleamed with approval.
She hadn’t known whether she’d actually meet a man tonight, let alone sleep with one, but she’d dressed sexy in order to feel sexy. Miguel’s expression told her she’d succeeded.
Miguel pushed her dress the rest of the way down and it whispered into a silky puddle at her spike-heeled feet.
She felt surprisingly calm—not nervous like she’d normally be at a moment like this—or fearful that she looked hippy or she’d be clumsy.
“You are so beautiful, Kara…. I mean Katherine. Do you know how bellísima you are?”
She blushed and smiled.
“Look.” He gently turned her to face the ornate full-length mirror beside a marble end table and stood behind her. “Do you see?”
Embarrassed at first, she glanced at herself in the mirror, caught a flash of black lace, then looked down.
That wasn’t enough for Miguel, who lifted her chin. “Look,” he murmured. “You are lovely.”
So Kara looked Katherine right in the eye. And liked what she saw. The sexy lingerie was perfect on her pale skin. Her blond hair had a sexy tousled look, her cheeks were pink with excitement, and her eyes gleamed wickedly.
She reached up to cup Miguel’s jaw, loving the picture they made. Miguel’s body framed hers, his olive skin, dark brown suit and dark hair a delicious contrast to her fairness.
He reached under her arms to cup her breasts through the black lace, holding them completely, as if to own them. The sight was pure sex. Heat shot from her breasts to her core. She pushed her backside against him, sliding against his erection, glorying in it, feeling wicked and wanton.
Then Miguel slowly teased the teddy straps from her shoulders, his fingertips tickling her skin—an exquisite and shivery sensation. He tugged the flimsy fabric down to her waist, baring her breasts to them both in the mirror. She watched her nipples knot with arousal, feeling the sweet, tight pain of it at the same time.
Ross lifted her breasts lovingly, as if they were fragile as eggshells. His breath hissed and his eyes closed with the pleasure of touching her.
Then she had to touch his skin, to see him naked in the mirror, too. She turned and pushed his jacket from his shoulders and he shook it to the floor. She began to unbutton his shirt, but her fingers trembled and the second buttonhole was tight. The moment stretched.
“Allow me,” Ross said, working on the button himself, smiling confidently at her as he tried to loosen it. Except he couldn’t get it either. “Forget it,” he muttered in Ross’s voice. He crossed his arms, grabbed the shirt hem and yanked it up and over his head.
She ran her fingers across his taut pectorals, then his flat stomach. He groaned and closed his eyes.
“You must get lots of exercise in Argentina on your hacienda,” she murmured.
“Enough, I guess,” he said, sounding shaky with lust. He pushed her teddy down her body until it fell to the floor.
Once she was naked before him, he paused, awe in his expression. “You’re beautiful,” he said, sounding very Ross. He caught himself and resumed in his accent, “You are like art, Señorita Katherine. Perfección.” He ran his hands along the curves of her hips.
She felt so wonderful, so aroused, she didn’t have her usual urge to slip under the covers and keep her partner too busy to look at her very closely. Instead, she reveled in her nakedness and wanted to enjoy his.
“Now you,” she said, and unhooked his buckle and zipper, not surprised to find no underwear behind them. Miguel, like Ross seemed to be a man who would forgo any unnecessary barrier to sensation.
Ross stopped her from pushing his pants to the floor so he could take something out of his pocket—a short strip of condoms. Bless him for his thoughtfulness.
“I’m on the Pill,” she said. “And healthy.”
“I’m good,” he said, returning the condoms to his pocket before he let his pants fall.
“I’m sure you are,” she said, her gaze drawn down his body to his erection. She glanced up at his face.
“For you,” he said. “I am this way for you.”
She grasped him gently.
He groaned, gripping her upper arm, his fingers digging in. “You make me crazy,” he said, his voice hoarse with need.