Going to Extremes

He’d declined, awkward as a kid at his first dance…which pretty much nailed his whole performance. He’d sold far more books than Kathleen—hers had been out for a while, after all—but she’d ruled the event, start to finish. Somehow, that seemed right.

“You need to loosen up, Dan,” she said to him now. “Next time, take the chocolate I offer you and say something about falling off the wagon.” She leaned into his shoulder, then pulled away. The tiny moment of pressure lingered on his skin. He was such a fool.

“If you’d like, I can do some prep with you, Dan,” Rhonda said. “Some Q and A rehearsal for media? If that would help?”

“Sure. That would be fine,” he said, though he instantly had second thoughts, knowing Rhonda’s penchant for chatter.

“So, Dan, can I ask you a question?” Rhonda said.

“Sure.” He was grateful for the distraction from the claustrophobia he felt sitting so near Kathleen.

“In your book, there’s a self-control checklist. What if a person scores high except when they’re in a relationship? What would you say to that person?”

“I’d say that’s good self-awareness,” he said, glancing at Kathleen, who wore a half smile. Make it good, Dan.

“The person would need to determine whether the immoderation came from within—fear or insecurity—or without—the partner’s behavior or attitude.”

“Oh, yeah. Use that Insecurity Meter in your book?”

“Yes. But if the immoderation is external, a discussion would be needed with the partner, who’d have to change.”

“But what if the, um, partner, won’t change?”

“Some relationships are emotional landmines and must be sidestepped.”

“Oh.” Rhonda was not happy with the answer. No one ever was. Love was the biggest danger zone for most of his clients.

“Or,” Kathleen said sharply, “you could go with your feelings, Rhonda, and not catastrophize. Worrying doesn’t fix tomorrow’s problems. It only zaps today’s joy. The point of life is to live it. And where can you feel more alive than in the arms of someone you love?”

“Good point,” Rhonda said with a heavy sigh.

I feel alive in your arms. Kathleen had used those exact words on the afternoon he realized he was losing control of his life. He’d blown off an important meeting with his advisor, frantic to see Kathleen, waited for her to emerge from a news-writing class, then pulled her into a nearby soda-machine alcove and kissed her until he was blind with the need to be inside her.

I love when you want me so much, she’d said, tugging him with her into the narrow space between the machine and the side wall, where anyone close enough to buy a Coke would hear, if not see, them. The machine had been new, the space clean—perfect for two people desperate to make love now—and when she’d unzipped him and offered her warmth, he’d slipped inside before he knew it, helpless with lust and lost to her. He’d gripped her thighs as she rode him, her eyes flashing with need and demand, and they’d both moaned with pleasure.

Footsteps approached, but she held on. We’re almost there.

He’d lunged into her faster, as hard as she could take, caring only about her sounds, her needs, her climax and his release. They’d shuddered to an orgasm seconds before the person dropped coins into the slot. They’d grinned at each other, listening to the tinkle of quarters, the clunk of the soda, the snap and fizz of the can being opened, then feet shuffling away.

I love you like this, Dan, she’d said, while they leaned against the warm machine catching their breath. I love that you lose control with me. Her eyes were tender and he’d let that be enough. He’d refused to see that he’d lost all sense, narrowed his life to Kathleen alone.

Abruptly, Rhonda thrust her arm over the seat between them. “Will one of you please pinch me?”

“Excuse me?” Dan said.

“So I know this isn’t a dream. I can’t believe I get to hear your ideas up close and personal.”

“This isn’t a dream,” Dan said. This was real, all right. Too real. Kathleen was really beside him, her heat and scent and voice and body all he could think about.

Kathleen, on the other hand, seemed completely self-possessed tonight. Last night she’d been nervous. That didn’t surprise him. She’d been far less bulldozed by their affair than he. Too restless to stay with anything long, she would have ended it soon, if he hadn’t acted when he did.

Right now, he wished he could end this tour, fly home to Vermont for some peace and quiet on the lake, take whatever professional fallout came of it. Just get away from her.

He was a man of his word, though, and he could surely master this. If he couldn’t, what did that say about his theory that practice and focus could conquer extreme appetites?

When the driver stopped in the hotel portico, Rhonda suggested a nightcap, but they both declined.

“Oh.” Rhonda’s smile dimmed for an instant, then clicked back into high beam. “No problem. We’ll have lots of drinks over the next ten days. I have such a good feeling about this tour.”

“It’ll be great,” Kathleen said, sounding as weary as he felt.

He climbed out of the car and helped Kathleen out, liking the feel of her hand in his—warm and strong, but soft, too. Like the woman.

“I asked them to put the tea you like in your room,” Rhonda said to him, leaning out the front window of the car.

“Please don’t bother on my account.”

“And the double pillow top for you, Kathleen.”

“You’re spoiling us,” Kathleen said.

“If you need anything or have any questions, call me any time, I mean it,” Rhonda said. “And charge everything to your rooms—breakfast, late-night snacks, in-room massages, movies, whatever. And use the minibar. That’s what it’s for.”

“We’ll be fine, Rhonda, thank you,” Dan said.

“I’ll be here with the car for the airport at nine,” she called to them, waving out the window as the driver pulled away.

“She wears me out,” Dan said, sagging with relief.

“Oh, me, too,” Kathleen said. “She’s like a class-three rapids when you want a bubbling stream.” She shot him a rueful smile that he returned. “We’re just lucky she has a cat waiting at home, or we’d be playing pinochle here with her tonight. Good luck with that media training she’s going to give you, Dan.”

“Lord.”

Her expression warmed with honest pleasure and kind commiseration. He liked this smile much better than the theatrical one she’d worn at the signing. This smile was direct, energetic, mischievous and a little shy, too.

This was the smile that had drawn him the day they met. Along with the fact she was about to be smashed to the ground by the gigantic mattress she was jamming through her apartment door. He’d just moved into the same complex and had rushed to help her get the thing into her bedroom.

I can’t afford this bed, she’d said in her whiskey voice, looking down at the mattress, which filled the small bedroom wall-to-wall. But once I lay down on it, oh, my good glory, I was done for. It said, ‘Sleep on me, enjoy me, use me ’til I sag.’ What could I do? I’d been had.

Before long, he’d been had, too. By Kathleen and how she swept away his defenses, his restraint, his carefully structured days and comfortable routines. She awakened an impulsive intensity in him he preferred dormant. Or dead. He’d lived a quiet, studious life until he’d stumbled upon Kathleen and her bed.

“You okay?” Kathleen said now, as they headed across the lobby for the elevator.

“Me? Fine. Just thinking.”

“How can you? I’m completely wiped. The mattress last night was…bumpy.” The excuse sounded hasty, as if to cover the real reason for her exhaustion.

“You were pretty perky at the signing.”

“All an act, Dan.” Her heavy tone told him there was more acting going on than she intended to reveal.

He understood. He was acting, too—just not very convincingly. She’d surely picked up on his tension, though she was classy enough not to mention it.

They rode the elevator to their floor and headed down the hall, managing small talk about the signing and the tour and laughing companionably. Anyone seeing them would assume they were long-time lovers headed for bed. But it was all an act, as Kathleen had observed.

A moment later, they stood before the doors to their adjoining rooms. “So this is good night then,” he said.

“Yep. I’ve got new bedside reading.” She raised his book, back cover facing him, but upside down, so that he appeared to be standing on his head. How appropriate.

“Thanks for buying that. I should have bought one of yours, but I was…I already had one, so I didn’t—”

“Really? You have one of my books?”

“Of course. I have it with me. In fact, will you sign it?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“No. I insist. I’ll bring it right over.”

She started to object, but he cut her off. “Kathleen, I want to.”

“Okay, then. Suit yourself.” She slid her key card into the slot and breezed inside, but not before he caught the wisp of a smile that told him she was delighted.

Which made him far too happy.

He would breeze into her room, sign the book, say good night and be back in his room in an easy ten minutes.

SHE COULD have signed the book tomorrow, for heaven’s sake, but the delight that Dan had read it had overridden Kathleen’s good sense. Now she was stuck. One more minute of acting witty and cool when she felt shaky and confused and her over-wound nerves would snap through her skin.

She needed a long, hot bath to soothe herself. Her reaction to Dan alarmed her. The animal in her had nosed out the positive changes in his physique. He was stronger, broader, more physically confident than he’d been in college. He used to envelop her so tightly that she felt wrapped up in a big Dan blanket. How would he feel now? Even more secure, no doubt. More masterful and carnal.

Cut it out. She didn’t want the man anymore. How tiresome his life must be, with all the rules and repression he swore by. Her reaction was pure biology. An example of the female’s genetic drive to connect with a virile male to propagate the species with sturdy offspring. That was how she would explain the importance of male physical prowess to female arousal in the sexuality chapter in Roots and Rhetoric. When she wrote it, that is.

But she was uneasily sure that genetic drives didn’t completely account for her reaction to Dan. Physical stuff had gotten weird on her lately. Take what had happened with Troy just three weeks ago.

She’d met him at a wine tasting and he was exactly her type: classy, sensual, funny, smart, sexually confident and not the least intimidated by her reputation.

They’d returned to her place after an exquisite dinner. Soon they were in her bedroom, where the air was aromatic with cinnamon candles and a hint of the lusty Bordeaux she’d opened, the light golden and dim. There was Troy in her bed, covered to the waist in her black satin sheets, his bare chest promising, his look predatory…everything just the way she liked it.

She’d stepped toward him, but was swept by a wave of exhaustion so overwhelming she’d stopped moving. Her whole being felt the way skin feels when it’s been stroked too long on the same spot—chafed, burned and aching.

She’d forced herself to sit on the bed beside Troy and put her hands on his chest, hoping the contact would banish the peculiar sensation.

But it hadn’t. Troy moved to kiss her, but she stopped him. Her lips had gone numb and rubbery—the way they’d felt after the accident. She’d pulled away, apologizing like mad.

Troy had been disappointed, of course. And puzzled.

She was, too. Especially by how happy she was to have sent him away. The minute he left, she’d cheerfully wrapped herself in a microfiber throw and gotten absorbed in a black-and-white historical movie, where the brush of a man’s lips on the back of a woman’s hand practically produced a climax. She’d felt like a guilty child allowed to stay up past her bedtime.

Now she slid off her shoes, undid her garters and peeled off her stockings, digging her toes into the lush sponge of the dense carpet.

She didn’t feel numb now. She felt fully alive, zings and pings firing joyously all up and down her body—a stalled engine finally coming to life.

Not good. Not good at all. She was done with Dan. Except while she waited for him, she tugged at her ear and breathed in hungry little pants—signs of sexual anticipation. She hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

Dan knocked at her door with crisp, evenly spaced raps as rational and matter-of-fact as the man. He was so different from her that she wondered what she’d seen in him.

She opened the door and remembered. His kind eyes, sensuous mouth, the intelligence in his face and that smile—knowing and mysterious—that promised more. Much more.

He held her book in his hand and tilted it at her.

“Come in.” She led him to the couch and he sat beside her, placing her book on her lap.

It was her first. Many times she’d wondered if he’d read her magazine column or any of her books. It was childish vanity, but she wanted him to see what she’d gone on to accomplish…and what he’d given up.

She looked into his blue eyes. They held an emotion that she, as usual, couldn’t read. Curiosity? Sadness? Regret? Desire?

Did you miss me? Did you suffer without me? Those were the mucky, wounded-ego questions she wanted to ask. If their time together had been important to him, if the breakup had been difficult for him, too, then she wouldn’t feel like such a weak fool. Maybe if she asked, she’d stop feeling so strange.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded.

She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. What if his answer made her feel worse? “Do you have a pen?”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Because if you don’t, I do. I have a special signing pen that I love. It has a tip so smooth it makes the words come out like liquid thought,” she babbled. “You’ll want something like that…a special pen, I mean…”

Dan ended her torment by whipping a pen from his suit-coat pocket and handing it to her, still warm from his body.

“Great.” She clicked it on, then set to her task. When she lifted the pristine cover of her book, the binding crackled and the first few sheets were attached at the edges. “Have you even read a page?” she asked, trying to sound amused, not hurt.

He reddened. “I bought it to support you, Kathleen. It wasn’t my thing.”

“How do you know if you haven’t looked past the cover?”

He shrugged. “I just know.”

“You used to at least try things,” she said. He used to say that she was a bad influence on him, but she’d assumed he was joking, been certain he enjoyed the pleasures she exposed him to. “Remember karaoke night?”

He groaned and shook his head. “Lord. What a mistake.”

“Come on. You had fun. And ‘Born to be Wild’ was the perfect song for you to sing.”

“I sounded like an idiot—an off-key idiot. I don’t know how you talked me into that.”

“I had legendary persuasive powers,” she teased.

“True.” He shot her a smile. “And I’d never met anyone like you.”

“You lived like a monk in that sad little apartment. And your roommate. Religious studies, right? Such a somber dude. He always looked like he was writing a funeral sermon.”

“Oh, he usually was.”

“I was good for you. Admit it.” She used a teasing tone, but she was deadly serious.

Dan stayed silent. He thought she was bad for him? Really? She felt obliged to defend herself. “You had three different kinds of antacids in your medicine cabinet when we met. You never touched them after we got together. Plus you had insomnia before me. I helped you sleep.”

“You wore me out,” he said dryly.

At least that. “Not to mention how I fixed up your apartment. Or should I say prison cell. Bare cupboards, no dishes, not even a shower curtain. Nothing pleasant or comfortable or soft.”

“I was poor, you may recall.” His voice had been warmed by the memories.

“So was I, but I had my priorities.”

“You bought me silverware and plates.” He smiled. “Even sheets.”

“I had to. You were desperate. And they were on sale.”

“And then you had to borrow money for textbooks.”

She shrugged. “It was a short-term cash-flow problem.”

“And I wasn’t desperate. You were. To change me.”

“It was better, don’t you think?”

“It was different.” Then he seemed to soften. “It made you happy and that’s all I cared about at the time.”

“I remember.” An odd warmth seeped up from her toes at his words. She hated that. It confused her. She broke off her gaze and balanced his pen on her finger. “Evenly weighted. Good grip. You have taste in writing implements.”

“At least that.” He smiled.

“One little thing we still have in common.” She sighed, then opened to the title page and wrote in bold letters the first words that came to her: “To past pleasures. Read and reconsider, Dan. Ever yours, K.” Ever yours? What the hell did that mean? Impulse was not her friend tonight.

Dan leaned close to read over her shoulder, his breath tickling the tiny hairs on her neck. She fought a shiver, closed the book with his pen on top and handed it to him.

He took it, but held her gaze, wondering, no doubt, what she’d meant by the inscription.

She shrugged. “What? It’s better than what you wrote in mine—‘Everything in moderation…Dan McAlister.’ Pretty impersonal, don’t you think?”

“I was caught off guard. I was a little stunned.”

“I know. I’m teasing. Everybody has that deer-in-headlights reaction to their first signing.”

“I could have written more, you know, in the book. Lots more.”

“I know.” Their eyes met and she felt that rush of being recognized, that joy of mattering so much to one man that the whole world shrank down to the size of his smile.

“We were something else, huh?” she said without thinking.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Sparks and fireworks.” Which were starting up again in her stomach and all parts below.

“More like scorching flame.”

“We were intense.”

“You were intense. I was…bewildered.”

“We had good times, Dan.” Maybe they weren’t right for each other, but their affair had been powerful and vivid and remarkable.

“Yes, we did,” he said, his tone reassuring her that she wasn’t alone. “And I’m glad to see you again. I thought of you. A lot.”

“I thought of you, too.” Entirely too much, replaying every moment in her mind. She hated remembering how insecure she’d been after he left—a blob of needy jelly instead of the strong, independent woman she was proud to be.

“If I had to go on a book tour, I’m glad it’s with you.”

She smiled. Was this okay? Could they be friends again? No hard feelings and all that jazz?

Something, some undercurrent of distress, told her it shouldn’t be that simple. And how come he was so damned comfortable letting go of the past?

“Take a peek at my book,” she said, tapping it. “It could change your whole perspective.”

“But I’ve staked my career on my perspective.”

“Mmm. Then this is too dangerous for you.” She took the edges of her book and tugged gently.

“I can handle it.” He tugged back, letting her feel his strength, the stretch and recoil of his muscles.

Holding his gaze for one more teasing moment, she let go. “Okay…I only hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I, Kathleen.” He gave her a lovely, self-mocking smile that made her melt.

To hide that fact, she led him to the door.

In the doorway, he seemed reluctant to leave. “So, tomorrow we head to Chicago?”

“Yep. Cheerleader Rhonda and the car will be here at nine. Wonder when she’ll give you that media training session.”

He gave an exaggerated shudder. “I’m not sure I’m up for that.” An idea seemed to dawn on him. “Couldn’t you do it? You were good with the reporters.”

“Me?”

“You’ve had more experience than Rhonda.”

“I suppose I could give you some tips…sure. Maybe we should plan how to handle the upcoming appearances. Why not?” Because this is Dan, you dope. And because the possibility put a hitch in her heart rate.

“I’d like that. I’ll tell Rhonda I don’t need the prep session, after all.” He kept standing in the doorway, looking at her. “Shall I wait for you in the morning?”

“If you’d like.”

He didn’t move and his gaze was restless on her face, circling her features, hovering at her eyes, nose, chin, finally settling on her mouth.

“Is there something else?” You missed me desperately? You thought you’d die without me? You want to kiss me senseless?

“I don’t want you to think I didn’t learn from our time together,” he said, his cool blues maddeningly earnest. “Because I did. I learned what I needed in my life. Our affair was…pivotal.”

Pivotal? What the hell did that mean? “That’s supposed to be a good thing?”

“Of course.”

What, he expected her to be pleased? Oh, Dan, thank you. As long as I was pivotal, then it was all worth it. She managed a smile. “Good night, Dan.”

“Good night.” He shifted ever so slightly, leaned an inch or two closer so that she knew he intended to kiss her. But his face was tense and she knew it would be the kiss equivalent of the awful hug she’d given him when they first met—a tight peck she never, ever wanted to get from Dan—-so she wiggled her fingers in farewell. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

“Sure. You, too.” He looked both disappointed and relieved when she slowly closed the door.

She stared into space, musing, fuming. She was irritated, resentful, sad and hot for him, damn it all to hell.

Pivotal, my little pink behind. So their relationship had provided a philosophical catharsis for him? A learning experience?

It had been more than that to her. They’d been dragging themselves up a dangerous emotional cliff together, hanging on to the rope for dear life. Then, abruptly, Dan had let go, just let her tumble to the canyon floor, while he dusted himself off and hiked happily onward without a backward glance.

Get over it, she told herself, crossing her sitting room, distracted for a second by the squish of the thickly padded carpet beneath her bare feet. He can’t apologize for what you never told him he did. The last thing she wanted him to know was how badly he’d hurt her.

Grow up. Be grateful. After all, the shock of the breakup had jolted her into much-needed changes. She’d left ASU, transferred to a small college in California, shifting her major from journalism to liberal arts and while still in school, started writing the freelance entertainment pieces that led to her column at PulsePoint magazine, which led to her book career.

So Dan had been pivotal for her, too.

And she’d been careful with men ever since, kept things friendly and sexual, and that had been plenty satisfying. Much better than an unhealthy bonding and the agony that went with its inevitable end.

She’d been stupid and naive with Dan. Ten years later, she was savvy and successful, confident and self-assured.

And Dan was still an uptight guy. She’d pushed him out of his comfort zone, but he’d raced right back to it and then some, going for hyper-restraint and extreme control. He was the last guy she’d ever want.

Get over it, Kath. Close the book, brick the wall. She blew out a breath. Make the most of every moment. That was her creed. She would live it on this tour, too, despite Dan’s presence. She would experience the best of the tour and ignore the worst.

Maybe Dan would be pivotal again—jolt her into action on the new book. So far, she’d been bored by the research and frightened by her computer cursor blinking like a heartbeat on the blank screen.

For now, she’d get some sleep. She put on her slipperiest nightgown, relishing its cool slide over her skin, grabbed the lilac linen spray from her comfort suitcase, which held her lotions, special pillows, aromatic oils and other necessities, and misted her sheets.