hide her limp as best she could. She pulled on her bra, sleeveless white blouse, and short green skirt, skipping the underpants. She didn't want those stuck to her as well.
With the waxed cloth tugging painfully with each uneven stride, she hobbled barefoot to the front door and put her hand on the knob. She rested her weight on her right leg, the left one cocked and on tiptoe, as if it were a sultry pose. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, and planted a welcoming smile on her lips.
Ready or not, here she was.
Russ approached the door to his old apartment with an unsettling mix of familiarity and alienness. It had been home to him for several years, but never in that time had there been a woman behind that door with dinner waiting and the intention of taking him to her bed. As wrong as he intellectually knew this arrangement was, as wrong as he emotionally felt that it was, part of him wanted it the way a drowning man wanted to see a ship in the distance. It might be an illusion, but what a beautiful illusion it was.
And wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong, he reminded himself. All week, he had meant to call Emma and break their agreement. He'd meant to do that even as he express-mailed her a loaded Visa card. He'd meant to do it as he e-mailed her a link to his lab test results. He'd meant to do it as he bought a bouquet Page 36
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
for her, walked into the building, and rode up the elevator—and now, as he stood before his old door, he still meant to do it.
He looked at the flowers. What the hell was he thinking? This wasn't a date!
But what was it? His mind scrambled back through memory, trying to find a parallel. All he could think of was Madame de Pompadour, the eighteenth-century mistress to the French king. He didn't doubt that she was given flowers. Jewels, likely. Clothes, even land. Aristocrats used to give their mistresses houses and land, didn't they?
His cellophane-wrapped Dutch irises from Pike Place Market suddenly looked inadequate.
But wait, the flowers were an apology for asking her to be his mistress, then recanting.
Weren't they?
He wished he had a beer.
He reached up and rang the bell.
Nothing happened. No footsteps, no replying voice. He knocked.
"I'm coming! One second!" she called, and then he heard a shrieking curse and a big thump.
"Emma?" he called in alarm.
She squeaked something he couldn't make out, then said, "I'll be right there."
More silence. More muffled cursing. Silence again.
"Emma?" he called carefully, imagining all sorts of mishaps. Maybe she'd hit her head and was disoriented. Maybe she'd cut herself. Maybe—
He heard her approach the door and then stop. A quiet fell in which he imagined he could hear her taking a breath. He stared at the wall of door, knowing she was there.
Then she opened the door.
She was gorgeous. Her fair skin was flushed pink, her rosy lips parted in a welcoming smile. Her brown eyes sparkled and her dark hair fell like mink around her shoulders. His gaze skimmed down her body, taking in the vee of her blouse and the barest hint of lacy bra showing at one edge. Her short, emerald green pleated skirt looked like something a naughty Irish schoolgirl might wear. Her legs and feet were bare, one leg cocked enticingly, the lack of shoes making her seem more accessible.
His mouth went dry. This beautiful young woman was going to take him to her bed tonight. He imagined those soft pink lips on his arousal, those bright dark eyes looking up at him as she took him into her mouth. Lust stirred within him, his sex hardening.
"This was a mistake," he said, and thrust the flowers toward her.
"Nonsense! They're beautiful," she said, taking the bouquet. She sniffed them. "Thank you. Although I Page 37
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
can't smell them over the roasting lamb." She lowered the flowers to chest height and smiled
With the waxed cloth tugging painfully with each uneven stride, she hobbled barefoot to the front door and put her hand on the knob. She rested her weight on her right leg, the left one cocked and on tiptoe, as if it were a sultry pose. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, and planted a welcoming smile on her lips.
Ready or not, here she was.
Russ approached the door to his old apartment with an unsettling mix of familiarity and alienness. It had been home to him for several years, but never in that time had there been a woman behind that door with dinner waiting and the intention of taking him to her bed. As wrong as he intellectually knew this arrangement was, as wrong as he emotionally felt that it was, part of him wanted it the way a drowning man wanted to see a ship in the distance. It might be an illusion, but what a beautiful illusion it was.
And wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong, he reminded himself. All week, he had meant to call Emma and break their agreement. He'd meant to do that even as he express-mailed her a loaded Visa card. He'd meant to do it as he e-mailed her a link to his lab test results. He'd meant to do it as he bought a bouquet Page 36
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
for her, walked into the building, and rode up the elevator—and now, as he stood before his old door, he still meant to do it.
He looked at the flowers. What the hell was he thinking? This wasn't a date!
But what was it? His mind scrambled back through memory, trying to find a parallel. All he could think of was Madame de Pompadour, the eighteenth-century mistress to the French king. He didn't doubt that she was given flowers. Jewels, likely. Clothes, even land. Aristocrats used to give their mistresses houses and land, didn't they?
His cellophane-wrapped Dutch irises from Pike Place Market suddenly looked inadequate.
But wait, the flowers were an apology for asking her to be his mistress, then recanting.
Weren't they?
He wished he had a beer.
He reached up and rang the bell.
Nothing happened. No footsteps, no replying voice. He knocked.
"I'm coming! One second!" she called, and then he heard a shrieking curse and a big thump.
"Emma?" he called in alarm.
She squeaked something he couldn't make out, then said, "I'll be right there."
More silence. More muffled cursing. Silence again.
"Emma?" he called carefully, imagining all sorts of mishaps. Maybe she'd hit her head and was disoriented. Maybe she'd cut herself. Maybe—
He heard her approach the door and then stop. A quiet fell in which he imagined he could hear her taking a breath. He stared at the wall of door, knowing she was there.
Then she opened the door.
She was gorgeous. Her fair skin was flushed pink, her rosy lips parted in a welcoming smile. Her brown eyes sparkled and her dark hair fell like mink around her shoulders. His gaze skimmed down her body, taking in the vee of her blouse and the barest hint of lacy bra showing at one edge. Her short, emerald green pleated skirt looked like something a naughty Irish schoolgirl might wear. Her legs and feet were bare, one leg cocked enticingly, the lack of shoes making her seem more accessible.
His mouth went dry. This beautiful young woman was going to take him to her bed tonight. He imagined those soft pink lips on his arousal, those bright dark eyes looking up at him as she took him into her mouth. Lust stirred within him, his sex hardening.
"This was a mistake," he said, and thrust the flowers toward her.
"Nonsense! They're beautiful," she said, taking the bouquet. She sniffed them. "Thank you. Although I Page 37
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
can't smell them over the roasting lamb." She lowered the flowers to chest height and smiled
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