Read Online When Somebody Loves You by Cindy Gerard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cindy Gerard
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her thighs. She stood stiffly and slipped out of her robe. As she stared stonily at the body she’d soaked and oiled like a sacrificial offering, she reaffirmed what she planned to do.
Living in a constant state of quandary was Helen’s style, not hers. So she’d pulled herself together and reached a decision midweek. No man was worth the mental anguish she’d put herself through since the day she’d succumbed to the charm of a bushy brown dog named George and his outlaw owner.
Therefore, January no longer looked upon the evening to come as a date, but rather as a life experience she’d put off too long. It was time to find out what all the fuss was about.
Michael was a player. He played at life, he played at loving. And he played the game well. Why he’d decided she was someone he wanted to play with, she wasn’t quite sure. She strongly suspected, however, that despite his single-minded attempt at seduction, once he’d won, he’d be ready to move on to a new sport.
If it hurt a little to accept that, it was the price she paid for giving in to his charm. But she’d also decided that since she was going to be a participant in this event, she was going to reap a few of the rewards as well. She was a thirty-two-year-old virgin. A dirigible in the jet age. What better man to choose for her first lover than the wise and worldly Michael Hayward?
Besides, she’d come to believe Helen was right. Evading Michael wasn’t the answer. He was by nature an investigator, and although he’d quit pushing about the article, she was convinced that if she continued to elude him, he’d start digging into her past until he found out everything he wanted to know. It wasn’t worth the risk. The sooner she got him out of her life, the better. And as soon as he found out about her inexperience, he’d get bored and be gone.
She turned stoically to the underthings she’d laid out with surgical precision on her bed—Helen’s gifts for her date.
“You can’t wear white cotton panties beneath a dress that shouts black lace, sweetie,” Helen had said, and shoved the box of goodies into January’s hands. “It just wouldn’t do.”
Looking at the “goodies” now, January decided they’d look great on a model smiling provocatively from the glossy pages of a men’s magazine, inviting the reader to “Dial a date, darlin ’ . ”
Determined to see this through, she picked up the lacy black garter belt, swallowed hard, and slipped it up and over her bare hips. Careful to keep the seams straight, she eased into the sheer black stockings and inexpertly fastened them front and back, liking the retro look. The black lace camisole came next, squeezing snugly across her ribs and cupping her breasts so that they spilled over the top of the underwire bra cups. Last came the thong. Indulging, just a little, in the fantasy, she watched in the mirror as she stepped into the skimpy scrap of silk. Uninvited, a sensual, sultry picture developed of Michael slipping it off with great pleasure.
She shivered despite a sudden heat that ignited in her breast and radiated through her body like a slow-moving flame. The delicious warmth surprised her . . . and frightened her. She wasn’t prepared for the force of it. Or for the anticipation of how this evening would end.
A glance at her bedside clock confirmed that Michael would be there any minute. She carefully removed the black dress from its padded hanger and slipped into it and her heels. A lengthy appraisal in the mirror told her that the silver ear bobs and matching choker Helen had loaned her were a stunning complement to the dress.
The ringing of the doorbell told her she wasn’t as ready for this as she’d thought.
Her first inclination was to walk directly into the closet, shut the door behind her, and stay there until he went away. But the tongue-lashing she’d get from Helen if she took the coward’s way out coaxed her out of the bedroom.
Like a prisoner heading down
Living in a constant state of quandary was Helen’s style, not hers. So she’d pulled herself together and reached a decision midweek. No man was worth the mental anguish she’d put herself through since the day she’d succumbed to the charm of a bushy brown dog named George and his outlaw owner.
Therefore, January no longer looked upon the evening to come as a date, but rather as a life experience she’d put off too long. It was time to find out what all the fuss was about.
Michael was a player. He played at life, he played at loving. And he played the game well. Why he’d decided she was someone he wanted to play with, she wasn’t quite sure. She strongly suspected, however, that despite his single-minded attempt at seduction, once he’d won, he’d be ready to move on to a new sport.
If it hurt a little to accept that, it was the price she paid for giving in to his charm. But she’d also decided that since she was going to be a participant in this event, she was going to reap a few of the rewards as well. She was a thirty-two-year-old virgin. A dirigible in the jet age. What better man to choose for her first lover than the wise and worldly Michael Hayward?
Besides, she’d come to believe Helen was right. Evading Michael wasn’t the answer. He was by nature an investigator, and although he’d quit pushing about the article, she was convinced that if she continued to elude him, he’d start digging into her past until he found out everything he wanted to know. It wasn’t worth the risk. The sooner she got him out of her life, the better. And as soon as he found out about her inexperience, he’d get bored and be gone.
She turned stoically to the underthings she’d laid out with surgical precision on her bed—Helen’s gifts for her date.
“You can’t wear white cotton panties beneath a dress that shouts black lace, sweetie,” Helen had said, and shoved the box of goodies into January’s hands. “It just wouldn’t do.”
Looking at the “goodies” now, January decided they’d look great on a model smiling provocatively from the glossy pages of a men’s magazine, inviting the reader to “Dial a date, darlin ’ . ”
Determined to see this through, she picked up the lacy black garter belt, swallowed hard, and slipped it up and over her bare hips. Careful to keep the seams straight, she eased into the sheer black stockings and inexpertly fastened them front and back, liking the retro look. The black lace camisole came next, squeezing snugly across her ribs and cupping her breasts so that they spilled over the top of the underwire bra cups. Last came the thong. Indulging, just a little, in the fantasy, she watched in the mirror as she stepped into the skimpy scrap of silk. Uninvited, a sensual, sultry picture developed of Michael slipping it off with great pleasure.
She shivered despite a sudden heat that ignited in her breast and radiated through her body like a slow-moving flame. The delicious warmth surprised her . . . and frightened her. She wasn’t prepared for the force of it. Or for the anticipation of how this evening would end.
A glance at her bedside clock confirmed that Michael would be there any minute. She carefully removed the black dress from its padded hanger and slipped into it and her heels. A lengthy appraisal in the mirror told her that the silver ear bobs and matching choker Helen had loaned her were a stunning complement to the dress.
The ringing of the doorbell told her she wasn’t as ready for this as she’d thought.
Her first inclination was to walk directly into the closet, shut the door behind her, and stay there until he went away. But the tongue-lashing she’d get from Helen if she took the coward’s way out coaxed her out of the bedroom.
Like a prisoner heading down
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