‘I’ll fill in for Marianne,’ Sean said.
Wearing nothing but a pair of snug white briefs, he propped his shoulder against the frame of the open bathroom door. He appeared completely serious. When I failed to respond, he crossed his arms. His biceps swelled. Under the bright overhead light, the hair on his forearms glinted like gold dust, a light gilding that also bisected the muscular plane of his belly. My gaze trailed to the contents of his briefs, quiescent now but heavy.
This was not the best place to fix my attention if I wanted to gather my wits.
Nor did it help that I was naked. Fresh from the shower, I had one leg propped on the toilet cover so I could rub cream into my leg. Sean had seen me unclothed before. To cover up would have insulted him. It shouldn’t have made any difference that Joe was staying the night in New York, that we were alone, or that Sean had just made an offer so generous it took my breath away.
Conscious of his gaze but trying not to show it, I squirted a line of moisturiser down my shin.
‘You know,’ he said. ‘You should think seriously about opening a second shop.’
I looked at him sideways. He fiddled with the end of the towel rail. Did he feel it, too – the sense of forbidden intimacy? The only rule we’d ever made was that none of us step outside the trio. But if Sean and I didn’t feel guilty, why did Joe’s absence make us edgy? Why didn’t we jump on each other the way we would have if he were home?
‘You’ve paid off the mortgage on this house, haven’t you?’ he pressed, ignoring the heightened tension.
‘Yes.’
‘And the South Street property?’
‘Almost. But how did you know?’
He brushed the hand towel against its nap. ‘I ran into your sales assistant, Keith, at the Campus India restaurant last week. We had a nice chat over our curry. He’s hoping you’ll keep him on full-time after he graduates, but I’m thinking a bright kid like that ought to have a shop to run by himself.’
I smiled at Sean’s reference to Keith as a kid, but he hadn’t finished making pronouncements yet.
‘Another thing – your mail order business is getting too big for you to handle. You’ve either got to farm it out to a jobber or grow it big enough to make it worth the hassle. Buy ad space in a few women’s magazines or, better still, establish a presence on the Internet.’
I tilted my head to the side. ‘Congratulations, Sean, you’ve finally told me something that hadn’t already occurred to me.’
He had the decency to flush. ‘I guess I sounded cocky.’
‘A bit.’
He grinned at the hem of the towel, then met my sardonic gaze. ‘I am right,’ he said, ‘and I’d be happy to prove it to you.’
I shook my head and resumed creaming my leg. ‘I can’t ask you to help me. Between working for the lawyers and school, you’ve got enough on your plate.’
‘I can handle it,’ he said. His eyes followed my hands down my calf. ‘Once the accounts software is installed, the computer does most of the work. Anyway, I know Marianne’s type. She’ll take ten hours to do what ought to take one and then gripe about being too busy.’
The moisturiser bottle let out a startled blat, as though impressed by his insight. Marianne used to complain about her workload all the time. Sean had met her twice in his life. Why had he sniffed out her tricks when I hadn’t?
‘Don’t you trust me to do a good job?’ he said.
That brought my head up. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Then you don’t want to owe me.’ The words were flat, a bald statement of fact. He rubbed his thumb up the meeting of his ribs, the only indication that I’d hurt his feelings. My throat tightened.
He was right. I didn’t want to owe him. To me, debts meant dependence and dependence meant vulnerability. I didn’t want to owe anyone. Never mind that was already too late to avoid. Sean and Joe had given me more than I could ever repay: they’d given me back my confidence.
So why don’t you act like it? I asked myself.
Unable to answer, I switched legs and started on my second foot. The position bared the outer curves of my sex, now pink and clean and fragrant. I wasn’t trying to be seductive, but before I could work past the ankle, Sean plucked my foot off the lid and scooted on to the seat himself. When he set my sole on his hairy thigh, a carnal shock streaked towards my sex.
‘I’ll take care of this,’ he said, and tugged the bottle of moisturiser from my nerveless fingers.
He squeezed a cool line up the length of my leg and massaged it into my skin with long, voluptuous strokes. His cock stretched as he worked, becoming a bold silhouette beneath his briefs. It might have belonged to a different person for all the attention he paid it. He murmured a compliment for my shaving job. I guess he thought that ankle-to-groin sweep was for his benefit – and maybe it was. I grimaced at the private admission, but didn’t pull away, not even when his lips brushed my kneecap. The ghost kiss set off sparks in my clit, making it swell and pulse within its warm, plump trap. His circling hands climbed my left thigh. One finger teased the edge of my towel-fluffed pubic hair.
I knew it wasn’t an accident, especially when he wound a crisp auburn curl around his pinkie and tugged my labia apart. I couldn’t hide what he’d done to me, what the whole evening had done to me. His middle finger stroked my frilled inner lips, slipping easily along the arousal-slicked channel.
‘See what a good employee I’d be.’ He cruised round the crucial delta and tickled the other side. ‘I’m so good at anticipating your needs.’
‘Well.’ My voice came out an octave higher than normal. ‘I’d appreciate your help – but only until I can find someone permanent.’
‘Hire someone to input data,’ he said. With an abruptness that startled, he set my foot on the floor and began rubbing moisturiser up my belly. ‘I can handle the rest in no time. I’ll even train the person.’
His creamy palms slid over my breasts. He splayed his fingers and pressed my bosom back against my ribs. My resistance weakened. I shifted my hands to his shoulders and inclined my body into the delicious pressure. ‘You really want to work with me? Even though you know I can’t pay what the lawyers do?’
‘Of course, I do. Mostly Romance is a great shop. You’ve got satisfied customers, happy employees, and all the coffee they can drink. What more could a number-cruncher want?’
‘A better salary?’ I suggested, but his estimation of my business warmed me. Marianne’s crack about my ‘close, personal employees’ had shaken me more than I cared to admit.
‘I’m thinking of my future,’ he said. ‘You’ll make me a partner a hell of a lot sooner than the lawyers will, and once Mostly Romance opens a few more branches, a partnership with you will really be worth something.’
I could feel my eyes bulge. He must have known how presumptuous he sounded because he wouldn’t look at me. Instead, he focused his attention on the furled red tips of my breasts. They shone with cream as he plucked them. I found the sight a bit distracting myself, so much so that I could not formulate a diplomatic answer. Sean had such labourer’s hands. Their callused strength lent a piquancy to his gentle manipulations.
‘I’ve been reading up,’ he continued, as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. ‘Romance is big business. I wouldn’t be surprised if MR Enterprises went national one day.’
Finally, I found my tongue. ‘“MR Enterprises”? Sean, aren’t you jumping the gun here?’
Satisfied with his handiwork, he dropped a kiss to one lengthened nipple. His golden lashes rose. He was smirking. I don’t know why. I was reasonably certain I hadn’t accepted his proposal.
‘I’m not jumping the gun,’ he said. ‘I’m only jumping ahead of you. But I know you, Kate. You’re too proud of what you’ve accomplished to rest on your laurels – and too smart.’
‘Now I understand why no one says “no” to you. You’re a bulldozer.’
‘I’m a Halloran,’ he corrected. ‘Hallorans think big. Now let’s hit the hay, Miss Kate. I’ve got you all to myself and I don’t want to waste the opportunity.’
He didn’t waste it, either. He took me vaginally first, a surprisingly intense quickie – to warm me up, he said. Then he positioned me face down with a pillow bolstering my hips and took me anally. If I’d ever doubted, I knew then that this was his favourite way to fuck. The way he lingered over every thrust betrayed him, the way he caressed my bottom and sighed and quaked and came like a man with a thousand volts running through his cock.
‘Thanks,’ he said when it was over and we lay spooned together in the big bed. He sounded more grateful than I thought he should. I rubbed the arm he’d draped around my waist.
‘I like it that way, too, you know.’
He nuzzled the back of my neck. ‘Good. ’Cause I’d hate to think you weren’t enjoying it as much as I was.’
I smiled at this rare evidence of self-doubt. ‘I’m not sure anyone could enjoy anal sex as much as you, Sean. But I suspect I come close.’
‘Bitch,’ he said, and playfully nipped my shoulder.
We fell asleep without once mentioning Joe, or the turn in the road he was even then poised to negotiate.
We didn’t expect Joe until the next evening.
Without much effort, Sean convinced me to play truant from work and we spent the day alternately cooking and making love and napping. Considering our priorities, we kept the blinds closed and our clothes off. After a lunch of crisp potato pancakes – good energy food, Sean insisted – he slung me over his shoulder, fireman style, and carried me down the basement steps.
‘Time to do the laundry,’ he sang out. When I protested at being dangled upside down that way, he gave my bottom a sharp smack.
Luckily, my stomach had recovered by the time he bent me over the front of the rumbling dryer. ‘Oh,’ I said, because the vibration zinged straight from my nipples to my groin.
‘Oh, yeah,’ Sean agreed.
His thumbs parted my cheeks, baring me to view and tickling the fine, sensitive hairs around my anus. The light touch made me shiver, made the strong ring of muscle pucker and pull in. Sean sucked in a breath at my reaction. Was he wondering how that contraction would feel around his shaft? He shuffled closer and bent his knees until his erection nestled up against my mons. I could tell how excited he was. The turgid flesh jerked with impatience, eager to find a home.
I reached back to pat his hip, but Sean didn’t want that sort of comfort. As if he couldn’t wait another minute, he nudged my vulva with the full, round knob of his cock, then dipped inside. He sank deep, then withdrew and thrust again. Despite this activity, I felt a restlessness in him. His knees jiggled behind mine. His breath came in fits and starts.
He wasn’t paying attention to me yet. This penetration, deep as it was, was merely preparation. When he’d wet the head and shaft sufficiently, he shifted back to his true target.
‘May I?’ he asked. Longing thickened his voice.
His politeness surprised me. But perhaps he thought two times in two days was more than the average woman would welcome. He needn’t have worried. Even if I hadn’t been game, seeing how turned on he got was worth the price of admission – so to speak.
‘Please do,’ I urged, equally polite.
With a luxuriant sigh, he eased inside. Yet again, I marvelled at the intensity of sensation as he filled me – over-filled me, rather. His cock stretched me to my limits, but agreeably so. I wriggled my front against the vibrating dryer and my backside against his velvety groin. He kissed my neck as my inner resistance melted and he slid inside that last delightful inch.
‘I love this,’ he crooned. His fingers burrowed through the auburn triangle between my legs, searching out my throbbing bud. ‘You have the sweetest, tightest ass.’
I didn’t have the breath to respond because he’d found my hooded jewel and was rubbing it back against my pubis with his thumb. His cock began to thrust – slow, shallow strokes that seemed to multiply every nerve transmission by a power of ten.
‘Oh, God, Sean,’ I said. ‘Keep doing that. That’s heaven.’
‘What about this?’ He eased two fingers into my vagina. Bending them slightly, his knuckles stroked the rear wall of my sheath. ‘Is this good, too?’
I moaned my approval. He increased the pressure. His cock jerked inside me and a light went on above my head.
‘Can you feel that?’ I whispered. ‘Are you stroking yourself, too?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted, and we both shuddered.
‘Go slowly,’ I said. ‘Go as slowly as you can.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, and then neither of us had the power to communicate beyond groans and wriggles of ecstasy.
We were wrapped in each other, in our aching, lazy climb to climax. We didn’t hear the door open. We didn’t hear him call out. We didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs. We didn’t know Joe was home until he opened the door and spoke.
‘Hey, guys, doing laundry? Oh –’ He caught his breath with a funny gasp. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to – I’ll wait upstairs.’
I tried to turn, but Sean’s weight held me in place. He spoke before I could. ‘Thanks, buddy,’ he said, his voice froggy with lust. ‘Give us half an hour.’
‘Half an – Oh, sure. I’ll just – I’ll see you later.’
The door to the laundry room closed behind him. This time, I did hear his steps, faltering and heavy, as he trudged back upstairs.
‘We should go up,’ I said, then groaned. My body wanted to stay exactly where it was, especially when Sean resumed his shallow, maddening thrusts. ‘We should find out what happened in New York.’
He drew his tongue up my nape. ‘It’ll keep. Anyway, he’ll survive the boot being on the other foot for once.’
Did that mean Sean was jealous of Joe’s closeness to me? Or of my closeness to Joe?
‘I don’t want to hurt him,’ I felt compelled to say.
He pushed forward again, steady, unhurried. My traitorous body quivered with pleasure. I wanted to be here, with him. I wanted his tender, forceful presence in my bowels. My buttocks arched higher, seemingly by themselves. Sean slipped deeper. At the sound of his ravenous groan, my sex rained honey on his fingers. His soft laugh of triumph burnt the shell of my ear. ‘Trust me, Kate,’ he said. ‘It’s already too late not to hurt him.’
Joe was polishing off the remains of our lunch when we emerged from the basement twenty minutes later, hastily robed and sporting a glow no amount of towelling off could dim.
He looked up from his plate, but not long enough to meet our eyes.
The amount of sour cream he’d heaped on the potato latkes made me wince.
Sean headed straight for the fridge, removed a bottle of Evian water and chugged half of it down. If he’d spoken, he couldn’t have said more eloquently that fucking was thirsty work.
He offered me the bottle, but I refused with a tiny shake of my head. Instead, I walked to Joe, kissed his cheek and laid my hand on his back. The knots of tension in his shoulders were impossible to miss. ‘Welcome home,’ I said.
He answered me with a grunt and forked another bite of potato pancake into his mouth.
Well, hell. I steeled myself to face a long sulk. I might feel guilty but, in strict point of fact, I hadn’t done anything wrong. He wasn’t going to con me into feeling responsible for his bad mood – the way my ex used to do. I let my hand fall from his back.
Joe caught it before I could step away. ‘Sorry,’ he said, and now he did meet my eyes. ‘You took me by surprise. I was all excited to tell you what happened and then –’ He made a sheepish face.
‘So what happened?’ Sean asked. He leant back against the sink, working on the second half of the Evian litre.
‘I’ve got an agent.’
‘That’s great,’ Sean said. ‘We should celebrate.’
‘Are you sure he’s on the level?’ I asked, wishing I’d told him the whole truth about Marianne and Desmond Gerrard, rather than merely warning him to be careful. ‘Did you sign a contract? Did you get referrals from his other clients?’
Joe looked at me as if I were two years old and had just said a dirty word.
‘No, I haven’t signed a contract yet. I brought one home to read and I’m going to have my brother the lawyer go over it. I have a list of clients to call this week, and for your information, this isn’t the only agent I met while I was there. This is just the one I liked best. And yes –’ he forestalled my next question by poking his fork in my direction ‘– he is a friend of Desmond Gerrard, whom I gather you don’t trust, though I don’t know why. That’s okay, though, because – from what I can tell – no one in show business is a hundred per cent trustworthy.’
‘Oh.’ I curled and uncurled my bare toes, feeling two inches tall. ‘Well, as long as you’re being careful.’
‘I am being careful,’ Joe said. ‘I’m not some wide-eyed kid, you know.’
‘I know,’ I lied, because that was exactly how I saw him.
‘So when are you gonna move?’ Sean asked. His tone was casual, but he was picking the label off the water bottle.
‘I haven’t decided.’ Joe squeezed my cold hand. He smiled at me as though he knew a secret, and I wondered what in the world it could be.
Joe picked me up after work the next day.
I wasn’t expecting him, or the bouquet of baby pink roses he carried.
‘Want to come for a walk?’ he asked. ‘The weather is crazy today. It’s almost spring-like.’
‘Sounds great.’ I forced a smile. He was biting the skin beside his thumbnail, a sure sign that he was nervous. I supposed he intended to break the news about moving to New York tonight, and was trying to soften the blow with a romantic gesture. I sniffed the tiny budded flowers. My stomach tightened like an overwound clock. ‘I’ll just throw these in water and grab my coat.’
Neither of us was inclined to small talk.
We ambled in silence towards Independence Square, our hands in our pockets, our shoes scuffing the herringbone brick of the old-fashioned pavement. The narrow streets, some of them cobbled, were an historian’s dream. If not for the cars, it might have been George Washington’s time. Fresh paint gleamed on the wooden shutters of the two-hundred-year-old terraced townhouses. The marble steps were swept, ivy climbed the rich red brick, and small landscaped courtyards seduced both eye and imagination. I couldn’t help wondering how many generations had set their wrought-iron tables beneath those gnarled oaks, breakfasting on scones or porridge or Pop Tarts.
I loved this city, and loved it best at times like this when the past hovered a breath away from the present. For all its energy, New York had nothing to match it. In Philadelphia, you remembered how the country began. You remembered the hopes and dreams, and you ached a little when they went awry.
I stifled a sigh. The unseasonably warm air brushed like pussy willows against my cheeks. To our left, a shimmer of scarlet fire trembled on the skyline, the dying embers of a breathtaking winter sunset. The twin art deco towers of Liberty Place glowed lime and gold and tropical blue – the best of new Philly looming over the best of old Philly. Here in the historic part of town, wreaths graced the doors of Library Hall – red-bowed reminders of Christmas.
I wondered if I were about to get my first, worst present.
When we reached the square, Joe hired a horse-drawn carriage. He helped me into the plush red seat like a fragile Victorian maiden.
‘Just drive,’ he said, when the man began his tourist spiel.
His instruction increased the pressure on my nerves. A quiet carriage ride around the prettiest part of town should have been romantic, but I knew it wasn’t going to be. My pulse raced as we clopped past the clock and bell tower at Independence Hall. A gaggle of school-children bounced in circles around their harried teacher.
‘Thomas Jefferson was a wimp,’ one little boy declared, obviously unimpressed by the story of how our constitution was signed. Under other circumstances, I would have laughed. Now all I could manage was a cough. Joe didn’t seem to notice.
‘I don’t know how to say this,’ he said. He pressed his temples as though they pained him, then turned sideways on the seat and pulled my hands into his lap. The evening was too warm for gloves. His palms were sweating. ‘Kate.’ He gripped me harder, apparently at a loss for words.
Dread trickled down my spine like icy rainwater. I knew he had to go, but I was going to miss him something awful.
He broke the silence with a shaky exhalation. ‘Kate,’ he began again. ‘Would you marry me?’
My mouth fell open. I couldn’t believe I’d heard him correctly. I was so shocked I did the absolute worst thing I could have done.
I laughed.
It wasn’t a big laugh, but it succeeded in bringing a dull red flush to the tips of his ears.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Forgive me for suggesting something so ridiculous.’
‘No, no, no.’ My hands fluttered to his shoulders, patting uselessly. ‘It’s just you’re so young.’
‘Not too young to fuck.’
Our driver’s head jerked but, to his credit, he didn’t turn around. I smoothed the worn leather breast of Joe’s bomber jacket. ‘No. Just too young to marry. I’m not going to stand between you and your future – your future in New York.’
He must have heard the sadness in my words and found it cause for hope. He caught my hands and tucked them inside his jacket. His heart was pounding at marathon speed.
‘I don’t have to move to New York. I could commute. I could! It’s only an hour on the train. I’ve got a cousin in the Bronx if I need to stay over.’ He stroked the back of my hands, his eyes pleading for the mercy he feared I’d withhold. ‘I don’t want to leave without a commitment between us.’
My fingers tensed with my urge to comfort him. Nervous sweat dampened his freshly-ironed white shirt, donned for the occasion, I’m sure. My heart ached, but I knew I couldn’t afford to be soft.
‘What about Sean?’ I said.
‘I’m not in love with Sean.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Trust me, Joe, the kind of love that friends share, that you and Sean share, lasts a hell of a lot longer than being in love. “In love” is just infatuation.’
His hands stiffened on mine. ‘Don’t tell me how I feel.’
‘Fine. Maybe what you feel will last, but you’re still too young.’ The way his jaw clenched did not encourage me. I forged ahead anyway. ‘Listen, honey, you went straight from your parents’ house to college to postgraduate school. You don’t know it, but you’ve barely started to live. You need to be on your own in the real world. You need to have a few adventures.’
‘Adventures.’ Joe’s eyes narrowed. I hadn’t known whisky-brown irises could look so cold. ‘You mean if I fuck a few dozen New Yorkers, I’ll be old enough then.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with how many people you sleep with.’ I glanced at our driver. If ears could swivel backwards, I’m certain his would have done. I lowered my voice. ‘What’s important is discovering what life is about. What you’re about. That takes time, and it’s something you have to do for yourself, by –’
‘– by myself.’ He pushed my hands from his chest. Bookbinder’s Restaurant rolled by behind him, the giant lobster over its entrance a comic counterpoint to our discussion. Joe studied his empty hands. ‘I’ve never been good at being alone.’
‘All the more reason.’ I swallowed against the lump in my throat. I wished I wasn’t so positive I’d given him the right answer, the only answer. I cupped my hand beneath his downcast chin. ‘I know you’re nervous, but you’re going to take the Big Apple by storm.’
‘And then I’ll come back.’
My mouth softened with an almost-smile. ‘I doubt you’ll want to.’
Joe looked up. Tears shimmered in his eyes, but his gaze held steady. ‘You don’t know me as well as you think.’
I shook my head. I didn’t share my other fear, the one that shadowed – and deepened – all my reasonable protests. If Joe denied half his sexuality, would he live to regret his choice? I had no doubt he would deny it, either; a man like Joe would honour his marriage vows.
Joe would not let the matter drop. He waited until Sean fell asleep, then hauled me out of bed and down the stairs to the sitting-room.
I plopped on to the sofa, my limbs heavy with interrupted sleep. Joe knelt in front of me and gripped my legs just above the knee. Bleary or not, I could scarcely bear to face his stubborn hope.
‘Kate, I love you. More than my family. More than music. I want to spend my life with you. That’s why I want us to marry. Not because I’m afraid of being alone – and I know you love me, too,’ he added, the one statement I could not debate.
‘I just can’t do it,’ I said. ‘It wouldn’t be fair.’
He growled, a sound of anger and frustration words could not express. His head rolled back and forth across my knees.
‘You’re afraid,’ he accused, the words muffled by the leg of my paisley silk pyjamas. ‘You’re afraid I’ll turn out like your ex. But he was an idiot. I know what I’ve found with you, and I’m smart enough to hang on to it.’
I said nothing. The urge to succumb to his arguments was so strong I dared not open my mouth. Already, the pain of losing him was physical. My chest ached with stifled sobs and my throat felt raw. I hugged my waist to hold myself together.
He lifted his head. ‘Would you marry Sean if he asked you?’
I started. ‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
‘He wouldn’t ask me.’ I resettled my arms, folding them beneath my breasts.
‘But if he did ask, would you marry him?’
‘No,’ I snapped, but for one weird second I wasn’t sure it was true. Joe saw my hesitation. The skin around his eyes tightened.
‘No,’ I said more firmly. ‘He needs too much control and too much freedom. I couldn’t live in a way that would make him happy.’
Joe’s mouth twisted. ‘But he’s not too young.’
‘Sometimes I think Sean is older than I am,’ I said, without considering how that would sound.
He blinked at me, absorbing the implied insult: that he wasn’t too young in years, he was too immature.
I squeezed his forearm. ‘Being young is not a bad thing. God willing, you’ll never be as old as Sean.’
He turned his head to the cold, ash-strewn grate, getting older – or at least more haggard – as I watched. ‘I’m wasting my breath, aren’t I? You don’t believe I really love you. You don’t believe anything I feel is going to last. No matter what I say, you’ll have an argument against it.’
‘I’m not doing this to hurt you,’ I said. Even I could hear the plea in my voice, but it did not move him.
‘You could have fooled me,’ he said.
For six long months those words would haunt me. You could have fooled me.