Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 53

But despite herself, despite her growing doubt and unease, she couldn't stop her body from responding. The familiar tension was coiling tighter and tighter inside her, and she wrapped her thighs around his hips and gave herself up to his mindless domination. Her o.r.g.a.s.m tore a cry from her throat even as he shuddered his climax into her. While she was still s.h.i.+vering with aftershocks, he withdrew from her in one smooth, fast move, and then he was gone. She heard the shower come on, and she stared at the ceiling, trying to work out what had just happened between them.

Her dress was rucked up around her waist, and she sat up, tugging it down, then reached for her underwear where he'd discarded it. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting, when Marc emerged from the en suite bathroom, a towel slung around his waist. He pushed his hair back from his forehead when he saw her, and she caught a glimpse of something cold and lonely in his eyes. He really didn't want her there, she realized.

"Listen, I'll just go," she said, springing to her feet.

"It's fine. If you want to stay," he said, shrugging, his dark gaze roaming over her body.

He meant if she wanted more s.e.x. Absurd, ridiculous tears p.r.i.c.ked at the back of her eyes. He was like a stranger. The funny, warm, considerate man she'd laughed and made love with over the past week had disappeared behind a cold, implacable facade. And she didn't want to have s.e.x with this new Marc, even if he could bring her to a screaming climax like the one she'd experienced not five minutes ago.

Shaking her head, she turned for the door.

"Anna, wait," he said.

She paused, watching as he crossed to his bedside table, yanking the drawer open to extract his wallet. She watched with growing confusion as he pulled four hundred dollars from between the supple leather folds.

"For the hotel room," he said, offering the money.

She shook her head instinctively. "It's fine," she said.

"I insist," he said, twitching the hand with the money imperiously, indicating that she should take it.

Suddenly she remembered how arrogant she'd found him when they first met.

"I covered it. The room was my idea," she said coolly.

"At least let me pay my half," he insisted.

"Why?" she asked abruptly, feeling pushed around and not liking it one little bit.

"Does it matter?" he asked, exasperated. "Just take the money, Anna."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because I don't want to feel obligated," he bit out.

It felt like a slap, and she had to work very hard at not letting her shock and hurt show on her face. Thank G.o.d she'd once been a lawyer.

"Fine," she said very coolly, plucking two hundred dollars from his hand. "Now we're even."

Turning on her heel, she exited. She had nothing else to say to him. Or, more accurately, she was very afraid that if she stayed she might not be able to stop herself from demanding what had changed, why he was being like this. She didn't have the right to ask such things, she knew.

But there was one thing that resounded clearly inside her as she let herself out the gate and slid into the sanctuary of her car.

It was over. Of that there could be no doubt. From the moment he'd buzzed her in the gate to the moment he'd held that money out to her, the whole evening had been one big salutary lesson: it was time to end the fling. Because he should not have had the power to hurt her. She should not have felt the threatening sting of tears when it became clear that he didn't want her there. Somewhere along the way, l.u.s.t had turned to liking, even to respect and admiration. And she'd stepped over the line.

A solitary tear ran down her cheek, but she scrubbed it away fiercely. She would not cry over Marc Lewis. He had been her lover, a walking hard-on that she'd enjoyed for a week or so. That was it. They barely knew each other. He didn't have the power to hurt her.

She knew it wasn't the whole truth. But it would get her through the night. And the next night, and all the nights afterward when she craved Marc's hands on her body.

It was over. It had to be.

AS SOON AS she was gone he swore, then started down the stairs after her. But the sound of the front door clicking shut had already sounded by the time he'd reached the halfway landing, and he stopped in his tracks. What was he going to say to her? Apart from, "Sorry, I was angry with my soon-to-be ex-wife and I took it out on you?" That was a conversation neither of them would welcome or relish.

He'd just taken something uniquely pleasurable and simple and made it very complicated, he realized. And in doing so had probably ruined it. There had been a finality in Anna's last words, in the determined swing of her hips as she made for the door.

And perhaps that was the way he wanted it, if he was being honest with himself. Seeing Tara today had brought back an avalanche of memories and emotions that he'd been positive he'd put paid to. They were half memories, faded emotions, true, but they'd been enough to remind him of why he didn't want to get involved again. Sitting opposite Tara, staring into her gray eyes, he'd searched in vain for the woman he'd once loved. But the woman staring back at him bore little resemblance to the girl he'd met and married when he was twenty-five. This woman was slimmer, more composed. Her mouth was held more tightly, her neck more stiffly. She dressed more conservatively. She laughed less often.

And she looked sadder. This last thought struck him as he sat on the balcony outside his bedroom nursing a whiskey and staring out at the ink-dark water of the harbor. He wondered if she was still with John, if their relations.h.i.+p had survived the exposure of their affair and the breakup of her marriage. He could find out, if he wanted to. Alison would probably know; she made it her business to keep tabs on Tara. But he didn't care. That was a strange realization-the ball of anger that he'd nursed toward the other man had seemed as insoluble as concrete at one time. Now it had gone.

The business side of the divorce had been a breeze. Tara was being surprisingly fair-minded. She didn't even want half, which she'd have been more than ent.i.tled to given the span of their marriage. She'd kept their old house, a more modest dwelling in Balmain, and she'd asked for the deed to the beach property. That had caused a pang, but in the interests of expediency he'd agreed. She kept her shares in the business, and he had the option of buying her out in twelve months' time should he choose to do so. And that was it. No children or pets to carve up. Just a.s.sets and lost dreams and hopes.

All in all, not the grueling session it could have been. Very civilized, in fact. No accusations thrown, no tearful insults or character a.s.sa.s.sinations. He'd even stood up from the table feeling vaguely satisfied with the entire proceedings. And then they'd stepped into the elevator at the same time on their way out of the building.

At first Tara had just kept her eyes straight ahead, hands wrapped around the straps of her handbag as she held it in front of her like a s.h.i.+eld. He realized as they plunged toward the ground that she was laboring under some strong emotion, and sure enough, before the doors opened on the ground floor she turned to him, eyes burning, to spit out what was on her mind.

"Do you know what I think is the saddest thing about our marriage, Marc?" she said. "Not once have you ever asked me why."

"I would have thought the answer to that was fairly obvious," he responded coolly.

"Would you? Tell me, then-why do you think I had an affair?"

Just remembering the challenge in her words made him angry all over again.

"You're the one who slept with another man for more than a year, Tara. It's a little late to be playing the self-righteous martyr now, don't you think?"

"You think I should have been content with what I had, don't you? You think the nice car and the nice house and the good prospects should have been enough." She'd stared hard at him then. "Ask yourself this, Marc. Were you happy? Were all the nice things enough to make it all worthwhile for you?"

"I guess we'll never know, will we, since you thought so little of the ten years we'd spent together that you screwed our accountant behind my back every chance you got," he'd said tersely.

That had shut her up, but he couldn't silence her words as easily now as they echoed around his head. Had he been happy? He tried to think back to the time before he'd discovered Tara's betrayal. It seemed so long ago that the memories were the mental equivalent of sepia photographs.

Shaking his head, he tossed back the last of the whiskey. The liquor burned a trail down his throat, and he stood and leaned against the railing, bringing his mind back to his present problem. Anna.

He'd pushed her away tonight. He should have told her not to come over, but he'd wanted her, needed her. Then, as soon as he'd slaked his need he'd been overcome with resentment at the power she had over him. He'd thought about her all day. He couldn't get enough of her luscious body. And he couldn't resist her.

So it was a good thing that their fling was over. Tara had just reminded him of why it was important to ensure he was the one calling the shots, and where Anna was concerned, he was out of control. It was tough admitting that to himself, but it was better to face an unpalatable truth than ignore it. His desire for her had shown no signs of burning out. And he'd begun to think about more than just her body. He'd started to care.

So. It was for the best. Refusing to believe anything else, Marc went inside to pour himself another whiskey.

It was over.

THE PHONE WAS RINGING as Anna let herself back into her apartment. For a second she allowed herself to hope it was Marc, despite her newly formed resolution. But she knew better. He could have stopped her as she left his house. Or called her on her mobile phone as she drove away. No, it wouldn't be him.

"Thank G.o.d you're home. I need to talk." It was Danny, sounding wound up and confused.

"What's wrong?"

"I'll tell you in five minutes. I'm on my way to your place."

Anna put the phone down and took a deep breath. Crossing to the bathroom, she turned the tap on and wet her hands, then ran her damp fingers over her face and into her hair. It helped, marginally.

Danny's knock sounded on her door almost immediately, and she went to let him in. He strode past her, hair askew, s.h.i.+rt crumpled, face screwed up in confusion.

"I just don't get it," he said by way of greeting.

She shut the door. "Something up?" she asked ironically.

"Why would someone deliberately go out of their way to turn someone on, then just leave them high and dry? What kind of sick, twisted act is that?" Danny demanded.

"Why am I getting the feeling that last night didn't go so well? What happened with Ben?" Anna asked.

"Nothing. Zilch. Nada," Danny said, exasperation oozing from every pore.

Anna frowned, remembering how keen Ben had seemed last night.

"What, after all that flirting he just up and left? Not even a kiss?" she asked, incredulous.

"Oh, no, we kissed. And it was pretty b.l.o.o.d.y amazing, too. That man has strong lips. Great lips."

Danny was shaking his head, eyes unfocused and far-off as he remembered.

"Well, that's not nothing," she said, confused.

Danny made an exasperated noise. "You don't kiss someone like that unless you're going to do something about it. And Ben was not interested in follow-through. He wants a relations.h.i.+p." Danny spat the word out like it was poisoned.

Despite the darkness of her own evening, Anna found herself stifling a smile. She had a vivid, high-definition image in her mind of the shocked, stunned expression on her brother's face as Ben turned him down. Danny was a good-looking man. And gay guys weren't generally known for their self-restraint. She'd bet a month's wages that it had been a long time since Danny had a knock-back.

"Thanks for feeling my pain," Danny said drily as he registered her amus.e.m.e.nt.

"What did you say to him?" she asked when she trusted herself to speak without laughing.

"I tried to talk him around, but he wouldn't stay. I mean, come on-like it's going to kill him to have a night of hot s.e.x." There was a serious note of bewilderment in her brother's voice.

"Did he say anything else?"

"Yeah, on the way out the door as he left me with a gigantic b.o.n.e.r. He said he really likes me. A lot. But that he's looking for a relations.h.i.+p, and he knows that I'm not a relations.h.i.+p type guy. He said he'd like to be friends. Friends!"

"Well, that's nice, isn't it? I mean, he likes you, clearly," Anna said cautiously, not really understanding why her brother was so worked up. Surely he wasn't just piqued at Ben's rejection?

"It's bull, that's what it is. You don't kiss someone like that if you're not going to follow through," Danny complained sourly.

"Maybe he just got carried away?" she suggested.

"Maybe he's just a little c.o.c.k-tease," Danny said. "Friends! Can you believe it? I don't need more friends!"

"You don't exactly need more lovers, either, Danny," Anna observed.

Danny swore, then swiftly apologized. "Sorry. I don't know, this guy's just got me all worked up, and I don't know why. I mean, what's wrong with a bit of harmless casual s.e.x? Especially when the chemistry is right?"

"I guess Ben just doesn't see it the way you do. Some people need emotional involvement with their s.e.x," she said. And some people find emotional involvement with their s.e.x, despite their best intentions, she added mentally.

"Then he shouldn't have kissed me," her brother said sulkily.

Anna wasn't quite sure what Danny wanted her to say. Ben had pretty much taken the decision out of his hands, after all. Unless...

"Ben seems like a nice guy," she suggested warily. "Smart, cute. Hot."

"Thanks. I hadn't noticed any of the above," Danny said snippily.

"Well, maybe you should go out with him a few times, see how things go," she suggested.

"What? Try and wear him down, you mean?" Danny asked, his expression thoughtful as he toyed with the idea.

"No, Danny! I meant maybe you could actually consider seeing someone for more than one or two bouts of casual s.e.x. Having a relations.h.i.+p, dare I say the dreaded R word," she said, exasperated.

Danny laughed outright. "I don't think so, Anna Banana. In case you haven't noticed, I am not a relations.h.i.+p kind of guy."

"Still, if you've never tried it..."

"Anna, trust me-I know this about myself. I like living alone. I like my apartment the way it is. I like suiting myself. My life is great. I get all the s.e.x I want when I want it-what would I need a boyfriend for?"

There was a kind of willful ignorance to her brother's declaration, and she wondered if she should call him on it. Was it possible that he truly didn't crave emotional intimacy with someone he loved? That he got what he needed from a combination of his close-knit friends and his flings?

It all felt painfully close to her own truths, and she had no answers to offer him.

"Maybe he's just the one that got away, then," she offered philosophically.

Danny grunted frustratedly. "People who can kiss like that should not be allowed out without a written warning," he said.

"You'll get over it. You've still got your little black book," she reminded him.

"Mmm," Danny said, and she got the distinct sense he was reluctant to replace Ben with one of his regular lovers.

He stayed for another hour, and she let out a sigh of relief as she closed the door on him. She loved him dearly, but tonight she needed to be on her own. Still, she found herself musing on Danny's problem as she climbed into bed. Was it possible that he'd never really had any kind of relations.h.i.+p? He was twenty-eight, after all. Surely there must have been some guy along the way, someone he'd wanted a stronger, more permanent connection with?

Not knowing these things was a hangover from their more distanced, arm's-length relations.h.i.+p prior to her diagnosis. She wondered how many other things she didn't know about him. Or her father and other friends, for that matter. Keeping herself all bound up nice and tight had kept her at a distance from her friends and family, too, she now saw. Something else to add to her list of things to change in her life.

Thinking about Danny and her family only kept her from thinking about herself and Marc for a few minutes. Then she registered the faint scent of his aftershave on her sheets, and she remembered all the times they'd made love on the bed, and on the rug in the living room. And that time on the kitchen counter.... It's over, she told herself sternly. And not before time, if the distinctly mopey tone of her thoughts were anything to go by.

Determined, she bounded out of bed and dragged off the sheets. Stuffing them into her laundry hamper, she pulled crisp, clean sheets from her linen cupboard and made the bed in short order. The fresh linen felt cool against her skin-and didn't smell of Marc, more importantly.

Despite her best efforts, he was still the last thing she thought about before she fell asleep, however. Disturbingly, it was the haunted look in his eyes that stayed with her as she drifted off. It was just a fling, she told herself resolutely. And it's over.

THE NEXT FEW DAYS seemed to crawl by. Anna had tried to go cold turkey on her desire for him before, but this was different. This time it wasn't just the s.e.x she thought about. Although she thought about that a lot, too. So much so that she was beginning to wonder if maybe she had a problem.

A lot of the time, however, she just thought about things that Marc had said. Or his laugh. The glint he got in his eye when he was about to tease her. Or the smell of his aftershave and the way his hair curled over his s.h.i.+rt collar.

She wanted to call him. But he hadn't called her. It was over. They both knew it. Their fling had been flung, had run its course. It had gotten messy, suddenly and quickly. It was time to cut her losses and move on.