"Quentin-"

"I said no," Quentin shouted. "Would you like him to go out the door or the window?"

Quentin had never seen Sarah point both toes in and fidget, pressing the side of her high-heeled shoe down to the floor and back up. She looked small and vulnerable without her poker face. And this hurt more, because seeing her unguarded was a big part of what he wanted.

"Just a second," she murmured to the jacka.s.s. She clopped across the wood floor and touched Quentin's elbow. "Can I talk with you privately for-"

"No, you can't talk to me privately for a second and make it okay," Quentin said. "It's not okay. He has to go." Quentin was about to add, I can't believe you'd give this guy the time of day after he sent you flowers and divorce papers on your birthday, but that was just an excuse. It went way beyond that.

Sarah raised one eyebrow at Quentin. She whispered, "If you're doing this to make him jealous, that's nice, but you can stop now. I really need to talk to him about some retirement funds." She watched Quentin carefully, and her eyebrow went back down. "You're not bluffing." She turned to the jacka.s.s and said, "You'd better go."

The jacka.s.s took his papers, crossed the room, and paused at the door. Quentin was waiting for the jacka.s.s to touch Sarah, to lay one careless finger on her. But the jacka.s.s knew better. Avoiding Quentin's eyes, he said to Sarah, "I'll call you."

"No you won't," said Quentin.

Sarah told the jacka.s.s, "Just call my lawyer, okay?"

She closed the door behind him and turned to Quentin, laughing. "Were you bluffing? Because that was really great." Her smile faded when Quentin didn't smile.

"I don't want him back here," Quentin said. "Do you understand me?"

She said, "Not really."

He s.n.a.t.c.hed the box of condoms out of the grocery sack and tossed Sarah over his shoulder.

14.

Sarah had been a fool to tell Quentin she didn't like to be picked up and carried around. Because she did. She felt her nipples hardening, straining against her bra, as she watched the hardwood floors pa.s.s under her, through the living room, down the hall, into the bedroom. He threw her roughly onto the bed and pulled off her sandal.

Only, he wasn't full of fun as he'd been the other times he'd carried her. "Quentin," she said, but he was gone, just a body sliding his hands over her body. He wasn't looking at her face. Her other sandal was off. He tugged her shirt over her head, then pulled off his shirt with one motion of his thick muscled arm.

"Quentin, what's the hurry?" She tried to keep her voice even. "Let me catch up with you."

His black-green eyes finally flicked up to meet her eyes. Holding her gaze, he said in a voice so low that she could hardly hear him, "I can't pretend this is casual anymore." He brushed a strand of pink hair out of her eyes. His hand was shaking.

He kissed her, a deep, dark kiss that possessed her. Her body rushed to meet him.

He continued to kiss her as his hands moved over her. He pulled at her bra, her pants, her panties. He pressed two big, callused fingers inside her.

"Quentin," she cried out.

His shorts were down, the condom was on, he was inside her. Then deeper inside her, then deeper inside than she was prepared for. She gasped as he slid as deep as possible and stopped, like a dead bolt sliding home in a lock.

Her sweat cooled on her skin. Shivering, she slicked her hands down the sweat on his back. She whispered, "Your eyes turn dark when you're angry."

He moved a little inside her, making her jump.

She began to be afraid. "Smile," she said.

"Can't."

"Have you gone over to the Dark Side?"

"Maybe."

Sarah thought she knew what was going on. He wasn't jealous about Harold. He felt guilty again for cheating, so to speak, on Erin. "Well, you done done it now," she said, imitating the hick line from "Come to Find Out." Anything to bring back his laugh. "You might as well enjoy it."

He put his hand to her cheek. His callused fingers still trembled. He whispered, "When I saw that guy, I just . . . It was this animal thing. I had to have you. Mine."

She decided to believe him, for now, because it was so good.

He moved again, long and hard inside her, and kissed her while he made slow love to her. The chill of cooled sweat on her skin turned hot once more. The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains and bathed them both in its orange glow. She listened to cars pa.s.sing and people laughing in the street as his tongue caressed her mouth. His c.o.c.k rocked her gently, yet pushed her beyond where she'd thought her limits had been, deep into her. He held her hand with his big hand.

She thought it was her moan each time he pressed far into her that changed the tone. The languid afternoon honed a sharp edge as his mouth grew more insistent on her mouth and his c.o.c.k ma.s.saged her harder and faster. She felt herself rising. She turned her head so his tongue played in her ear and she could talk. She wasn't sure what she said, but it involved Quentin and it was dirty.

She came just at the moment he began to climb. Her o.r.g.a.s.m went on and on and folded over on itself as he thrust into her. Finally he squeezed her hand, and she watched the hard muscles of his stomach tense as he came.

He collapsed onto her and kissed her gently, so slowly. Kissed eyelids. Cheek. Neck. Breast. A pause to suck her nipple. Kissed her shoulder. Inside of elbow. Wrist. Each finger of the hand he held. Then back to her mouth again, a s.e.xy grind of his tongue inside her mouth. Still holding her hand, he propped his chin in his other hand and gazed at her.

"The dark look remains," she said. "This happened after the hand job, too. Coming makes you vacant. The porch light's on, but no one's home."

"No," he said. "It makes me think, which is a real scary thing for me to be doing." His hand played with her hand, tracing up and down her fingers and circling in her palm. "I want you to know something. That first night, and the next morning, I never forgot your name."

She laughed. "So you're full of s.h.i.t. Which I knew."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Can't a man be serious for once?"

Natsuko said, "No," while Sarah whimpered.

He dropped her hand and smoothed his hand across the flat of her belly. Her s.e.x began to ache for him again.

But instead of moving his hand lower and rubbing there, abruptly he rolled away and stood. "Back in a few."

"Mm. 'Kay," she managed. She had hoped he would take her again. Harder, if possible. Surely that wasn't all? No, of course that wasn't all. He'd said he would be back.

Staring at the ceiling, she breathed deeply and let out long sighs of satisfaction. She ought to be worried about what they'd done, what this meant for his relationship with Erin and her job with Stargazer. Her mind kept hitting this problem and skipping over it like a song on a scratched CD. The lyrics that played in her head, strong and loud, were that she'd had s.e.x with Quentin c.o.x the country singer. It had been excellent. And on some level, she had known all along this would happen.

A noise in the hallway brought her attention back to the reality of her apartment. Bags rustled and cans clanked together as he picked up the groceries he'd dropped at the front door. The sounds came again as he set the groceries down on the kitchen counter. Then, in her bathroom, the shower and the fan turned on.

She rubbed her thighs lightly with her fingertips, thinking of her last shower with him. Maybe this was an invitation for an encore.

Or he just wanted to take a shower. And if she went in after him, she would be the groupie s.l.u.t that she'd pretended to be at the lake.

As she moved her fingertips up to caress her nipples, she decided that she could not possibly be a groupie s.l.u.t when he was in her apartment. So she slipped from the tangled sheets and padded into the bathroom after him.

Through the steam, she saw that a single condom packet sat waiting on the bathroom counter. That was her answer.

She'd pa.s.sed through this bathroom plenty of times while Harold was taking a shower. She paused with her hand on the shower door, taking in the dark blur of Quentin's body behind the wet gla.s.s, so much taller and more powerful than Harold's body. She opened the door.

Quentin was watching her already, green eyes intent, as he worked a bar of soap in his hands. As soon as she clicked the door shut behind her, he reached for her, smoothing the suds across her chest. He circled her nipples with his thumbs. Every part of her body responded, wanting him close to her, on top of her, inside her. His hands traveled down her hips and kneaded her thighs, and she opened her legs for him. His fingers found her curls and rubbed them clean, then pulled her into the hot shower stream to rinse her. She pressed her face into his rock-hard biceps and tried her best to hold on as he ma.s.saged her.

Remembering that she owed him one, she moved her mouth to his nipple, circled it with her tongue, bit gently. He made a noise, something between a grunt and a laugh. She licked her way down his sternum. But with a quick glance up at his face, she saw that he followed her movements with his green eyes hard and his strong jaw locked. He was waiting patiently for one thing.

He held her by the elbows as she eased down to her knees on the tile. She reached for his erection.

She opened her mouth wide to slip the thick ridge of his head past her lips. There she paused, both hands gripping his solid thighs, and thought about what she was doing: giving the front man of the Cheatin' Hearts a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b. Then she rose up on her knees and took as much of him into her mouth as she could, feeling his head b.u.mp against the back of her throat.

Even over the sounds of the fan and streaming water, she heard him gasp and try to keep control with hard, short breaths through his nose. One of his hands fisted her hair and the other supported her chin, guiding her where he wanted her to go. She loved that he knew what he desired, and he took it from her. That made her want to pleasure him even more. She opened wider but pressed him with her lips. As she pictured what she must look like to him, she felt her nipples beading in the hot water, and her s.e.x was slick and ready.

Stroking into her mouth and out, holding her head steady, he growled, "Remember what I told you would happen if you tried to get me off in the shower?"

She did remember, and her body flashed hot at the threat.

He released her and pulled away from her. Then he grabbed her up from the floor and kicked the shower door open so hard that it banged against the wall. He hauled her out of the hot spray into the cool bathroom. Throwing a towel down on the edge of the counter, he forced her down onto it and held her there with one heavy hand. She was able to see his blurry reflection in the mirror as he picked up the condom packet with the other hand and tore it open with his teeth. He watched himself unroll the sheath. And then he watched himself guide his d.i.c.k inside her.

She let out a cry as his head stretched her. His green eyes flicked up to meet her gaze in the steamy mirror, then back down. With a long, quiet groan of pleasure, he eased the ridge of his head through her opening and buried himself inside her.

In this position, the feeling was so intense that she tried to wiggle away from him, down, forward, anywhere. He slapped his hands to her b.u.t.tocks and held her still as he began to pump rhythmically into her. His d.i.c.k pressed along the front wall of her v.a.g.i.n.a and found her G-spot, she knew, because now she felt her face flush hotter and the hair on her arms stand up. A few more strokes and she fell into a black abyss.

She spasmed around his solid member, aching for him to pull out, and still he pumped into her. Bending over her to whisper closer to her ear, he said, "You look so sweet when you come, Sarah. I'll bet you can come again for me."

She wasn't so sure. Trying to work past her discomfort, she raised herself on her tiptoes to give him a slightly more open angle, and she squeezed herself around him.

He gasped sharply, slapped both hands to her a.s.s, gripped her hips hard as he impaled her. Her discomfort vanished, replaced by a desire for him to get as far as he could inside her, empty himself into her. Every thought centered around one spot, the place where he joined with her.

"Quentin," she cried as she felt herself rising again. This time they came together, his hardest thrusts timing perfectly with her loss of control.

And then, as her o.r.g.a.s.m trailed away but he still pumped himself hard inside her, the tiniest sense of panic grew in her belly. She watched his reflection making love to her, taking up a huge part of her mirror. This was a famous singer, one of the spoiled stars she'd been sent to whip into shape, and he had f.u.c.ked her.

He placed one hot hand on her lower back, where her tramp stamp would be if she really were a tramp-which she was beginning to have some second thoughts about. "My G.o.d, Sarah," he said, "could you get any hotter?" He took a long, steadying breath that ended in a small laugh. "I need to lie down for a minute. How about you?"

"Uh." She was speechless.

He helped her up from the counter, then rubbed her dry with the towel that had cushioned her. He dried himself while she dialed the shower off. Then he led her by the hand through the apartment, back to her bed. The afternoon light filtering through the window had tired and softened as they slid into the sheets, facing each other.

He put his hand on her hip and closed his eyes.

She put her hand on his chest and closed her eyes.

She rested. Blanked. It felt like a long time, but glancing at the beside clock, she saw only a quarter hour had pa.s.sed when she woke and saw he was watching her.

His hand stroked her hip. "I'm sorry," he said. "You won't be able to wear that bikini for a few days. This is going to bruise."

"It was worth it." The panic rose inside her again, but she knew her words were true. Whatever the consequences of this day with him, she would cherish the memory.

"You don't want me to get too close," he whispered. "You still don't want me to tell you."

Tell me what? cried Sarah, but she knew. She said, "No."

"But we done done it, like you said," he protested, "and we might as well enjoy it for the rest of the day." Now his hand trailed from her belly up to her face, and his fingers traced her hairline. "You are so beautiful." He seemed to be staring at her, studying her genuinely. "Have I ever told you that I really like your hair?"

She smiled.

"See," he said, running his fingers down the damp strands, "like that, when it falls around your face. It could be a brown strand. It could be blond. It could be pink. It's different, unpredictable." He chuckled. "You think I sound like an idiot, like every other man . . . "

He was about to say in love. She helped him. "Making love," she suggested, and laughed lightly. "Declarations of a woman's beauty never sound idiotic. They always sound good."

He gazed at her seriously for a moment. Then he seemed to realize that it was no use. He laughed again. "Speaking of good," he said, and she thought he would make a comment about the excellent s.e.x. "How about some naked Indian food?"

At sunset, they sat outside on her balcony, watching the lights of traffic. Quentin wore his boxers, Sarah a tank top and pajama pants. They looked like two people who'd just had long, hot s.e.x over and over, and she loved it. She wished they could have hot s.e.x and then flaunt the fact to her neighbors every evening, not just this one.

They swayed slowly on the porch swing. When Harold had lived here with her, he'd told her the swing couldn't be hung here. She had showed him how it could be hung. He had still refused to help her, saying it was stupid to hang a Southern-style porch swing on a New York City balcony. She'd called Tom to help her.

She was glad she had. And she was glad this part of her apartment wasn't tainted by the hand of Harold, so she could enjoy it with Quentin. Though she had to say that the hand of Harold was quickly fading. It had vanished from her kitchen. And her bathroom. And her bed.

She settled her head back against Quentin's solid chest. "That was so good," she said.

"The food or the s.e.x?" he asked. The low notes of his voice vibrated through her body and gave her chills.

"Both," she said.

"What was your favorite?"

"The aloo gobi," she said. "And that time between the chutney and the murg saagwala, when you had me turned around backward-"

"Oh yeah," he said knowingly. "That was good aloo gobi."

She hit his chest playfully, realizing as she did that this was exactly the move Erin was accustomed to executing on Owen. Shut up, Erin. Sarah asked, "What was your favorite?"

"This is my favorite. Sitting here with you, feeling like you're mine, like I've marked you as mine. I don't know where this caveman thing is coming from." He bent toward her and ran his hand along his eyebrow. "Is my brow ridge growing?"

What about Erin? she wanted to ask. She had a feeling this would not work out, but she didn't want to discuss it right now. She suspected this was all she would get, and she didn't want to ruin it.

She reached out one fingertip to trace one dark eyebrow, then the other. While he smiled and closed his eyes, she traced down his straight nose to his expressive lips and his square jaw, then up his cheek and into the tangled waves of his hair.

He opened his eyes and asked her gently, "You didn't grow up in Schenectady, did you? You grew up in Fairhope."

"Why do you say that?" she asked coyly.

"I can see you with big trees behind you, Spanish moss, watching the bay," he said. "I hear it when you say my name. And I hear it when you're about to come. You don't sound like Schenectady when you come. You sound like a Southern girl enjoying herself."