Getting Sexy: Three Erotic Tales
Getting Even
Getting Wild
Getting Some

Kayla Perrin

www.spice-books.co.uk

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Getting Even

by

Kayla Perrin

FOOL FOR LOVE

Chapter One
Claudia

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but if you ask me, that’s a load of bull. Hands down, that gold-lined path travels through his libido.

I should know. Right now, I’m practically dying of embarrassment as I sit in a north Atlanta restaurant with the man of my dreams, Adam Hart. I’m trying to look nonchalant beside him in our booth, sipping a margarita through a straw, while Adam has his hand between my legs. His fingers tickle my skin as they inch farther up my thighs.

“Adam,” I admonish playfully as his fingers skirt my panties. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”

“Don’t I look serious to you?”

He does look serious—which is exactly the problem. He is entirely too serious about this naughty bit of foreplay. “Sweetheart, you know how much I love this, but—”

“What, this?”

My eyelids flutter as he strokes my nub.

“Mmm,” I moan softly. Then look up in horror as the waiter appears at our table. My face flames, and I wonder if my pale brown skin registers any blush of my embarrassment. I squeeze my legs together, but that does nothing to stop Adam’s fingers.

“Have you decided what you’d like?” the waiter asks. I’m not sure if there’s a knowing glint in his eye. If not, he must think Adam and I are so in love that we can’t bear to be physically apart from each other. Why else would we be sharing the same side of a booth, practically glued at the hip?

“Um,” I begin. I haven’t even looked at the menu. “I think we need a few more minutes.”

“I know what I want,” Adam says. He’s looking at me though, not at the waiter, and I want to smack him. No, that’s a lie. I want to take him outside and get busy with him in the back seat of his Mercedes SUV. I really do enjoy Adam’s obvious lust for me. I’m just not comfortable with how much he likes to display it in public.

“New York steak,” Adam continues. “Rare. I like it red.”

“I’ll have the same,” I say, hoping to hell that I’m not blushing. “Medium well.”

“Rice or baked potato?”

“Rice,” both Adam and I respond.

The waiter scribbles notes on a pad. “That comes with soup or salad—”

“Two house salads to start,” I interject, cutting off the waiter. “And an order of garlic bread. Also, a half liter of Chardonnay.”

“Make it a bottle,” Adam says.

My eyes meet his in surprise. His gaze is smoky, and as he bites down on his bottom lip, I feel an excited shiver dance across my shoulders. I know what he wants. To get me drunk so I’m more likely to be less inhibited.

I wonder what he wants me to try this time.

“That’s everything?” the waiter asks.

I have all but forgotten about the waiter. I look up at the college kid and grin. “That’s plenty.”

Thank the Lord, the waiter turns and walks away. He doesn’t know me, but still I let out a relieved breath. The reason I like to come here is that it’s far from the Buck-head neighborhood where Adam and I live. If I get caught doing something scandalous here, at least no one will know who I am. And because it’s a Monday night, this place isn’t as busy as it would be on the weekend.

“Now.” Adam smiles at me as his fingers explore my nether region. “Where were we?”

I push his hand away, feeling slightly annoyed at his one-track mind, considering everything we need to discuss. “Adam, seriously. We need to talk.”

He pouts a little but finally relents. “All right.” He sits back against the booth. “Let’s talk.”

Now I smile from ear to ear. I am absolutely crazy about Adam, but it’s possible, if only slightly, that I’m even more crazy about our upcoming wedding.

You see, I’m almost thirty, and for a while I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get married or die a spinster. What self-respecting woman still uses the term spinster, you ask? You haven’t met my high-society, Black-American Princess friends. Not to mention my mother, who has been dreaming of my wedding since the time I was in her womb. In most respects I have a fairly cushy life, but if I don’t get married, I’ll never live that one down.

But I am getting married. In six weeks, I will become Mrs. Adam Hart. For the past year, I’ve been busy planning every detail of our lavish wedding. As far as I’m concerned, it’s going to be the most spectacular wedding Atlanta society has ever seen.

Notice I didn’t say “Adam and I” have been planning the wedding. Unfortunately, Adam is a man—which is to say that he’s not the least bit interested in the intricate details that go into pulling off a wedding as elaborate as ours will be. He thinks the big day is more of a fairy tale for the bride, and I can’t say he’s wrong.

But I have to tell you, there’s nothing remotely fun about planning the fairy-tale wedding. It’s a lot of headaches and hard work. And there are things I need to know now, considering our big day is fast approaching.

I take my planner out of my Gucci tote and open it. “Diana needs to meet with us this weekend to go over all the wedding details. I made a tentative appointment for 10:00 a.m. on Saturday. Will that work for you?”

“Sure.”

“I know we had all the colors pretty much picked out, but I’m going back and forth over the bridesmaid dresses. I found out Rebecca Morrison’s bridesmaids will be wearing buttercup yellow, and considering our weddings are two weeks apart—” I stop when Adam begins stroking the inside of my wrist. “Are you listening to me?”

“You want to change the colors?”

“I’m considering it, yes.”

“Go ahead.”

“But I know you and the groomsmen have already picked out your tuxes.” Not to mention that the dresses have already been made and it will be a great expense for the designer to make new ones.

“So we’ll change the color of the flower we wear on our lapel.” He shrugs nonchalantly, as if to say I’m making a big deal out of nothing.

Maybe I am, but this wedding business is stressful. I decide to leave the subject of colors alone until our meeting with the wedding planner. But, there is another pressing matter. “You know how in the reply cards we gave people the chance to say whether they wanted red snapper or duck?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, the phone calls have started. People are wondering why there isn’t a beef option. It’s like they expect this to be some sort of backyard buffet instead of a five-star wedding. They’re driving me and my mother nuts, but now I’m wondering if we shouldn’t have a beef entrée as an option, as well.” Rolling my eyes, I groan.

“How hard will it be to have beef?”

“I don’t know. I guess not that hard. As long as we get the count a couple weeks before the wedding.” Diana has arranged a fantastic lineup of chefs for our big day—straight from Commander’s Palace in New Orleans. “But maybe we should put our foot down. There’ll be eight courses. No one’s gonna starve.”

“If it’s no big deal,” Adam begins, covering my hands with his, “then we’ll have a beef entrée.”

“Are you sure, honey? What if it’s more complicated?”

“But we want everyone happy. Let’s have the variety. It’ll cost more, but that’s not a concern.”

“No. No, you’re right.” I relax in my seat. My father’s not worried about the cost, so why am I? “I do want everyone to be happy.” So happy that they’ll talk about our wedding for months after the grand event…

“I don’t know why you’re getting so stressed. Seems like everything’s in order.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t been doing the planning.”

I give Adam a look of reproof, and in response he plants a soft kiss on my lips. “You know I love you for it.”

“You’d better.”

“I promise you, our honeymoon will be the perfect reward for all your hard work.”

Right now, the honeymoon seems like some mythical fantasy that will never come to pass. “When will you tell me where we’re going?”

“When we get there.”

I should be excited, but I’m not. I think the idea of the honeymoon will really excite me once I know that all the kinks in our wedding plans are ironed out.

Adam releases my hands to reach for my margarita. He samples it and as I watch him, I can’t help thinking how truly hot he is. He’s six foot two, has closely cropped hair and perfect golden-brown skin. Adam is the kind of guy who commands attention whenever he walks into a room. Even here, at this eatery, I’ve seen the surreptitious and even brazen glances some of the other women have thrown his way.

But I’m not worried. They can look all they like. Adam isn’t going anywhere. He has no need to. I more than please my man in the bedroom.

As an attractive sister gives Adam a lingering look, I place a hand on his leg under the table.

“Mmm,” is his soft response.

“I love you, Adam Hart,” I whisper.

“I love you, Claudia Fisher.”

“I know.” I blow out a huff of air. “That’s why it’s been killing me to keep this from you.” Adam looks at me in alarm, and I realize how he has construed my words. “It’s not bad news,” I quickly assure him. “In fact, it’s the best news.”

“You’ve got my attention.”

Excitement bubbles up inside me. What I’m about to tell Adam is absolutely the most thrilling news. The perfect touch to make our wedding forever memorable—and the talk of Atlanta.

“Remember I told you I had a surprise for you?”

“Yes,” Adam replies.

“I wasn’t planning to tell you about this until the rehearsal dinner, but I’m so excited, I can’t wait that long.”

“What is it, baby?”

“You’re never going to believe who’ll be singing at our wedding. I’m so blown away by this, I could just die!”

Adam’s eyes are on fire with curiosity. “Tell me.”

“Babyface! Can you believe it?”

Adam plants a serious lip-lock on me, tongue and all, and I don’t even care. When we finally break for air, he asks, “How? When?”

“My cousin came through for me.” Morgan Fisher, one of my many cousins, is an executive at Palm Records in Los Angeles. He knows Babyface personally, but that wasn’t a guarantee that he’d be available to sing at the wedding.

“Oh, man.” Adam smiles from ear to ear. “The Babyface?”

“The one and only. Isn’t it fabulous?”

“You’re fabulous.” Adam’s tone changes, grows deeper. I can read what he’s thinking in his eyes. He wants to get me naked.

The waiter appears with our wine. He opens the bottle, pours some wine into a glass, and Adam samples it. “Very good,” Adam tells the waiter.

When we are alone again, Adam raises his wineglass. “To us,” he says. “And a very bright future.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I say, then clink my glass against my fiancé’s, knowing that I am the luckiest girl in the world.

Again, Adam slips a hand between my legs and says, “Come on, baby. Let me make you come.”

“Adam…” I protest weakly.

But he’s already stroking me, with much more determination, and against my own resolve, I am getting very wet.

“Do you know how much I love it when you’re wet like this?” he asks hotly against my ear. He slips a finger inside me and wiggles it around. “Let me taste you. Please, baby…”

I moan softly. “Right here?”

“God, yes.”

He pulls his hand away from me and lifts it to his face. He inhales the scent of my essence, groaning his delight, then slowly puts the finger in his mouth. It’s enough to almost make me orgasm.

“Damn, I love you,” he utters, then slips his hand between my legs once more. Now he goes in for the kill, putting two fingers inside me while stroking my nub with his thumb.

“How do you always do this to me?” I ask. “Make me so fucking horny?”

His movements are faster, and I’m sure people know what’s going on. How could they not?

Oh, damn. I’m so close…

I close my legs around his hand and bury my face against his shoulder. “That’s it, baby. You know I own you.”

And then I come. And come. And come.

I bite down on Adam’s shoulder. It’s an effort to keep any sound from escaping my mouth. I pray anyone within earshot only thinks I’m laughing.

“You two must be celebrating something.”

I whip my gaze up to see the waiter standing at our table. Adam keeps a firm hand wrapped around my waist so I can’t move apart from him. His other hand is still in my panties.

“Um, yes,” I answer shakily. I’m still light-headed from the aftermath of my orgasm. “We’re getting married.”

“Ah,” the waiter coos and places the garlic bread on the table. “Congratulations.”

Only when the waiter disappears do I dare move away from Adam. He grins at me, victorious, knowing he has conquered me sexually once again.

And I can’t help it. I grin back at him.

I love this man.

A little over an hour later—at least I think it’s an hour later (I can’t be sure, since I had the lion’s share of the wine)—I am holding on tight to Adam’s arm as he’s driving along the 285 perimeter around Atlanta. It seems we’ve been going around and around for ages, but I could be wrong, considering my head’s in a fog. I can barely keep my eyes open, but when Adam veers suddenly to the right, I perk up. I see that he is taking an exit several miles from my home.

“Hey,” I say.

He squeezes my hand. “Don’t worry, babe.”

“Where are we going?”

He glances at me and flashes a playful grin. “You had a surprise for me. Now it’s my turn to surprise you.”

I eye Adam warily. He’s not big on romantic surprises. Besides, what on earth can he be surprising me with in the middle of nowhere? Unless he’s going to…

As the answer hits me, I am almost sobered with the excitement.

“Adam,” I squeal, “you didn’t!” Of course, I’m hoping he did. I look around expectantly, hoping to see large suburban houses with sprawling lawns and aged oaks any second now. I thought for sure we’d stay in Buckhead, but maybe he’s decided that we’ll live in Duluth.

But as we continue to drive, the industrial landscape doesn’t change, and I’m a bit confused. This area isn’t only industrial, it’s fairly run-down. Not exactly the neighborhood where Adam would buy a house.

Growing nervous, I grip Adam’s hand.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he tells me. “You’ll see what it is when we get there.”

I am more than surprised when Adam turns into the driveway of a large, one-story gray building. At least a hundred yards long, it’s got to be some sort of warehouse. I can’t imagine why he’d be bringing me here, unless he wants an isolated place to make out. Which irritates me, since I already gave him a blow job in the restaurant parking lot. At least, I think I did. The memory is kind of blurry. In any case, I’m not in the mood to get kinky out here.

“Adam, I think you should take me home.”

“Don’t worry.”

He travels the length of the building, then turns left around the corner. Suddenly a row of cars comes into view. Lexuses, Jaguars, BMWs. What is this place? Some kind of club?

I ask him.

“Yeah, it’s a club.”

“But I thought…” I snuggle against my man. “I thought we were heading back to your place before you take me home.”

Adam pulls up next to a Ford Explorer and parks the car. “I think you’ll like this.”

I frown slightly as Adam disentangles himself from me and exits the vehicle. Moments later, he opens my door and offers me his hand. I’m not convinced I’m going to like whatever’s inside, but Adam is grinning at me like a fool.

Shaking my head at him, I let him help me out of the SUV. We walk hand in hand to a door at the back of the building. This is not the kind of club I normally go to. I’m partial to the classy joints in my Buckhead neighborhood. Clubs with a piano bar, a live jazz band. This one is…well, secretive is the only word that comes to mind.

I cling to Adam as we step into the entrance. This place is weird, all right. Barely lit, the foyer area is completely blocked off from the rest of the place. I can hear soulful, seductive music coming through the walls—the only real indication that something’s going on here. I feel the way people must have felt during the days of prohibition, sneaking into speakeasies after dark—like I’m doing something illegal.

There’s a big-breasted cashier in a very small cubicle, and Adam hands her two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. She doesn’t give him any change back. That’s more money than we’ve ever paid to get into any club. I wonder again just what kind of surprise this is.

The bouncer opens a heavy metal door for us, and the light is almost blinding as it streaks into the foyer. Adam steps forward and I walk with him into the club—and then I stop dead in my tracks.

I am so stunned, I’m not sure what to think. I close my eyes in case I’m hallucinating. But when I open them, I see the same shocking images, and I know that what’s going on is very real.

Everywhere—and I mean everywhere—there are people engaged in sex acts. Immediately before me on a mattress on the floor, a woman is sandwiched between two men. To the right of that trio, a woman is on her knees giving a man a blow job. And beyond them, a man has a woman braced against a wall and he’s ramming her hard from behind.

My God. This is sick. It’s like I’m in a room with animals that are gorging on sex.

I feel a surge of panic. I’m light-headed, yes, but not so drunk that I don’t wonder why Adam has brought me here. This is no ordinary club. I’m not even sure it’s legal. The absurd icing on the cake is the group of partially dressed people dancing on the dance floor, as if they’re completely oblivious to the acts of illicit sex surrounding them.

“Adam—”

“We can just watch if that makes you feel better.”

My mouth nearly hits the floor as I look up at him. I expected him to say many things, but not the words I just heard. Surely he has to be as shocked as I am, as disgusted that we are in some kind of sex club.

Instead, he’s staring at me with a hopeful look in his eyes, and his palm is sweaty.

God help me, he’s excited.

But I am not. “You knew what this place was before you brought me here?” I ask him, outraged.

“Someone told me about it, and I wanted to check it out.”

My head is spinning, and I’m not sure what to think. “Great,” I say. “You’ve seen it. Can we go now?”

Adam pulls me close and slides his hands over my butt. “Come on, Claudia. Doesn’t this turn you on?”

“Turn me on?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “All these people—having hot, wild sex.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Sex is natural, babe. Beautiful. Why shouldn’t people openly express how they feel about one another?”

If my mother could see me now, she’d drop dead on the spot. Forget my mother, I’m about to drop dead. If anyone I know ever saw me in this place, I would never live it down. Besides, I’m not into watching other people having sex.

“I want to leave,” I tell Adam.

With a finger, he guides my head to the left. “Look at that woman right there,” he says softly. “Look at the expression on her face as that guy is going down on her.” The woman is biting on her finger and her eyes are rolling backward. “She’s given herself over completely to the experience.”

I watch the woman, listen to her—then I swallow. Disgusted with myself for even looking, I jerk my gaze away. “And she probably doesn’t even know the guy.” I’ve only heard about swingers, never seen them up close and personal like I am now. “Adam, honestly—I’m not comfortable here.”

Adam all but ignores me as he takes my hand and guides it to his erection. My God, he’s rock hard. I’m not sure if I should be appalled or accept the reality that getting a hard-on in this environment is only natural.

A man and a woman, nicely dressed like Adam and I are, saunter in our direction. Alarm shoots through me when the woman, an older white lady, checks me out from head to toe. I lean against Adam, hoping he’ll protect me. From exactly what, I’m not sure.

“Hello,” the woman says.

“Not interested,” I reply quickly, wrapping my arms around Adam’s torso. I step to my right, dragging Adam with me. Adam shrugs as the couple continues to walk by us.

“I know you’re apprehensive,” Adam begins.

“That doesn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling.”

“Let’s find a corner.”

“What?” I shake my head. “Adam, no.”

“Just for a little while.”

My heart takes a nosedive into the pit of despair. I have done so many things to please Adam sexually, it’s like a slap in the face that he wants to get off while watching others.

He gives me a soft peck on the lips. “I know this is crazy. But we’ll be married soon. And I just want to…try something really different…just one time. Before we say ‘I do’ and commit to each other forever.”

I’m not exactly sure what Adam means. Worse, I’m afraid to ask. Does he want us to get freaky with some other couple and in the morning pretend it didn’t happen?

Because of Adam’s insatiable appetite for sex, I have done a lot of things that I otherwise wouldn’t have. Things I am embarrassed to admit. From exhibitionist-type sex to sex so kinky it would make my grandmother roll over in her grave, I have done my part to make my man happy. I’m a woman of the new millennium and I’m hardly a prude. But swapping partners—that’s a whole other story.

“We’ll have a drink, watch a little.”

“I’m not screwing some other guy. And I sure as hell don’t want to watch you screw some other woman.”

Adam squeezes my hand. “No, no. That’s not what this is about, sweetheart. This is about us. You and me. About the two of us experiencing all that’s out there before we settle down in marriage.”

“Are you unhappy with me?” I ask, dreading the reality that despite everything I try, I somehow fail to please him.

“No, of course not. You have my heart, and you always will. But we won’t be young forever. I don’t want us to have any regrets.”

“Regret that we never swapped couples?” I ask incredulously.

“I don’t want the day to come when we wish we’d tried something and regret having held back. This is about being open to new experiences.”

I really don’t know what to say to Adam. I’m getting that uneasy feeling, though, the one I get when I think I might lose him.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else,” he assures me. “I just want to watch…then I want to go down on you…”

Brazenly—or perhaps not so brazenly given the environment—Adam slips a hand up my skirt. He strokes me with his thumb, and despite my reservations, I feel a zap of excitement.

“I want to eat you with everyone watching,” he adds in a husky voice. “And then, I want to make love to you.”

I’m not sure about this, not sure at all. No, that’s a lie—I am sure. Sure that I don’t want to do this. But I think about my sister, whose husband left her because he said she was a prude, and I wonder if Adam would leave me over something like this. And if he did leave me because of my aversion to swingers’ clubs, then he’s not really the guy I think he is. But still, we’re engaged. I’ve got a lot invested in my wedding day and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t happen as planned.

“Just one time?” I ask.

His smile is like a neon sign, it’s so friggin’ bright. “One time, baby.”

I sigh softly as I let Adam lead me to a dark corner. And then I rationalize the fact that I’m going along with this: It’s just a crazy fantasy. Once he’s made it a reality, he’ll move on and we won’t have to deal with this again.

Chapter Two
Annelise

I am in the zone.

“Yes! Oh God, yes!” A rush of excitement flows through me and my breathing picks up speed. I love this part—the moment when we are completely in tune with each other. There is a comfort level now, and neither of us is holding anything back. The flow and rhythm is steady, and I am moving rapidly toward the moment of total satisfaction.

I press my finger on the camera’s trigger and snap a round of shots. “Wonderful. Now, get a little closer. That’s right. You love this woman. Let it shine from your soul. Angle your head, Mark.” I glide toward him and guide his head in the direction I want. “Oh, that’s it.” I actually moan my pleasure. “Now hold that pose, and smile.”

I am holding the camera; I prefer this to mounting it on a tripod. I am much freer this way, free to explore different angles. I step backward, then move from left to right until I am satisfied. I look through the viewfinder, adjust the focus and voilà: perfection. The camera loves this couple.

I click off a few more shots of Mark and Robin in yet another perfect pose. I’ve gotten several photos, but I am not quite finished. The next shot will be the moment, the thrilling denouement.

“Turn slightly, both of you. Look at each other. Less of a smile, more of a romantic gaze.” God, there is so much honesty between them. “Yes, that’s absolutely perfect.”

I hold down the trigger and don’t let go until I’ve finished the roll. I was so born to do this. Photography is in my blood.

I lower the camera from my face. “That was great,” I tell Mark and Robin, feeling the high that comes from a great session. “The pictures will be fabulous.”

Robin grins from ear to ear. “You think so?”

“Absolutely. The camera loved you.”

“I can’t wait to see them.” Robin turns to Mark and nuzzles her nose with his.

I watch them for a moment, their happiness giving me a warm feeling in my chest. There’s nothing quite like capturing two people in love on film. I love the way their eyes convey everything that’s in their souls.

This particular couple has recently gotten engaged. That’s why they’re here at my studio—to take pictures they’ll use for an engagement announcement.

That’s also why they’re so openly affectionate. There’s hardly a moment when one isn’t touching the other. Even as they get up from the sofa, their hands are linked. As much as I enjoy seeing happy couples together, a feeling of longing stirs in my gut.

“Can we see the proofs now?”

I shake my head as I place the camera on a table near the set. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’m not a fan of digital photography. When you see physical proofs, you get a much better idea of what your prints will look like.”

Robin nods, but she looks a little disappointed. “How soon will they be ready?”

It has been a busy week at the studio. “Oh, probably around nine or ten days.”

“That long?” She looks from me to Mark in alarm. She is clearly eager to announce her engagement.

“I do offer two rush options. Three days or five.”

“Three,” Robin tells me without hesitation. “We’d like to get the announcement out right away.”

Ah, young love. I try to remember a time my husband and I were so in love. When each hour apart from each other seemed like an excruciating eternity.

The memory is fuzzy, but it’s there. Ten years ago, when we were both in college, before Charles went to law school. There was an easiness between us then. We laughed a lot, joked a lot.

Had a lot of sex.

Forget Charles, I tell myself. I do not want to think about him right now, not when I’m feeling such a high.

So I throw myself back into work, giving Robin and Mark an array of times when they can come back and view the proofs. They decide, pay me a deposit and I see them to the door. Arm in arm, the two descend the studio’s steps. I watch them climb into a BMW, and even give a little wave. It’s the personal touches that keep people coming back.

Once they drive away, I sigh softly and step back into the studio. Despite my desire to cling to my high, now that I am alone, my mood plummets.

It’s so easy to forget about my troubles when I’m in that perfect zone. But I remember them now. Seeing love in its purest form always makes me ponder my own love life. I think of the contrasts: Mark and Robin so happy, so affectionate. Charles and I so miserable, so distant.

I’ve been married to Charles for five years now, and most of it has been happy. But lately, over the last fourteen months, there has been a drastic change in our relationship. You see, Charles went from being loving and affectionate to cold and remote. He hasn’t touched me in over a year.

Oh we kiss, we hug. With about as much passion as a brother and sister. If I try to get closer to him, take our interaction beyond the platonic, Charles pulls away.

He tells me it’s stress, which I do understand. My husband is a civil-litigation attorney and has a lot on his plate. I’m not at all insensitive to that. But fourteen months? I thought sex was supposed to be a great stress reliever.

I get so frustrated that at times I simply want to give up. But then I think, how can I give up? This is the man I love more than anything. I’ll be married to him forever. And forever is a long time to go without getting any sex.

When I pressure him, he immediately shuts down, so I have tried to do subtle things to get his interest. Like give him a back rub, or reach for his hand as we sit on the couch together. But even that doesn’t work. Because just when I think he’s sufficiently relaxed and I might hit a home run, he’ll give me a chaste kiss and tell me he’s going to bed.

This happened last night.

The night before that, Charles went to bed after I did. He didn’t curl up next to me. He never does. It’s like there’s a line down the middle of our bed and he doesn’t want to cross it.

I cried this morning as I asked him if he still wants to be married to me. He assured me that he does—then kissed me on the forehead before heading out the door.

Truly, I am at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do. But I can’t throw in the towel. I have to find a way to help us reconnect as a couple.

Today, I am more determined than ever to get some love from my husband. I was thinking about ways to make that happen as I drove to the studio, and came up with the conclusion that I have to do something different. Something drastically different.

I’m thinking scented candles and wine and a completely relaxing environment. You’re probably thinking no big deal. And you’re right. But I’m going to up the ante by wearing something scandalous. The kind of outfit my husband won’t be able to resist me in.

We used to do this sort of thing in the early days of our marriage, but somewhere along the way I guess we got stale. Boring.

Great sex is on my mind as I lock up the studio. It’s a small space, one room and an office area in a strip mall-type building. It’s all I can afford in order to make a marginal profit doing the job I love. But the landscape out back is lush and beautiful and free—I use it often when taking photos.

This month has been a good one for me, with more weddings than I expected. Thankfully, I have a few extra dollars to spend. And I am going to spend them on spicing up my marriage.

There is one person who can probably help me in my quest. My sister. As I get behind the wheel of my Jetta, I’m already dialing her number on my cell phone. My sister and I don’t talk very often. We don’t exactly see eye to eye. But this is an emergency. I need her expertise.

I’ve always been the good girl. Samera’s always been the whore.

I love her in spite of it, and I can hardly blame her for her choices. My mother is a religious nut—if I haven’t said so before. Sent my sister right into the sex trade, while for a long time I thought that even feeling sexual desire would send me straight to hell.

For the past six years, Samera has worked as a stripper. She prefers “exotic dancer” but I like to call a spade a spade.

Samera’s phone rings and I wait. “Hello,” she says cheerfully when she answers after three rings.

“Hey, Sam. It’s me.”

She pauses for a moment, then says, “Annie. Wow, this is a surprise.”

“I know. Sorry I’ve been out of touch. I’ve been busy with work.”

“I hear you. I’ve been busy, too. Are you finally making decent money?”

What she really wants to know is if I’m making enough money to be self-sufficient. Samera hates the idea that if Charles and I were to split, I wouldn’t be able to support myself.

“Things are looking up,” I tell her. I don’t add, “Just barely.”

“Because if things aren’t going well, you know I can always get you work at the club.”

I chuckle sarcastically, like I always do. This is a running joke between us—though I don’t particularly find it funny. It’s Samera’s way of saying she thinks I’m a prude. Of course, she doesn’t think she’s loose. She says she’s sexually liberated.

“How about we settle on lunch instead?” I suggest. “Sometime soon. It’s been way too long.”

“You’re on, sis.”

It remains to be seen if this will happen. “Listen,” I say. “The reason I’m calling. I need to ask a favor.”

“Sure.”

“This is going to sound weird, but where can I find an adult store?”

“An adult store? You mean like JCPenney?”

She knows exactly what I mean. “No, a store that sells…stuff. You know.”

“You mean a sex shop?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Samera laughs. “I swear, Annie, I can see you turning red. I don’t know why you get so embarrassed. This is the new millennium. Women are allowed to say sex without fear of being persecuted.”

“I don’t need a lecture. Just directions.”

“What do you want exactly? Videos? Toys?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of sexy lingerie. I want to spice things up with Charles.” As I say this, I envision a laughing devil with a pitchfork. Believe me, it’s hard to undo eighteen years of my mother’s conditioning.

“Why not come by the club? That’ll get you both in the mood.”

“No thanks.” I wouldn’t be caught dead in a strip joint with Charles. That’s not the drastically different I had in mind. “I just want to find a place where I can buy some naughty stuff. Lace and feathers. Maybe even crotchless underwear.”

“Oh, my. You are serious.”

“You can stop your snickering. I haven’t been living under a rock.”

“Okay, okay.” Samera settles down. “Crotchless is great, by the way. Always gets a guy in the mood. So are edible undies. There was one time when I bought them for this guy I was seeing and let me tell—”

“Too much information,” I announce, cutting my sister off. Samera often gets carried away, telling me details I don’t want to know. “I just want to know where I can find a place to buy some stuff.”

“Where are you? Coming from the studio?”

“Yep.”

“There’s a place in Sugarloaf that I highly recommend. It’s on your way home. I get a ton of my stuff there. It’s called A Little Naughty. Corner of John and Hibiscus.”

Now that Samera’s said this, I get a mental image of this shop. I’ve driven by it but haven’t consciously noticed it. “I think I know the place,” I say.

“It’s got everything you could possibly dream of. Ask for Suzie. Tell her I sent you and she’ll give you a discount.”

I wonder how much stuff my sister buys there. Actually, I don’t want to know. “Thanks a bunch, sis. Listen, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“You don’t have to stay with Charles if he doesn’t appreciate you. And if this doesn’t get him aroused, I’d seriously start wondering if he’s not screwing around.”

“Bye.” I roll my eyes as I end the call, remembering exactly why we don’t talk that often. Between her implying that I’m a docile wife who’s far too sexually inexperienced and her often brazen suggestion that I dump my husband, I can only take so much of her. I love Samera, but our lives are as different as night and day. She’s single and doesn’t believe in marriage, much less monogamy. She’s more into what men can give her, since she says she’s been burned too many times. I, on the other hand, would never think of being with a man for his money. Samera thinks I’m setting myself up for failure, especially since she knows that Charles isn’t giving me any love these days.

Thirty minutes later, I’m pulling into the strip mall at the corner of John and Hibiscus Streets. Right away I see the neon-pink lights and naughtily dressed mannequin in the window. The sun is already disappearing on the horizon, but nonetheless, I slip my sunglasses on as I exit my car. I don’t want to chance being recognized.

I enter the store and for what seems like minutes, I just stand there, checking it all out. I’m experiencing sensory overload. There’s lots of skimpy lingerie to my left, but nothing I haven’t seen before. It’s the stuff to my right that makes me blush.

There’s a wall with dildos on display—some so large I can’t imagine any woman ever buying one. And apparently they come in all the colors of the rainbow, which makes me wonder if they’re flavored like Life Savers.

“Hi!” A petite brunette bounces toward me. She has a piercing in her eyebrow and is into dark makeup. “Can I help you?”

“I’m…just looking.”

Her eyes narrow, as if she’s trying to decide if she knows me. “You look really familiar. Have you been here before?”

“Me? God, no.” Then it hits me. “You’re probably confusing me with my sister. Samera Peyton.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Are you Suzie?”

“Uh-huh. Are you sure there’s nothing I can help you find?”

I know this is a sex shop, but I don’t want this cute little thing getting a visual image of what I might be doing later. I shake my head. “Not right now, anyway. But I’ll let you know.”

I turn and wander to the left, heading toward the safe-looking lingerie I have no intention of buying. Not that that really makes much sense when I think about it. Suzie will see what I purchase soon enough.

“Relax,” I whisper to myself as I finger a lacy black teddy. “You’re a grown woman. You’re allowed to have good sex.”

Hell, I’d take mediocre sex right now. That sad reality has me forgetting about my reservations and I forge ahead to find the raunchiest piece of lingerie here. I find panties with no crotch, bras with feathers at the nipple. I hang on to both like they’re the answers to all my problems.

When I see a maid’s outfit on a mannequin, I can’t help but laugh. But once I stop chuckling, I take a closer look. This maid’s outfit is barely there. Talk about stepping out of your comfort zone to do something different. In this uniform, I can role-play. I can be a lousy cook, or suck at dusting.

And Charles can spank me, then punish me with his piercing shaft…

I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing out loud. I’ve been reading way too many historical romances.

I continue to browse. There’s also a mannequin in leather, wearing a dog collar and holding a whip. That’s an idea. I could always whip Charles for being a bad boy. But I can’t quite imagine him on all fours with his butt in the air. I pick up a package with the maid’s uniform and stuff it under my arm. I even choose a black wig. If I’m going to role-play, I may as well go all out.

Fifteen minutes in this place and I’m feeling like a different woman. So much so that when I stroll toward the cash register—passing through an aisle full of vibrators—I stop and take a gander. I more than take a gander, actually, but hey, I’m curious. The shaft that gets my attention is long, thick and blue (an odd color given its lifelike dimensions but I’m not about to ask why). I pick it up and examine it through the packaging.

“Oooh, I love that one.”

I jump with fright, dropping the blue penis and my crotchless underwear to the floor. Cute little Suzie doesn’t miss a beat. She quickly scoops my items up.

Knowing that my face is flaming, I accept the items but don’t meet her eyes.

“There’s also this,” Suzie says. She picks up a display penis that’s extremely huge. “This one feels so real. Touch it.”

God forgive me, I say to myself. Then I touch the proffered penis and am surprised at just how soft it is. “Nice,” I mumble, for lack of something more appropriate to say.

“The balls even move on this one, giving added stimulation. And it has three speed levels, depending on what you prefer.”

I know I’m as red as a beet. “Um…I think I’ll stick with this stuff.” I lift the lingerie items. There’s no way I can bring another penis into my house, even if I could use it. What would my husband say?

Suzie leads the way to the register and I follow her. I know this is the new millennium, but this place is so…sinful. I can hardly believe I’m really here. I feel a rush of guilt and consider going to confession.

“You might want to try some of these.” Suzie points to a bin with small tubes. “Flavored lubricant,” she announces proudly. “Personally, I like the raspberry best.”

Good Lord, she looks way too young to have tried all this stuff. I’m about to tell her I’m not interested, but I suddenly change my mind. How much have I missed out on? Too much, clearly. I want to catch up, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

I pick up a handful of the tubes. “Can’t get too much of these.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

I’m actually chuckling, enjoying this moment, when I sense someone to my right. Turning, I nearly die of horror when I see a total hottie standing a few feet away from me. How long has he been here, and how did I not see him before?

Worse, how much of my conversation has he heard?

He grins as he meets my gaze.

God help me, he thinks I’m a freak. I quickly pay for my items and rush out of the store.

Nine o’clock and still no Charles.

What seemed like a good idea three hours ago seems utterly foolish right now. I’m lying on the sofa wearing that ridiculous maid’s uniform and the even more ridiculous wig, only half paying attention to some pathetic reality dating show. The meat loaf I prepared is lukewarm in the oven.

Not even so much as a phone call to tell me he’d be late.

I could have changed—in fact I almost did—but I want Charles to see what I’ve done to try to seduce him. And if I’m entirely honest, I guess a part of me still hopes that he’ll walk through the door, see me half-naked and perk right up—then ravish me until I can’t even blink.

Like that’s gonna happen. Why the hell do I bother? Maybe my sister’s right. Maybe Charles is having some torrid affair.

The cordless phone is at the foot of the sofa, nice and close to me, because I’d hoped Charles would call. Now I lift it and punch in the digits to one of my girlfriend’s. I desperately need to hear a friendly voice right now.

“Hello?”

Thank God, Lishelle is home. She’s a newscaster and sometimes works through the evening. I met her at Spelman, the same place I met my other best friend, Claudia Fisher. I think they took pity on me—one of the few white girls who had the guts to go to a predominantly black school. I didn’t care about any of that, of course. I wanted to experience life at an all-girl college, probably to please my mother who was worried about all the temptation I’d face on a regular college campus.

“Hey, Lishelle,” I say, pulling the wig off. “It’s Annelise.”

“What’s up, girl?”

I sigh softly. “Nothing much. Just sitting here watching some TV and I thought I’d call.” I don’t want to talk about Charles. I’m depressed enough as it is. “Did you get a message from Claudia today?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“So there is another fitting on Saturday?”

“You know that girl’s tripping. The way she’s going through dresses and designers, I’m not sure anything will be good enough for her.”

“She’s got to make up her mind soon. The wedding’s on May twenty-seventh.” I lift my head when I hear the doorknob turning. Charles. My heart slams against my chest. “Lishelle, I have to go.”

“What?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I tell her, then disconnect the call.

My whole seduction scene has been ruined, and I’m now confused about what to do. Simply stand up and greet my husband, or lie provocatively on the sofa?

The decision is made for me. I don’t have time to get up. I toss the wig across the room, then fluff my blond hair. Drawing in a deep breath, I bend one leg at the knee and ease up onto my elbows. As Charles comes into view, I whisper, “Hi.”

Charles stops dead in his tracks, as though he is surprised to see me. I guess he is, because he’s got the stack of mail from the hall table in his hands and he must have been looking at that.

“Hi,” I say again, this time adding a smile.

“Hey.”

Charles glances to the left, at the row of candles burning on the table. I wait for his reaction…

He goes back to sifting through the mail.

The mail! I’m dressed like a French slut and he’s concerned with the mail!

I sit up, not sure if I should scream or cry. Really, I want to pummel him.

“Charles,” I say, noting the hint of exasperation in my voice.

He makes his way around the sofa and sits beside me. My heart lifts. Maybe there’s hope after all.

I lean into him and kiss his cheek. “I missed you, sweetheart.”

“It’s been a long day.” His eyes roam over me. “What are you wearing?”

Yes! I think. He’s noticing me. He’s getting turned on. We’re going to have wild, passionate sex right here on the sofa.

“Just a little something I picked up today.” Now I press my mouth to his. I open my lips and move them over his lips. Instantly I’m getting hot…until I realize I may as well be kissing a dead fish.

My shoulders slump in defeat. “Charles…”

“God, I’m sorry. But honestly, Ann, I’ve had a long day. My head is pounding.”

I tune out the rest of his spiel. I can probably recite it by heart if I have to.

I don’t want to give up, but how can I fight this? Before Charles even walks through the door he’s thinking of ways to reject me. What happened to the man who used to write me poetry, sing to me off-key? I miss that man.

“There’s meat loaf in the oven.”

Charles makes a sound of derision. “Meat loaf? You know I’m not big on red meat.”

The nerve of this man! I embarrass myself at a sex shop, come home and slave over a meal for him, and he doesn’t even care? I want to smother him to death with the sofa cushion.

“Sorry,” I say. “It was…” My voice trails off. I don’t want to tell him I made an easy meal because I was hoping he’d come home early and ravish me.

“I already ate, anyway,” he tells me.

Then, to add insult to injury, Charles reaches for the remote and starts channel surfing. This is poor, overworked Charles, so friggin’ tired that he can’t even give me a decent kiss, yet he’s up for watching TV. Why isn’t he taking two aspirin and heading straight to bed?

Charles finds a soccer game. Since when does he like soccer?

I can’t help wondering if it’s me he doesn’t like.

It hurts being rejected. Like you’ve reached inside yourself and given your very soul to someone and they spit on it. That’s how I feel. And it sucks.

Tears well up in my eyes, but my dear husband doesn’t notice. I’ve seen talk of this on Oprah, read about it in magazines, women wondering What happened to the passion? Never once in my wildest dreams would I have thought I would be one of those women.

“Oh, you moron!” Charles shouts, as if he even knows what’s going on in the game. But at least with soccer, he’s willing to pick a team and play.

Me—I’m left standing on the sidelines.

Silently, I rise from the sofa and disappear from the room.

Chapter Three
Lishelle

I am not in the mood for this.

I pop the lid on my bottle of Motrin and drop two capsules into my mouth. I down the pills with water, then lean forward on my desk and groan.

Believe me, I’ve had a stressful enough day at the television station. I certainly didn’t need a call from him.

Him being my ex-husband. I have just gotten off the phone with the jerk, and I swear, he must be on a mission to make my life miserable. There’s a reason I divorced him, although he doesn’t seem to get it. And he should, considering his girlfriend showed up on our doorstep two and a half years ago carrying their child.

Do you believe that my ex actually wants a second chance with me?

But then, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. David literally believes he’s God’s gift to women. I’m sure he’s deluded himself into thinking that without him, I’ve been utterly unhappy. Which is so far from reality, let me make that perfectly clear. There was the obvious sadness when we split, but mostly, I felt free.

You see, I always sensed something was wrong in our relationship, even if I wasn’t sure what. And when I learned that he was screwing around on me, everything suddenly made sense. If he was ever faithful to me after our wedding, it was probably for about three minutes. It’s amazing the stuff people are willing to tell you once the divorce papers have been signed. I only wish these friends and family members had seen it wise to give me this information before I married the man.

Somewhere along the way, though, it seems I’ve gotten some poetic justice. As I always knew he would, David has come to his senses and realized that I am the best thing that ever happened to him. Though the divorce became final over a year ago, he wants me back in a bad way.

I can’t tell you how much pleasure it gives me to be able to reject him.

That thought makes me smile, and I sit up straight. I eye my phone warily though, hoping it won’t ring again. I am getting tired of David’s phone calls. I’ve changed my home number and my cell number, but the bad thing is he knows where I work. I can’t quite escape that one. I’m a prominent newscaster at Channel Four news.

In the last couple years, I’ve advanced from field reporter to news anchor. I can’t help but wonder if this is why David wants me back. I have a more prestigious role at the news station, one that’s giving me fame and more money. Funny that this might interest David now, because he never liked me pursuing my dream before. In fact, he once told me that he was tired of hearing his police colleagues tell him they had seen me on the news.

Karen—the woman he’d cheated with—is a teacher. Nice and safe for David; i.e., noncompetitive in terms of his job.

I have to give Karen credit, though. Apparently even she has a limit to what she will put up with. Guess she finally realized that my ex is a worthless cheater and worthless cheaters aren’t even faithful to their mistresses. Bet she now wishes she’d found an unattached man to get involved with. I do take some pleasure in this. And why shouldn’t I? I’ve never understood how some women get off on being home wreckers.

David will never admit it, but I heard through the grapevine that Karen left with their child while he was at work. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall when David returned home.

Anyway, enough about my ex. Despite my long-winded rant, I really don’t think about him. He called to say that he has changed, that if I give him another chance I will see, but I am so not going there again. He thinks it’s because there’s someone else in my life. This time, I let him believe that.

The truth is, there’s no one special in my life. I hate to say it, but the men I meet these days are losers with a capital L. If they’re not starstruck because of who I am, then they’re just plain weirdos. For the most part, if the man is someone a self-respecting woman wouldn’t be caught dead with, then you can bet he’ll hit on me. Trust me, it never fails.

There’s something about being on television that makes people think they know you. And when guys think they know you, they’re much more forward. For example, a few weeks ago at a fund-raising event, a well-dressed black man approached me and passed me a note. It read, “You and me, outside in the gazebo in five minutes.”

Needless to say, I didn’t make that date.

I have such shitty luck with men that I have sworn off dating. I really have. What’s the point? There’s not one decent single guy out there.

But Rhonda, a camerawoman at the station, tells me I’m wrong. She swears that she’s got the perfect man for me—her cousin.

I’m not particularly interested in seeing this guy, but Rhonda has been on my case about it for months. So, despite my obvious bad luck with men, I have decided I am a glutton for punishment and have accepted a date with Rhonda’s cousin for this evening. I put off meeting Trevor for months—until I realized that Rhonda wasn’t going to drop the issue.

There is a knock on my dressing-room door. “Come in,” I call.

Rhonda pokes her head through the door. “Hey, Lishelle.”

“Hey.”

“I love your hair like that.”

I tuck some locks behind my ear. I’m still a bit self-conscious about it. When it comes to hair, I’m pretty conservative. I keep it nape length, and never color it anything other than black. At least I hadn’t. All that changed last weekend when my stylist urged me to do something different. I caved under pressure and allowed her to add some auburn highlights. Believe me, I started having a panic attack once I’d passed the point of no return. But Jenny, my stylist, promised me it would complement my skin tone. And she was right.

“Thanks,” I say to Rhonda.

“Trevor will be impressed.” She winks.

But will I be impressed with Trevor? For Rhonda’s sake, I hope so. She’s been trying for so long to get us together.

“What time are you meeting him?” she asks.

“Eight o’clock.” That will give me a little time to freshen up after the newscast is over. I plan to meet Trevor at a restaurant downtown. He offered to pick me up, but I politely declined. If I have my own car and things don’t go well, I can leave.

I’m jaded, can you tell?

“You’ll have a good time,” Rhonda assures me. “Trevor really is a sweetheart.”

“I hope so.”

Rhonda gives me a smile then disappears. Knowing I have work to do, I force myself out of my chair. I still have to get my hair and makeup done, and after that, it’s showtime.

Two hours later, my head is still pounding. I’m at the restaurant now, sitting in my car in the parking lot, dreading the thought of going inside. I just don’t know if I should do this. Knowing my luck, this date will cap off a stressful day with even more stress. I should probably just go home and go to bed.

But I am here already, resigned to my fate. I may as well try to enjoy myself. There are worse ways to spend a Thursday night than meeting a potential new boyfriend.

I apply more lipstick before getting out of the car. Then, as I walk up to the restaurant door, my stomach flutters with nerves. I hope I’m not making a mistake. Really, it’s not like I need a man, although I admit that having one might be nice.

“Hello,” I say to the male host once I’m inside. “I’m meeting someone. Crenshaw. Trevor.”

The host peruses his open schedule book. “Ah, yes. Right this way.”

My hands sweat on my Louis Vuitton clutch as I follow the host through the Macaroni Grill. This was Trevor’s choice, and a good one. It’s casual but upscale and has great food.

“Here you go.”

“Thank—” The rest of the word dies on my lips as I see a man rise. For a moment, I am stunned. Pleasantly stunned.

So this is Trevor. Wow. He is tall, very well groomed. A gorgeous dark-skinned brother. I am definitely impressed.

“Lishelle, hello.”

God, that smile must have broken countless hearts.

“You found the place okay?”

I force myself to speak. “Yes, yes, I did.” I smile awkwardly. “Hi.”

I extend my hand, but Trevor steps toward me and gives me a hug instead. “It’s so good to meet you. Believe me, I’m a fan.”

I smile bashfully and wave off his compliment. (I really did smile bashfully. Sheesh, what’s come over me?)

Without missing a beat, Trevor pulls out my chair for me. As I sit, I can’t help thinking that his mama must have raised him right.

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering some wine,” he tells me, and gestures to the chilled carafe. “It’s white, Riesling.”

“Lovely,” I practically sing. Lovely? Lord, when was the last time I used that word? Really, I need to tamp down on my overexcitement. Trevor is going to think I’ve been dating men from Mars.

Which isn’t exactly a stretch.

Trevor pours me a glass, then lifts his own glass in a toast. He touches it to mine and says, “To new friendships.”

“To new friendships,” I echo, thinking that maybe, just maybe, I have finally hit pay dirt.

Two glasses of wine later, I’m feeling very relaxed. And headache free. Accepting this date with Trevor is probably the best thing I’ve done in a long, long time. I’m even thinking of inviting him home, depending on how things progress. This isn’t like me, but you have to understand, I haven’t had sex in ages, and the fact that I’m sitting across from an eligible man has sent my libido into overdrive.

Trevor has been telling me about what it’s like to work as a lawyer. (Did I tell you I’m intrigued by the legal profession? Especially when it comes to fine-looking brothers who do their best to keep creeps off the streets?) I’m sipping wine and grinning like a fool, hanging on to his every word.

“I couldn’t believe this guy. It was like, every single one of his neighbors testified to the fact that they saw him chasing the guy with a knife, heard him uttering death threats, and he totally denied it. No defense, just a straight denial. And when he fired his lawyer and proceeded to defend himself…Even the jury could hardly keep their laughter under control.”

Trevor laughs, and I do, too. It might be interesting to see Trevor in action—in court. And I’m definitely thinking that it would be very interesting to see him in action in the bedroom.

“Ah, well.” Trevor’s laughter subsides. “Enough about me. I want to hear all about you.”

“Me?” I point to myself, as if there’s any question as to whom he’s referring. “Oh, there’s not much to tell. Certainly nothing as interesting as what you’ve told me.”

Trevor tilts his head ever so slightly and says, “I seriously doubt that.”

I draw in a deep breath to keep my erratic heart under control. “I…I guess I do have some interesting stories. Mostly from earlier in my career, when I was a field reporter.” The truth is, I have a lot of interesting stories. But I’d rather talk about me and Trevor and whether he’s doing anything later. It’s not exactly the time to bring up this suggestion, though. “What do you want to hear about? The streakers or the death threats?”

“Death threats?”

“Oh, yeah. I was covering a story about a feud between two business owners. One guy had a cleaning business in town for twenty years. The new guy set up shop and was stealing his customers. When I asked the new guy about his business practices, he shoved my cameraman to the ground and vowed to slit my throat.”

“Whoa.”

“Nothing came of it. But there have been other instances like that, and I’ve been worried more than a few times. There are some crazy people out there.”

“What else?”

“More stories?”

Trevor shakes his head. “No, tell me about you. Your life.”

My heart flutters. Okay, so he likes me. That’s good to know, because I really like him. “Well,” I begin, “I’m from Idaho.”

“Idaho?” Trevor looks at me like I’m nuts.

“Yep.”

“Wow,” he says. “I didn’t know there were black folks in Idaho.” There are laugh lines around his eyes as he smiles.

“That’s the first thing people always say, but yes, there definitely are.”

“Atlanta’s a far way from Idaho. Why’d you move here?”

“Because I always knew there was something bigger and better out there. Not to knock Boise, but I craved bigcity life. I also wanted to go to a black college, and there aren’t any there. I applied to Spelman, got accepted, and the rest is history.”

“Any regrets?”

I wonder if he’s talking about my moving to Atlanta or about us. “No. No regrets.”

“Good,” Trevor says.

Maybe it’s the wine, but my tongue is suddenly feeling loose. I lean across the table and say, “You know, I’m really glad that Rhonda matched us up. Before this, I was pretty jaded about dating. Seems I kept meeting the same type of man—the wrong one.”

“Same here,” Trevor says. “The wrong woman, I mean.”

Trevor and I share a chuckle. As our laughter dies, I glance away, wondering if I should invite him home now. No, not yet. There’s no need to rush.

So instead I ask, “When was your last relationship?” Depending on what he says, I’ll get an idea of where his head is at. If he’s hung up on someone else. As much as I want to have sex, I don’t want a one-night stand.

“It’s been a while for me,” he answers. “Four months.”

“That’s not so long,” I comment. I hope he’s over this woman. “Were you in love?”

Trevor shrugs. “I thought I was, but in the end I realized I wasn’t.”

He’s being a bit evasive. I wonder if I should be concerned. Then again, he might not want to talk about it because it was a bad breakup.

“Ever been married?” I ask.

“Nope. What about you?”

“Oh yeah. But thankfully, I came to my senses.” I force a grin. I don’t want him thinking I’m bitter. “He was the wrong man, but hey, it happens.”

I notice that Trevor’s eyes have shifted to beyond my shoulder. He seems to have tuned me out. Oh, shit. I sounded like a moron and now he’s turned off.

But his eyes linger, and I realize he’s not avoiding me but looking at something else. Or someone else.

I quickly glance over my shoulder and peruse the restaurant. I see a family of four, two young couples, a table with two men.

Damn, I’m obviously being paranoid, but it’s easy to be paranoid when you’ve dated the men I have.

When I turn back to Trevor, he is grinning at me. I have his undivided attention again.

He reaches for the bottle of wine and pours the dregs into my glass. “I don’t know you very well, but I feel confident in saying that it’s your husband’s loss.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” I agree.

I see the waitress coming toward us and I finish off my wine. The evening is going better than planned and I’m not ready for it to end. I’m thinking that maybe I’ll throw caution to the wind and have a specialty coffee. I can always stay at Trevor’s place, or he at mine, and get my car in the morning.

“Have you had a chance to check out the dessert menu?” the waitress asks.

“I’ll have a Baileys coffee,” I tell her.

“Nothing for me,” Trevor says, but he’s not looking at the waitress. He’s looking past her.

Now I know I’m missing something. Trevor is definitely preoccupied. Either he’s suddenly not digging me, or there’s someone here that he knows.

“Trevor,” I begin slowly. “Is everything okay?”

“Sure,” he answers quickly, but his body language says he is lying. His jawline is tense, and he suddenly looks irritated.

I’m confused. “Trevor, did I say something wrong?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“You seem…upset.”

Trevor shakes his head, but his eyes wander. This time, I follow his line of sight. It lands on a well-dressed white man sitting at a table with an Asian man. The white man is staring at Trevor.

I turn back to Trevor. “Do you know that guy? Oh, God. Don’t tell me you prosecuted him in court.”

“I think we should go.” Trevor is already rising and reaching into his jacket pocket. “Where’s that waitress?”

My stomach tightens painfully. God help me, I’m in a restaurant with a madman who was charming enough to convince a jury to acquit him. I can see why—the guy who is eyeing Trevor doesn’t look as if he could hurt a fly.

But I know better than that. There is no specific look for the criminal. If only they boasted fangs and bulging eyes.

Trevor drags a hand over his face, and as I watch him, I’m really starting to freak out. Just what is this madman going to do? I envision the broadcast on the eleven o’clock news. Local prosecutor gunned down in revenge killing.

There is relief on Trevor’s face when he spots the waitress. Without waiting a second, he marches toward her. As he does so, I slowly stand. I don’t know if this matters to killers, but I’m guessing that no sudden movement is a good plan of action.

The seconds that pass seem like hours. I want to take off, but I can’t just leave Trevor. If the situation were reversed, I wouldn’t want him leaving me.

When Trevor returns to me, I’m ready to hustle. We start for the door, heading to safety. But God help us, it’s too late. The madman jumps to his feet as we near his table. My entire body freezes as I’m seized with fright.

I do the first thing I can think of—take cover behind Trevor. What can I say? He’s not my man. I’m not ready to die for him.

“Trevor,” the white man says.

“Not now,” Trevor replies, moving past the other man.

The guy grabs Trevor’s arm, stopping him. “Look, I know what I said. But I’ve had time to think—”

“I said not now,” Trevor hisses.

Trevor starts walking again, and I’m right beside him.

“Please don’t walk away from me.”

Those words make me halt. The guy almost sounds…I shake my head, dismissing the thought. Clearly, this man is not some deranged criminal. He obviously knows Trevor, but I have no clue how.

Trevor breezes into the lobby. The white man follows him. I lag behind a little, observing this confusing situation.

The man reaches for Trevor’s hand. Trevor hesitates a moment before yanking his hand away.

Whoa, wait a minute. Did that just happen?

Oh, shit. Shit!

“We’ll talk later, Brian,” Trevor says.

“When?” Brian demands. “You’ve already been avoiding me.”

Trevor meets my eyes, and I can tell he’s mortified that I’m witnessing this. Brian looks at me, too. But it’s not so much a look as it is a leer, the kind another woman gives you when she’s possessive over her man.

I snort my disgust and make my way around them.

“Lishelle, wait,” Trevor says.

“I don’t think so,” I reply.

And then I all but run out of the restaurant.

By the time I get to Claudia’s place, I’m exhausted. Winded, like I’ve run a friggin’ marathon. My heart hasn’t stopped beating since I hightailed it out of the restaurant.

I’m about to knock on her door, but it opens before I can. Although Claudia shares a place in Buckhead with Adam, she’s living with her parents until her wedding. (Don’t ask why. Something about appearances.) She has her own apartment within their mammoth house, where she used to live before things got serious with Adam. Thank God that apartment has a separate entrance. I don’t want anyone else witnessing me in my frazzled state.

Claudia swings the door open and eyes me with concern. “Sweetie, what is it?”

I feel a little foolish for having called her in such a panic, but damn, I needed someone to talk to after what happened.

I walk past her into the house. “Do me a favor. If you ever hear me say that I’m going on another date, shoot me.”

“That bad?”

I drop my clutch onto the hall table. “Fuck, yeah.”

The reality of tonight hits me anew and I want to scream. Instead, I growl a little and move farther into the house. I stop short when I see Annelise sitting on the couch. “Oh. Hi.”

“Annelise was here when you called,” Claudia explains. “She decided to stay, figuring you might need both of us.”

Despite my shaky nerves, my spirits lift a little. These two women ground me. I love them to death, and I know that they love me. They’d drop everything for me if I needed them to.

“I appreciate it,” I say.

Annelise makes her way toward me and snakes an arm around my waist. “What happened?”

“Let’s just say, I thought my date was going to make the eleven o’clock news.”

“Whoa.” This from Claudia. “Why?”

We all sit on the sofa and I spend the next few minutes telling them everything, and by the time I’m done, Annelise is snickering and Claudia is roaring with laughter.

“It’s not funny,” I tell them. “You don’t know how afraid I was.”

“Oh, shit.” Claudia’s eyes are tearing. “Too much drama for me.”

“For you? I’m the one who was caught in the middle of this guy’s sexual identity drama. Hell, the brother didn’t even know if he was straight or not. I should have known. He was much too pretty. And the Kenneth Cole shoes. They should have been a dead giveaway.”

“God, how scary,” Annelise says. “Dating a guy who goes both ways.” She shudders.

“Thank God I didn’t sleep with him.” Now I shudder. “This had to be a sign. Obviously, I’m supposed to stop dating.”

“Don’t say that,” Annelise tells me. “There’s a great guy out there for you. I know you’ll find him.”

“Ha!” Both Claudia and Annelise shoot me looks of concern. “Don’t look at me like that. You both don’t know what it’s like. You have men. Trying to find the right one—my God, it’s so hard.”

“I know,” Annelise says. “But you can’t give up.”

“Why not? Dating these days is like Russian roulette. I think I’d rather put a gun to my head and be done with it.”

“I think you need a glass of wine.” Annelise dashes off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Make it a scotch, honey.”

With Annelise out of view, I turn to Claudia. I’m feeling much better and want to think about something positive. “So. Saturday night? You sure you’ve made a decision about the dresses this time?”

“No, but I can’t straddle the fence much longer. The wedding is only five weeks away.”

“For what it’s worth, I love the pastel mauve fabric you showed me. I think it’s much better than the yellow.”

“Really?” Claudia’s eyes light up.

“Of course. I look better in the mauve.”

Now her smile fizzles. She absolutely hates the idea that if she commits to one color, it will be the wrong one.

I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “Relax. The mauve is the right color. It’ll look great on everyone.”

“You’re sure?”

God, she is such a typical Gemini. Unable to make a decision. I still can’t believe she planned a wedding for two days after her thirtieth birthday. But according to her, it’s the best way to celebrate this milestone.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I tell her. I don’t bother to mention that I liked the first color as much, or that will send her world into a tizzy.

“What I want to know,” I continue, “is if you’re ready for this wedding? You left me a message saying you wanted to talk about Adam.”

Claudia motions for me to drop the subject as Annelise reappears. I eye her suspiciously, but she’s now reaching for her drink from the coffee table. Her demeanor gives nothing away.

“Here you go.” Annelise passes me the scotch. For herself, she has a glass full of wine.

“What do you say that for tonight we forget about men and concentrate on us?” Annelise suggests.

“Sounds like a plan,” Claudia agrees.

“I’ll drink to that,” I say. And then I down my scotch.

Chapter Four
Claudia

Nearly a full week has passed since I went to that sex club with Adam, and I have to say, he’s been really sweet to me. On Tuesday, the very next day, he surprised me with a diamond tennis bracelet, set in platinum. On Wednesday, he gave me this Dior purse I told him I was dying to have—the Vintage Flowers Bag. Yesterday evening, he took me to this park near his brownstone where we had a totally romantic dinner. I swear, I fell in love with him all over again as he fed me chocolate-covered strawberries. He specifically thanked me for working so hard on our wedding, and promised me that it was all worth it because we’re going to have such a wonderful life together.

I couldn’t have had a better week with him. So I’m really surprised tonight, as I’m lying naked on top of him in his bed, when he guides my body off of his, reaches under the bed and produces a fairly large, gift-wrapped box.

Another gift. I can get used to this treatment.

A smile breaks out on my face. “Adam, what is this?”

“Open it.”

Taking the box from him, I sit up. I pull at the ribbon, then the gold wrapping, giggling the entire time. But when I lift the lid and pull out all the tissue paper, my smile fizzles. In fact, my stomach tightens with immense disappointment.

“It’s my gift to you,” he says while gently stroking my arm.

It’s a huge dildo. And I mean huge. It’s got straps on it, as well, so there’s no doubt that this is a strap-on.

But Adam already has a penis. One I’m very happy with.

“I don’t get it,” I admit.

“You remember what we saw last week—at that club?”

How can I forget? My eyes are still burning. “I saw lots of stuff.”

“Remember that woman in the cage, and the guy she was with?”

The visual hits me in the face. Yes, I remember. The woman was wearing the strap-on and screwing the guy from behind.

“Adam…” I laugh nervously as I look at him. “Come on, you don’t want me to do that…do you?”

He sucks on the tip of my finger. “If you want to try it, I’m up for it.”

I stare at him in total disbelief. “Are you gay?” It’s the only thing I can think of to ask. Especially after Lishelle’s disastrous date.

He throws his head back and roars with laughter. “Gay? Me? Come on, you know better than that.”

“Then why…” My voice trails off and I shake my head.

“There’s a whole sexual world out there that we have yet to discover. I want to discover it all with you.”

“Are you unhappy with me?” I can’t help blurting.

Adam’s smile is full of love as he gazes at me, and he frames my face with his hands. “Of course not. I have so much love for you, so much passion, that I want to try everything with you. That’s what this is about.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I want us to have the kind of relationship where we can try anything, knowing it will bring us closer together. And I never want you to be timid about suggesting anything to me, because whatever you want to try, I’ll be game.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

I swallow as I gaze into the box. “I’m not so sure I’m comfortable—” I lift the strap-on “—with this.”

“It’s not a world we’ve experienced before. Who knows? Changing roles…it might be fun.”

I really don’t know what’s gotten into Adam. It’s like he’s become a freak.

Or is it me who’s a complete prude? But how can I be a prude? Adam and I have tried every position. We’ve had sex in public places, tried a myriad of sex toys and watched sex videos together. He even convinced me to try anal sex—something I haven’t dared to tell a soul. I thought I would hate every second of it, but I liked it. It was taboo and dirty and turned me on more than I expected.

But this?

I drop the strap-on back into the box and move it behind us. Then I stretch my body out on Adam’s. “Sweetie,” I purr in his ear. “I like being the girl.”

“And I like being the guy. Nothing’s gonna change that. But I saw how much that woman in the cage enjoyed the way she was doing that guy…and I thought…I want that for you. A different kind of sexual pleasure.”

I make a sound of derision.

“Hold on to it until you become comfortable,” Adam tells me. “Maybe you never will, but you never know.”

I don’t see that happening. The truth is, the things I’ve tried with Adam I would never have suggested. And quite frankly, while we don’t do it often, I don’t care if we never watch another porn video. And I certainly don’t want to go to another sex club. Adam turns me on. Him alone. Everything about him.

“I’ll tell you right now, I’m not bringing that thing to my parents’ place. We’ll keep it here. I can just imagine what would happen if the cleaner stumbled upon it, or worse—my mother!”

I laugh, and to my relief, Adam does, too. But Lord, I hope he forgets about this strap-on thing. I can’t help wondering if he’s going through some sort of sexual crisis with all the weird and different stuff he’s wanted us to try in the past few months. I pray this phase passes soon, and we can start our lives in the wedded bliss I’ve dreamed of since I was a child.

Is Diana staring at me weirdly? I can’t help wondering the next morning as we sit across from her in my parents’ backyard. We’re getting together with the wedding planner this morning to go over the final menu. It’s decision day. The week before the wedding, we fly the chefs up from New Orleans to prepare all the items on the menu for us to sample. If there’s anything we don’t like, we can change our minds then, but we need a pretty solid idea of what we’re going with today.

Diana, a graying woman in her late fifties who looks a lot like Diane Keaton, slips her glasses on and opens her planner. “So for appetizers you’re going with the five tomato mozzarella salad, the gumbo and the petite cou-chon baton. What about the main course? Were you still hoping for beef?”

I look at Adam. He’s wearing dark glasses so no one can see his eyes. But I already know what they look like. Red. He got high this morning before we came to meet Diana.

It’s one other change in him I don’t like. In the past year, Adam’s weed smoking has gotten excessive. He says he needs to relax because he’s so stressed with all the planning for the wedding, as well as his aspirations to run for mayor. I understand that, but there’s a limit for everything.

I ask, “What do you think, Adam?”

“I told you what I think. Let’s have beef.”

I face Diana. “My mother and I have been getting calls. People are wondering why there isn’t a beef option.”

“Those people aren’t planning a wedding for six hundred guests.”

“I know, but—”

“Can I make a suggestion?” she asks.

“Of course,” I answer.

“You’ve got onion-crusted American red snapper and pecan smoked Muscovy duck breast. That’s an excellent menu, certainly satisfactory for even the most discriminating eater. If you want to add anything else, I’d suggest another appetizer. The truffled soft-shell crab bisque. There’s plenty of choice for everyone.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I am right,” Diana assures me. “If anyone wants to complain, tell them to come to me.” She smiles sweetly, a smile that says she’s been planning weddings for over thirty years and knows her stuff.

“Can we make a decision on this, Adam?”

“Whatever you suggest is fine.”

I roll my eyes slightly. I swear, I wish he’d get more involved.

“What about the dessert?” Diana asks.

“The best part,” I say. “I think I’ll gain ten pounds before my honeymoon.”

Diana lifts the sheet with the dessert items and their descriptions. Adam and I have a copy of the same sheet to peruse. “Lemon flan,” Diana reads. “Chocolate-fudge Sheba, crème brûlée, Commander’s pecan pie à la mode, praline parfait, Creole bread pudding soufflé and Creole cream-cheese cheesecake.” She lowers the sheet. “You’re choosing two.”

I glance at Adam, but he’s not even looking our way. His gaze is off in the direction of the woods behind my parents’ house.

I reach for his leg under the table.

“Honey?”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds great.”

Great, he’s not even paying attention! I hide my embarrassment by quickly saying, “We’ll do the Creole bread pudding soufflé and crème brûlée.” I nod. “Yeah, that’s good.”

Diana scribbles some notes.

Is that the right choice? I wonder. “Wait. You know what—if they’re preparing a sampling menu for us, why don’t you add the lemon flan and praline parfait to the list. That way, we can see what we like best before the wedding.”

“No problem.” Diana makes more notes. “You’re paying big bucks for perfection, and I assure you you’ll have perfection.”

At the price she’s charging, we most certainly should have perfection.

“Now for the fun part.”

“Oh?” I say.

“I have a surprise for you.”

I squeeze Adam’s hand. “A surprise. Isn’t that exciting, Adam?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s great.”

Diana removes her glasses, pushes her chair back and stands. “Let’s head to the pool-area bar, because you two lovebirds are going to create your own drink.”

“Our own drink?” I can’t help smiling.

“I brought in a mixologist today and he’ll work with you to concoct a cocktail specifically for you and your guests that they’ll enjoy as they arrive at the reception.”

“That sounds amazing.” I look to Adam, who’s got a cheesy smile on his face. “I had no clue.”

“I like to add some personal touches of my own,” Diana tells us.

Adam and I get up. We follow Diana to the pool area in my parents’ vast backyard. They have a full bar there housed in a Caribbean-style hut. Behind the bar’s counter, I see a white man with shoulder-length blond hair. He’s tanned and looks as if he just stepped off a beach. He’s the type I associate with surfers and a carefree lifestyle.

“I’m gonna like this,” Adam proclaims.

At least he’s interested again. No surprise there. With the amount of drinks we’ll sample, I’m sure we’ll have a nice buzz before noon.

“I’ll leave you two to Jason,” Diana announces, “and I’ll head back into the house, as I have some things to go over with your parents.”

Adam and I slip onto bar stools. Jason extends his hand and we take turns shaking it as we introduce ourselves.

“Jason, you look like you flew in from Hawaii last night,” I can’t help commenting.

Jason chuckles. “Nope, I’m from Atlanta. I work at a bar in Buckhead.”

“Adam and I live in Buckhead.”

“Have you been to Apple?”

“No. That’s the piano bar, right? We keep meaning to check it out. Don’t we, Adam?”

“Yeah,” he responds, and I’m sure Jason must realize he’s high.

“Why don’t you?” Jason asks. “That’s where I am almost every day of the week.”

Jason’s eyes linger on mine, and I wonder if he’s just hit on me.

Adam, however, is oblivious. He reaches for my hand. I can’t help gazing at him with affection. I like when he’s amorous with me.

But Adam doesn’t just link fingers with me, he pulls my hand toward him, stopping only when it’s on his crotch.

Oh my God. He’s hard.

My face flushing, I quickly glance away. “Jason, what do you have for us?”

“Yes, what indeed?” Adam asks.

Jason shrugs. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Oh, we’re pretty risqué. Like to live life on the edge. I’m sure whatever you suggest will excite us.”

OhmyGodtellmeheisn’tpropositioningthebartender!

“I was thinking something fruity,” I quickly tell Jason. “Maybe with vodka, or rum. Something that will make me think of lazy days on an island beach.”

“Got ya.”

Jason spins around and grabs some bottles. If he thought there was anything strange about Adam’s words, he’s chosen to ignore it.

Thank the Lord.

I lift my sunglasses and glare at Adam. He flashes me a devilish smile, one that confirms my worst fear.

What’s happened to you, Adam? I wonder.

What’s happened to the man I love?

On Monday, I’m still feeling very weird about what happened on the weekend with the bartender. I could stay home and ruminate by myself, but instead I call An-nelise and see if she wants to get together for dinner. Nothing fancy, just dinner at my place. Lishelle’s working, or I would have invited her, too.

But maybe it’s good that it’s just me and Annelise. Not only do we have to discuss the wedding photography, I’ve decided to confide in her about my concerns over Adam. Originally, I figured I might broach the subject of Adam’s bizarre sexual appetite with Lishelle, but considering Annelise is in a relationship, she might be the better one to discuss this with. Because I have to talk to someone, or I’m gonna go out of my mind.

I swallow my bite of Caesar salad, then put down my fork. “Annelise,” I say cautiously.

She looks up from her salad. “Yeah?”

I think of how best to phrase what I want to ask, but there’s only one way to say it. I’ve got to say it straight. “Does Charles ever want…really kinky sex?”

Annelise’s eyes widen in surprise. “Why do you ask that?”

“I just…” I lean forward and whisper, as though there’s a fly on the wall that could hear us. “Adam is into all kinds of weird stuff lately. I’m hoping it’s a phase. But I’m also wondering…is it me? Am I uncomfortable with it because I’m a prude or something? I know times have changed drastically even in ten years, so maybe it is me. Then again…” I blow out a breath. “I know it’s a personal question, but has Charles ever been into…weird stuff? And if so, did he get over it? I guess I want to hear that it won’t last forever.”

Annelise clears her throat. “Wow. That was—”

“A mouthful, I know. And probably too much information. But I need to know if I’m obsessing over this, or if perhaps I need to be more sexually liberated.”

Annelise’s fork clinks against her plate as she lowers it. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I have no experience in that department.”

“Damn,” I mutter. “So Adam is a freak—that’s what you think?”

“You haven’t said enough for me to form an opinion. Just how ‘kinky’ are we talking?”

I can’t meet her inquiring gaze. “Anal sex,” I admit shamefully. “Having sex in public places. Not that anyone would see us,” I quickly point out, “but there’s the threat of getting caught. That threat really turns him on. Then on Friday night…” I let out a heavy sigh. “He bought me a strap-on. As a present for me.”

Annelise’s eyes bulge. “What?”

“I know. It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

“But I don’t get—”

“He said he wants me to do him.” Now I meet Annelise’s blue-eyed gaze. “Can you believe it?”

Annelise shakes her head. “I’m sorry. Not really.”

I groan my dissatisfaction. “I knew it. I knew this was over the top.” I push my salad away, no longer hungry. “And please, don’t mention this to Lishelle. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

“Honey, I only wish I had your problem.”

Now my eyes widen. “What?”

“Maybe a strap-on is a little freaky, but at least Adam wants to have sex with you. Experience it all with you. I’d love it if I had that in my life.”

“Okay, I’m a little lost. No, a lot lost.”

Annelise sighs softly. “I haven’t said anything before because…well, because it’s been too painful. But Charles hasn’t slept with me in over fourteen months.”

I’m so stunned, I can’t even speak.

“Yeah, it’s true. My husband doesn’t even want to touch me. It’s a real boost to my self-esteem, let me tell you.”

“Oh my God.” I reach across the table to cover An-nelise’s hand. “Honey.”

“It’s driving me nuts. I’m at my wit’s end. I’m trying so hard, but he’s always so tired, so stressed. And when I touch him, it’s like he’s a block of stone.”

“I had no clue.”

“I didn’t want to say anything, but since we’re talking about sex. I welcome any suggestions you might have.”

“You could always borrow my strap-on.”

That gets a smile from Annelise. We both laugh.

Then I ask, “What have you tried?”

“Candles, nice dinners, wine. All that. Stuff to relax him and get him in the mood. But nothing’s been working. So, last week, I went to a…a sex shop. I picked up this slutty French maid’s outfit. It was raunchy, let me tell you.”

“That didn’t work?” I ask in surprise. I don’t know a man alive who doesn’t get turned on by the French maid fantasy.

Annelise shakes her head in disappointment. “He completely ignored me. Turned on a soccer game, and I don’t think he even likes soccer.”

“Wow. This calls for drastic measures.”

“I know, but what?”

Going to a swingers’ club… But I don’t dare suggest that because I can’t admit to anyone that I went there with Adam, albeit unwillingly.

“I don’t know,” I say after a moment. “Let me think about it. In the meantime, I hope his stress level lessens. He is working on that big case.”

“I know, I know. Believe me, I know. And I feel for all those people who got sick from Kitler’s Cookies. I support all the hard work he’s doing. But isn’t sex supposed to be a great stress reliever?”

“I thought so. For Adam it definitely is.”

Annelise sighs softly, and she looks so disheartened that I can’t help but feel bad for her.

“Well,” I begin, “if this is work related, then it won’t go on forever. I know that’s not much comfort now, but tomorrow’s another day. Don’t give up hope.”

“I’m hanging in there,” she says. But she sounds as if she could burst into tears any moment.

Here I was, thinking I had it bad because Adam’s sexual appetite is endless. But maybe I don’t have it bad at all.

Sure, he wants to try everything, but like Annelise said, at least he’s trying it with me. He obviously trusts me with his fantasies, and that says a lot.

Yeah, I guess I’ve been a bit of a prude. Nothing is shameless between committed partners—between two people who love each other with their whole hearts and souls.

Chapter Five
Annelise

All that talk about sex with Claudia over dinner has me totally hot and bothered and completely frustrated. So the first thing I do when I head back home and find that Charles is still at work is lock myself in the bedroom and masturbate.

I imagine that I’m with the Charles from the early days of our relationship. The Charles who was always passionate for me, even when I woke up next to him with morning breath. The Charles who would slip his hand down my pants on a ride at an amusement park, or undo my blouse and fondle my breasts in a movie theatre. The Charles who would know with just a look that I was ready to make love.

“Charles, Charles, Charles,” I mutter as I touch myself, imagining it’s his fingers on me, his tongue tracing circles around my nipple.

I cry out as I climax, happily riding the sensuous wave—but only for a moment. Because immediately afterward I feel cold and empty. So cold and empty I could cry.

I have a husband, damn it. Why do I have to pleasure myself, when I have a man who’s young and should be wild about me?

“Forget Charles,” I tell myself and climb off the bed. I head to the bathroom and start the shower. Maybe cool water will help put out the fire inside me.

Ten minutes later, I step out of the shower and towel off. I try to forget about sex, but even as I apply scented lotion to my legs, I can’t help but think of the way Charles used to do this for me, his hands moving over my body with aching slowness.

Surely Oprah will help get my mind off sex. For an hour I can feel better about myself by observing others’ miserable lives. I quickly dress in a T-shirt and shorts, then head to the living room to queue up the VCR. I tape Oprah daily.

I rewind the tape for several seconds, then stop and hit play. When the show comes on, Oprah is looking thoughtfully at a teary-eyed woman.

“So what do you think happened?” Oprah asks the dark-haired woman. “Why did the passion in your marriage die?”

The woman looks downright confused. “I don’t know.”

“You have to know,” Oprah insists. “When you think about your marriage, your life—and I’m sure you have—you have to have at least an idea of what went wrong.”

That’s not fair, Oprah, I think. Maybe she doesn’t know. I’m living proof that things can go sour and a person has no clue why.

“The children,” the woman finally answers. “I suppose once the children came along, that’s when the spark started to fizzle.”

“I’ve said this once,” Oprah begins, “I’ll say it again. Women often put themselves last when the children come along. They get so caught up in mothering, they forget their own needs as women.”

“Not all the time,” I say to the TV. I know without a doubt that if Charles and I were to have children, I’d still make room for an active sex life. As it is, we have no kids, so what’s Charles’s damn excuse?

Stretched out on the sofa, I continue to watch the show, though I’m not sure why. This isn’t exactly making me forget about my dismal situation with my husband. But on the bright side, as I watch a series of women talk about their passionless marriages, I know I’m not alone.

I sit up when Oprah announces that she has a surprise for her guests. She does the best surprises.

“I know you’re all here today because you want help,” Oprah says. “And I want to help you regain the passion your marriages are missing. That’s why I’m sending you and your spouses on a four-day getaway to the romantic Canyon Ranch Spa in Tucson, Arizona!”

The couples burst into full-blown smiles and the audience rowdily applauds.

“This spa has everything you can possibly think of for couples. Classes on kissing. How to create exceptional sex.” The audience hoots and hollers. “If you can’t reconnect sexually with your partner after this four-day weekend, then I don’t think you ever will.”

Oh my God. This is it. The answer I’ve been waiting for.

Of course! How could I have been so narrow-minded?

When was the last time Charles and I took a trip together? About a year and a half ago, and we had really great sex then. I have to get Charles away from work, take him on a romantic trip to this place designed for lovers, and there’s no way we won’t recapture what’s missing in our relationship.

I jump off the sofa and head toward the home office. I intend to find out everything there is to know about the Canyon Ranch Spa. I don’t care what it costs. I’d pay any amount to get Charles alone somewhere where the entire object of the place is to have sex.

If nothing else, I’ll be able to figure out once and for all if my husband is attracted to me. If we’re alone together in a sexual paradise and he still can’t get it up, then I’ll have to…

Truthfully, I don’t want to think about what I’ll have to do. I don’t want to be in a loveless marriage, and I do want to have children.

All of which I’m sure will happen, just as soon as Charles and I recharge our marriage. And I’m rearing to go. But I can hear Charles’s protests that work will keep him at home. He puts in more hours than one would think humanly possible.

I know it’s going to be hard to get him away from work, but I’m going to try. One weekend is all we need.

I type in the words Canyon Ranch Spa.

As the page loads, I’m instantly impressed. This place is stunning. Outdoor Jacuzzi tubs, palm trees…This is romantic at its best.

I look heavenward and utter, “Thank you, God.”

Hours later, I can’t sleep.

Beside me, Charles is lightly snoring. He hasn’t touched me, of course, despite the red negligee I’m wearing. I know priests who couldn’t resist me in this outfit, yet Charles is painfully oblivious.

I stroke his arm. “Charles.”

He doesn’t move, so this time I shake his shoulder. I don’t care that it’s two in the morning. I want to make love, or at least talk to him.

“Charles.”

“Hmm?” he finally mutters.

“Sorry to wake you up,” I tell him. But I’m not. I need to talk to him about this, and it has to be now.

“What is it?” he asks in a sleep-filled voice.

“I was wondering…wondering if you might be able to take some time off work soon.”

“What?”

“There’s this place I found out about, and I’d like us to go. It’s in Arizona.”

Charles groans. “Can’t we talk about this in the morning?”

“I guess so…But I’m excited. Do you know when you will have some time?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you check tomorrow?”

“What’s this about?”

Now I hesitate. “It’s about us reconnecting. Going away together so we get out of the routine we’re in.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

My heart is beating hard as I edge my body closer to his. It shouldn’t be, damn it. This is my husband. I should feel one hundred percent comfortable holding him in the night, comfortable slipping my body onto his, comfortable taking his penis into my hands…But I don’t, because I’m afraid he’ll reject me.

Slowly, I slip an arm around him, settling my hand on his warm stomach. My fingers tease the hairs around his navel.

I don’t realize that I’m holding my breath until Charles does something that he hasn’t done in a long time.

He places a hand over mine.

A surge of warmth rushes through my body. I release the breath I was holding on a low moan. The ache inside me is so intense as I trail a finger down past his belly button, straight toward his groin. I feel the mass of hair and already I’m getting wet.

Finally, Charles and I are going to make love.

I cover him with my hand and as soon as I do, he covers my hand again. I press my lips against his shoulder. “Oh, Charles…”

He pries my fingers off of him.

“Ann, it’s two in the morning. I’m tired.”

I stifle my moan of disappointment as I roll over, but I can’t stop the tears filling my eyes.

I’m obviously desperate.

That explains what I’m doing here this afternoon, at my sister’s workplace, instead of at my studio developing the film I’m supposed to. I absolutely hate coming here, because I don’t agree with my sister’s lifestyle, but I have to face it—she gets laid and I don’t, so there’s clearly a thing or two I can learn from her.

Despite the eighty-five-degree weather, I’m wearing a scarf wrapped around my head, and the biggest, darkest sunglasses I own when I walk into the Pleasure Dome, the club where Samera works. When I called and didn’t get her at home or on her cell, I figured she had to be working, because even if she’s on a hot date, she always answers her cell.

The club is dark and smoky, just the way I’d expect a place like this to be. In the middle of the room, a large stage is illuminated with fluorescent blue lighting. For a Wednesday afternoon, I’m surprised that there’s more than a handful of men in the place, and I have to look around to find a table that’s unoccupied. It’s to the very far right of the stage. I keep my eyes focused on the table as I head toward it.

Only when I’m safely seated do I check out the stripper onstage. The woman performing has long black hair and is wearing a garter belt with no panties. The garter is stuffed with cash. I suspect the long black hair that hangs to her ass is a wig. Probably a French maid’s outfit, I think with chagrin, remembering my embarrassment over how Charles completely rejected me.

The woman does this lazy sexy-type walk to the pole onstage. She wraps a leg around it and does this gyrating thing against it, as if it’s a huge penis. I watch her, both mortified and fascinated by the way she moves. After swinging around the pole, she eases her body forward and presses the pole between her very large and obviously fake breasts.

Finally, I slip my sunglasses off, because they’re straining my eyes in the dimly lit room. Surreptitiously, I watch the guys watching her. No man in the place can take his eyes off her. And I have to say, there’s something about the way she’s using the pole that is utterly erotic. Funny, I can see what she’s doing as erotic today, as opposed to before, when I saw it all as filthy and sinful.

Gripping the pole with both hands, the stripper bends her body backward with the ease of a contortionist, giving the guys what must be a delicious view of her heavy breasts. Oh yeah, the men are mesmerized. I even see one of them lick his lips.

Maybe I need to get a pole like this in our bedroom. Surely Charles couldn’t reject me if I were to do this sort of seductive dance. The idea seems absurd, but it’s not half-bad. I could get Samera to teach me the basics…

Now the dancer slides all the way down the pole until she is on the floor. On all fours, she does this catlike crawl to the edge of the stage. It’s all part of her routine, but I can’t help chuckling at how she collects the pile of cash on the stage. A few more extended legs and back arching and gentle caresses of some men’s faces, and then the stripper gets to her feet and makes her exit.

My eyes dart around the club. There are a few topless women working the floor, serving drinks, but my sister isn’t one of them.

The slow music comes to an end, and the loud, pulsing beat of Christina Aguilera’s “Dirrty” fills the club. The next stripper, with wild blond hair and wearing a red leather minidress unzipped to her navel, hurries onto the stage brandishing a whip. It takes me only a moment to realize that it’s my sister.

Her skirt is so short that as she passes me, I see more of her ass than of the red leather. She’s also got these thigh-high shiny black boots on, the kind with spiked heels that must be at least four inches. How she even walks on those things let alone dances in them is beyond me.

The men hoot and howl in appreciation, and Samera slaps her whip against the stage. I glance away. Oh, Sammie. Why do you do it? Why make yourself an object like this?

When I look her way again, money is flying onto the stage. A lot of money. Which pretty much answers the question of why she does it—or at least that’s what I like to tell myself.

Because I know Samera also loves her job. Long before she got paid to take off her clothes, she got off on wearing skimpy outfits and watching men’s reactions to her. She especially had fun with our mother’s second husband, teasing the poor guy until he broke down and screwed her. My mother kicked them both out, screaming about how they’d both burn in hell for what they’d done. I figure that Samera had heard so often that she was going to burn in hell, she figured she might as well enjoy the rest of her life in the most explicitly sexual way possible.

Doing a slow twirl, Samera completely unzips her dress. She teases the guys with views of her bountiful bosom—also enhanced by the help of surgery. Surgery I accompanied her to, and tried to talk her out of all the way to the clinic.

I turn my head. I’m not comfortable watching Samera like this. It’s like my mother’s internal dialogue is stuck in my head, and I can’t get past thinking that what Samera’s doing is completely sinful. I feel awful for her, so awful I’m almost tempted to pray for her soul.

Snap!

I jump at the sound of the whip, and my eyes fly to the stage. There’s Samera, her breasts exposed, the dress gone, and only a black piece of leather covering her crotch.

Her eyes light up with recognition as our eyes connect. I give a small wave.

She heads off toward the front of the stage, her hips moving in an exaggerated sexual movement. She grabs the pole and twists around it, then bends onto her haunches, giving the men a view of the contrast of pale ass against black leather. When she goes onto all fours, I turn away again and pretend to be absorbed in a search for something that’s inside my purse.

I know Samera’s routine is over when I hear the round of applause. Now I look back to the stage. Except for the boots, Samera is completely naked. She winks at me as she exits.

How does she do it? Strut naked like that in front of strangers? I don’t get it.

A few minutes later, Samera comes running out from the back area of the club and straight for me. I stand, and she throws herself at me, hugging me hard.

“Annie, what are you doing here?”

I’m not sure what to say. “We said we’d get together for lunch, remember?”

“And you want to do that here?”

As Samera and I pull apart, I take in what she’s wearing. A white cutoff T-shirt that shows the bottom of her breasts. Instead of a skirt, she’s wearing skintight leather pants and those spiked plastic-looking shoes I call hooker heels.

“Well…sure,” I tell her. “Why not?”

Samera eyes me with suspicion. “You’ve either lost your mind or you’ve found your wild side. And why are you wearing a scarf on your head?”

“Oh, this. I…” I can’t think of a decent thing to say, and pull the scarf off my head.

She takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

“Are you finished?” I ask her as we sit at the table I’d occupied a moment earlier.

“God, no. I’ve got four more sets to do. But I have around half an hour to spare. Now tell me, what’s up? Because I know something must be up for you to be here right now.”

I blow out a hard breath. “You’re right.”

“Charles?” she guesses, scowling as she does.

I’m not going to lie. “Yeah.”

“What’s the jerk done this time?”

“It’s what he hasn’t done. We’re still not having sex.” It’s strange that I don’t mind sharing this intimate detail with Samera when we’re not very close.

Like I said, I’m desperate.

“What do you mean you’re not having sex?” Samera asks in disbelief. “Didn’t you buy all sorts of toys and stuff to use with him last week?”

“Not all sorts, but I did buy an outfit. Something I thought would turn him on, and it didn’t. This really trampy French maid’s out—”

“He’s fucking someone else. You know that now, don’t you?”

“No,” I say adamantly. “I don’t know that. What I know is that my husband is very busy, and somewhere along the way we’ve lost our connection. He’s so busy, he’s forgotten about sex. But it’s not a reason to walk away from my marriage, even if right now it feels like we’ll never make love again. I just need…help.”

“What do you want me to do?”

What indeed? “I don’t know.”

“I’m sure you have something in mind. Or you wouldn’t be here. You could have called me, asked for directions to more shops.”

“Okay. I’m desperate. I guess I thought I’d come here and watch…and pick up some pointers.” My admission surprises me as much as Samera. “And if you have any tips on how to turn things around with Charles and save my marriage, I’m all ears.”

“I don’t know what kind of tips I can give you. From everything I know, you get naked for a guy and he can’t help but get hard for you.”

“I think that works in a relationship when it’s new, fresh. But Charles and I have been married for years. I guess…” It pains me to even think what I’m about to say, because I never thought it would happen to us. “I guess things have gotten stale.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t believe in marriage. Nor long-term relationships.”

“Sammie.” God, I sound whiny. I hate how pathetic I sound, but I can’t help it. I’m as desperate as any of the women on Desperate Housewives, and I’m about to lose my mind.

“All right. Let me think. The toys didn’t work.”

“It was a French maid’s outfit, and maybe it was too conservative. Maybe I have to go all out and become really skanky.”

I stop talking when a topless waitress appears at our table. I feel so embarrassed for the woman, I want to use my scarf to cover her breasts. At least they look real, which is a plus. Why can’t men like women the way they naturally are? We have to take them the way they are.

“Molly,” Samera coos. “This is my sister, Annelise.”

“Hi.” Molly gives me a bright smile, as if I’m a long-lost friend or something.

“What do you want to drink?” Samera asks.

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“Get her a sex on the beach,” Samera tells her, then laughs. “I bet you’d like that right about now, wouldn’t you?”

I grin—painfully—until Molly waltzes away. Then I say, “You don’t have to announce to the world that I’m not getting laid.”

“Relax. Molly doesn’t know anything, and even if she did, she could care less.”

I suppose Samera’s right. “Can you teach me some of those slutty moves you girls do with the pole?”

“They’re not slutty. They’re artistic.”

“That’s what I meant,” I say. I flash Samera a sugary smile, and then we both chuckle.

“Oh, Annie. I know we’re not close, but I hate what Charles is doing to you. Making you doubt your sexual power. You’re better off without him.”

“Sammie, please.” I know my sister feels this way. She made it clear how much she disliked Charles on our wedding day when she cornered me in the bathroom and told me that it wasn’t too late to annul my marriage. Those were the days that Charles and I screwed like rabbits. “Will you teach me to use the pole or not?”

“I can teach you, but maybe what you need to do is make a big change—not just in the bedroom.”

“Huh?”

“You know—change everything about yourself. Start wearing low-cut blouses and tight jeans and strappy sandals all the time.” Samera’s eyes slowly roam over me. “Let’s face it—oversized T-shirts and baggy jeans don’t exactly get most guys in the mood. Is this how you always dress?”

“No.” Yes. “Well, some of the time.” At Samera’s doubtful scowl, I admit, “Okay, most of the time. But I want to be comfortable. When I’m at the studio, I get on the floor, on the grass, or climb a tree—whatever’s necessary for the best shot. I need to be able to move.”

“Do you want to get laid or don’t you?”

“I want to get laid,” I reply without hesitation.

“Then trust me. Make a change. A big one. Get some kick-ass skintight black leather pants. And a lot of tight, short skirts. Guys love that. It’s easy access, and pretty much wherever you are, all you need to do is bend over for a quickie.”

“Sammie!” I exclaim, mortified that she’d do such things in public. But then I think about my dismal situation, and I can’t deny that if I were out with Charles and he wanted me badly enough to sneak off into a bathroom and give it to me in a dingy stall, I would feel so loved.

Molly appears, breasts bouncing. She places my drink on the table. Then she heads off to deal with some guys at a nearby table who are calling out to her. Thankfully.

“You ought to try sex in public before you knock it,” Samera comments.

“I’d have sex on national TV right now if it meant Charles could get it up.”

“That’d send Mama right to her grave!” A sharp burst of laughter escapes Samera, but as her laughter dies, I see something in her eyes—something that says she misses our mother. “You talk to her lately?”

“Mama?”

She nods.

“About a week ago. She was heading off to some bible something or other in California.”

“You mean they let her out of the compound in Alabama?”

“Sounded like it was a group trip.”

“When is she gonna realize that those fucking assholes are cult leaders?” Samera shakes her head. “Religious freaks. I can’t stand them.”

“She seems happy.” And that’s the best I can hope for, really. I know she’s had a hard life. Personally, I think she suffered some childhood trauma that’s had her searching for peace ever since. I only talk to my mother once in a while, mostly when she has a moment to call me. She’s thrown herself one hundred percent into this new church family of hers, and she doesn’t have much time for me anymore. It’s just as well. I can only take so much of her fire-and-brimstone talk.

Samera scowls. “Forget Mama. You came to talk about Charles.”

Oh, Samera talks a good game, as if she doesn’t care one bit about our mother, but I know she’s does. And I know she was hurt when my mother cut her out of her life. Yet another person who rejected her the way our father rejected both of us when we were little kids.

But it’s not a subject I want to discuss now, even if I think it’d do Samera good. Instead, I say, “Sexy clothes, huh? You think that will do the trick?”

“Not just sexy. Trampy. And don’t just wear them around the house. Wear them when you leave to hang with your girlfriends. That’ll make Charles wonder who you’re going to meet. Seriously, give guys a little competition and you’ll see how fast they try and get you in bed.”

“You might just be right.” When we were dating, if Charles noticed another guy looking at me, he always held me a little tighter.

“I am right. And you know it, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

“Look, sweetie. Lana’s just finished her routine, which means I have to go back and get ready. But you stay and finish your drink. It’s on me.”

We both stand and hug. “I love you, Sammie.” And I do. With all my heart. Regardless of how little we see each other, she’s always in my heart. As her older sister by four years, there’s a part of me that’s very protective of her, even though she’s the one who could probably kick butt to save my ass.

“I love you, too. And one more piece of advice?”

We pull apart. “Sure.”

“Start checking Charles’s clothes. Check his wallet, his car. Everything.”

“Sam—”

“I’m serious. See if that motherfucker’s got phone numbers hidden and a secret stash of condoms. Because a guy’s a guy. If he’s not fucking his wife, then he’s fucking someone else.”

Chapter Six
Lishelle

When Rhonda peeks her head into the hair and makeup room, I immediately cut my eyes at her. I’ve been avoiding her all week. She, too, has been avoiding me, I’m sure. As well she should be.

But obviously she’s decided that she’ll make the first move and speak to me today. Her timing is perfect—Joanie, the hairstylist, stepped out to get coffee.

Coincidence?

Rhonda’s eyes are downcast as she steps into the room and closes the door behind her. “Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey, yourself.”

“I just want to say—”

“Did you know?” I ask. “Did you know that your cousin is gay, or bisexual or whatever the hell he is?”

She doesn’t meet my eyes.

“You knew?” I stare at Rhonda in horror. “Rhonda, why?”

She finally looks directly at me. “Trevor said he feels bad about what happened. That he was having a great time with you before—”

“Before his boyfriend decided that he wanted him back?”

“Trevor really likes you.”

My eyes widen as I stare at her. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“I think you could be the one for him. I really do.”

“He’s gay, Rhonda. Or at least sexually confused.”

“Bisexual. Or so he says. But that relationship—it was just a phase.”

“Ah, now I feel better.”

“I’m serious. We had a heart-to-heart about it, and he said he’d gone straight, that he was looking to meet a nice woman and settle down.”

“And you set him up with me?”

“He’s really a nice guy. He was just confused for a while. You know.”

Oh my God. I can’t believe Rhonda. I can’t believe she’d set me up with a guy she knew was into men.

“I’m sorry. I thought it would work out.”

“Tell him I wish him luck working things out with his ex.”

“No, that’s over. Honestly. His ex is crazy, like some kind of stalker—”

I hold up a hand to stop Rhonda. “Rhonda, I don’t care if it’s over or not. I’m not into bisexual men. Your cousin or not.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t really get why you wanted to set me up with him.” It’s not like I whine at the station every day about wanting a man in my life. “First of all, a bisexual man is really a gay man and trying to front. Why would you want to subject me to that?”

“I am sorry.”

“No, really,” I persist. “What were you thinking? That I’m dying for a man or something? Is that what people say behind my back? Do I come off as desperate?”

“No, no, of course you don’t. This wasn’t about you. It was about him.” She blows out a frazzled breath. “I was kinda hoping…”

“Yes?” I prompt when she goes quiet.

“Well, hoping that by dating someone as fantastic as you, he’d realize that he’s really straight once and for all.”

Wow. Not at all the answer I expected.

Rhonda seems a bit upset over the whole thing, so I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “It’s all right. I ain’t mad atcha. Just please…no more trying to set me up.”

She cracks a smile, just as Joanie opens the door. Rhonda takes that as her cue to leave.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sure,” I say. As soon as she’s out the door, I shake my head.

“What was that about?” Joanie asks.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

I’m back in my dressing room later, wiping the excess makeup off my face, when the phone rings. It’s late, after midnight, so I assume it’s got to be someone at the station when I pick it up.

“Hello?”

“You were great tonight.”

I pause. Wait a few beats. “Do I know you?”

“You could say that. Yeah, you definitely could.”

Great, not another stalker. “Thanks for the call—”

“Whoa, whoa. Lishelle.”

Something hits me in the gut like a fastball, winding me. Excitement? No, not excitement. Well, maybe a little. But it’s mixed with caution.

“Glenn?” I ask.

“Who else, baby?”

Oh, Lord help me, not Glenn. Glenn who used to make me orgasm for days when we dated ten years ago. Glenn, who brought out the best in me—and the worst. Glenn, who broke my heart when I found out he was screwing one of his teaching assistants at the University of Atlanta.

I should have hated him and pushed him completely out of my mind and my life. But how can you forget a guy you connected with so completely? No matter how badly he hurt you?

That’s why, even though we’d broken up, we got together for a booty call a few times in the summer after I graduated from Spelman. Then, six years ago just before I met David, Glenn called me out of the blue because he was in town visiting a friend, and again we ended up in bed. He disappeared from my life the next day, I met David and moved on. But I never forgot Glenn.

“How are you?” I ask. I know, that’s incredibly lame, but I can’t think of anything better to say, considering I’m so stunned to be hearing his voice.

“I’m good. Better now that I’m talking to you.”

“Why are you calling me? After what—six years?”

“Six years. Has it really been that long?”

“And counting.”

“My bad. But hey, I’m glad to see how well you’re doing. A big-shot news anchor. You always said you’d be some big shot. I see you on billboards all over town. Congratulations.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Are you living here again? The last time I saw you, you were off in Los Angeles, trying to be the next Denzel Washington.”

“And you know how that turned out.”

“I do?”

“You haven’t seen me at the box office, have you?”

“I haven’t seen anyone at the box office. I’ve been way too busy.”

“You must have at least one man taking you out and treating you right.”

“Not that that’s any of your business, but no.”

“No, man. That ain’t right. We have to fix that.”

I inhale a deep breath. “Glenn, what is this—what’s going on?” Not that I don’t have a pretty good idea…

“I’ve missed you.”

With those three simple words, heat spreads through my body. But I don’t say anything. I don’t dare.

“Did you hear me?” he asks.

“Um, yes.”

“So when can we get together?” Glenn asks, using that soft and seductive voice he always used to turn me on back when we were an item. Damn him.

“Who says I want to get together?” There is undoubtedly a coy quality to my voice though, and the thought of seeing Glenn is already turning me on. When we were together sexually, it was always explosive. That’s the kind of thing a woman doesn’t forget.

And considering I haven’t been laid in so long…

How inappropriate is that thought?

“You don’t want to see me?”

“Why would you want to see me?” So we can have a one-night fling like we did six years ago?

“I just do. You know.”

“No, I don’t know. I haven’t seen or heard from you in so long.”

“That’s exactly why I’m calling. To rectify that. Because it has been too long.”

“How long are you here for?”

“Till tomorrow afternoon.”

Yeah, another one-night fling. “I can always call you in the morning. We can get together for coffee. What’s a number I can reach you at?”

“Tomorrow?” he asks in that husky sexy voice again. “Why tomorrow? What are you doing now?”

“I’m going home and going to bed.”

“Alone?”

My breath catches. I can’t help thinking of my chat with Rhonda earlier, how I told her I wasn’t desperate. Right now, the fact that Glenn’s voice alone is turning me on, makes me think I’m a big fat liar.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Come see me. I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice an octave lower. “I really have.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t trust what might come out of my mouth. There’s a huge part of me that’s tempted to say yes—the part that wants to have sex with a man after such a long drought. But then there’s the other part—the part that knows having sex with an ex is always a dangerous thing.

“I need to see you tonight.”

My heart rate picks up speed. My body starts to tingle. Should I do this?

“Just come over. We’ll…talk.”

“Where exactly are you?” I ask.

“At the airport Marriott.” He pauses. “How fast can you get here?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“I’m in room 623.”

“All right, I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up the phone and take a deep breath. Then I gather my things and head out of the room.

Thirty-five minutes later, my stomach flutters as I knock on the door to Glenn’s hotel room. The entire drive here, I’ve debated what I’m doing. Because I know that walking into his hotel room at close to one in the morning means only one thing.

Sex.

And when it comes to Glenn—amazing sex. That’s pretty damn hard to resist.

What does he look like? I wonder. The same, different? The same, I’m sure. He probably hasn’t aged at—

The door swings open, and I reel backward in surprise. One look at Glenn and my heart stops. There he stands, six foot three inches of sinfully gorgeous man. Lean and muscular. He’s dressed in a ribbed undershirt and black jeans.

Shit, I was right. He looks exactly the same. Which is to say he’s still as scrumptious as he always was.

His eyes move over me as his lips pull in a grin. Those eyes. Those intense hazel eyes of his. The kind that with one sweeping look seem to undress you. They’ve always been my undoing.

And he smells so good. The light scent of his cologne drifts into my nose, and my body temperature starts to rise. Every amazing memory of Glenn floods my mind. He’s the one man who knew how to totally satisfy me in the bedroom.

Yeah, I’m desperate for a man.

Fuck, I’m in trouble.

I clear my throat. “Glenn.”

“Mmm mmm mmm, Lishelle.”

I’m wearing an above-the-knee V-neck black dress—minus the tan jacket I wore on top of it when I was on camera. I know it’s hot. Glenn knows it, too.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask in a very straitlaced tone.

He holds the door open wide. “Come on in. Make yourself comfortable.”

I slowly walk into the room. Behind me, I hear the door close, and the bolt click. I close my eyes, count to three, then turn to face Glenn.

He’s walking toward me, and I can’t help but take in his incredibly sexy form. He heads straight toward me, and I tense, anticipating an embrace. But he stops before he reaches me and lifts two glasses of wine that have already been poured off the dresser.

He offers me a glass. I don’t take it right away.

“Take it,” he insists.

“Glenn, I came here to talk.”

His lips form a lopsided grin. “Do you really want me to believe that you don’t want to fuck me as badly as I want to fuck you?”

My pussy explodes with heat. Damn him. How dare he know me so well?

I finally take the glass from him and down a liberal gulp. The crisp Chardonnay hits the spot.

But not the spot I know Glenn can hit so well…

Given the satisfied smirk on Glenn’s face, it’s obvious he can see in my eyes what I’m thinking. “I remember what you liked,” he tells me. “I remember everything.”

“Do you?” My voice is husky, seductive.

“Oh, yeah.”

He takes the wineglass from me and puts both down on the nearby dresser. He takes my hands and just holds them. Holds them and stares into my eyes.

“You look amazing,” he tells me.

“You look the same.”

“That good or bad?”

“You know it’s good.”

“Lishelle. Here we are, in the same room after all this time. It’s hard to believe.”

My nervous energy is killing me. I’d almost prefer that he rip my clothes off and screw me than make any kind of small talk.

He presses his mouth to my forehead, and it’s like I’ve been hit with an electrical charge. “I meant it when I said I’ve missed you,” he whispers.

“Glenn…” My voice is shaky.

“I want to touch you so badly.” His lips graze my cheeks.

“I don’t know where you’ve been,” I say. “It’s been almost six years.”

“I know, I know. You have nothing to worry about, but I’ve got condoms in any case.”

Still holding my hands, he urges my body closer to his as his lips move to the side of my neck. “Ooh, Lishelle.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And then he’s pulling me into an embrace. I don’t resist, not one bit. I know why I came here, what he wants. What I want.

His lips come down on mine. I open my mouth to him for a deep and passionate kiss. Our tongues tangle while our hands desperately touch each other, like we’ve both been waiting for this moment for the past six years.

Maybe I have. Because Lord knows I haven’t been able to forget the connection Glenn and I shared in the bedroom.

“Oh, baby.” His hands cover my ass and squeeze. “Damn, you still feel so good.”

I pull his vest out of his jeans. Slipping my hands beneath it, I sigh as I feel his warm skin.

“Feel me,” Glenn says in a raspy voice. “Feel how much I want you.”

I lower my hand to his crotch and stroke his erection through his jeans. It’s as hard as a slab of granite, and thick and long like I remember it.

“Damn you, Glenn. You know I can’t resist this.”

“I know something else you can’t resist.” He places a finger between my breasts and slowly trails it down my body. He keeps going, until he skims my vagina through my dress. His eyes are on me the entire time, even as he lowers himself onto his knees and pushes the dress up.

“Oh, yeah,” he moans, fingering the edge of my thigh-high stockings. “This look is so hot.”

He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, and I quiver. I grab his shoulders for balance as he kisses my other thigh, this time adding a flick of his tongue.

“Oh, shit,” I mumble, closing my eyes.

His lips move higher, as do his fingers. My legs damn near collapse when he kisses me through my panties.

I’ve wanted this for so long. A man’s hands on me. His fingers. His tongue. I want to stand here and spread my legs and be greedy. Let him feast on my nectar until I’ve come two or three times.

Glenn pushes the silk fabric of my panties aside and strokes my nub so gently, I ache from it. He strokes, looks. Strokes, looks again. But he doesn’t touch me the way he knows I want to be touched.

“I’ve missed looking at you like this. Up close and personal.”

“I forgot how much you like to tease.”

“I’m teasing you?”

I meet his eyes. “Hell, yeah. If you only knew how much I wanted your cock inside me right now.”

Now he slips a finger into me. “We’ll get there.”

I gasp as his finger enters me. Waves of pleasure overwhelm me.

“You’re so tight,” he says.

“It’s been a long time for me.”

He groans his pleasure at what I’ve said. Pushing his finger deeper inside me, he covers my nub with his tongue. It’s heat on heat. I dig my fingers into his skin and moan.

“You…like…that?” he asks, licking me gently between words.

“Fuck yeah.”

Still working his finger inside me, he takes my nub completely into his mouth and suckles. My legs tremble—I can barely stand.

Glenn pulls away from me to say, “Lie back on the bed.”

I whimper softly, both wanting his tongue on me fiercely, and not knowing how much of it I can stand.

Glenn’s hands guide me backward to the bed. As I lie down, he settles right between my thighs, burying his face in my pussy and inhaling. A grumbling sound escapes him. “You’re amazing, Lishelle. Fucking amazing.”

He spreads my folds for better access to my clitoris. And then he is licking and suckling and I think I am going to die from the pleasure. He eats me like he’s waited his whole life to do this.

My body grows tense, like a string that’s being pulled, and pulled, and is starting to fray at the edges and will pop any minute.

I raise my head to watch him. Watch as his tongue works its magic. His moans turn me on as much as the sound of his suckling.

“I’m close. Oh, God.” My breathing is faster now, frenzied. “Look at me.”

Glenn lifts his gaze to mine, and our eyes connect. As I watch and feel his mouth on me in this very intimate way, every part of me starts to tremble. My orgasm erupts from my center and spreads over me like hot lava. I arch my back, calling out, “Oh, Glenn! Oh my God! Oh my God…”

I’m still moaning when I hear the tear of a condom package, and by the time I look up, Glenn is moving over me. I catch a glimpse of his impressive cock before he settles between my thighs and anchors his arms behind my knees.

He enters me with one hard, deep thrust, and I gasp from the pleasure and shock of it. It’s been so long, I forgot how amazing that first moment is—the very first moment when a penis penetrates your vagina.

Glenn settles inside me—deep—and doesn’t move. “Fuck, Lishelle, you feel so good.”

“You feel amazing.”

Finally, he starts to move, his strokes slow and deep and painfully pleasurable. Every one of them makes me quiver. Our momentum builds until Glenn is driving into me so hard and so fast that I get light-headed from this sensory overload.

“I can’t take it, baby. Oh, Glenn…I’m coming…”

I arch my back and cry out as Glenn takes me over the edge one more time. I grip the bedspread with all my might.

And then he makes that familiar grunt-giggle sound he does when he’s coming. I squeeze my inner walls around him.

A moment later, his body collapses onto mine. Our slick bodies rub against each other as our hot breath mingles. It’s amazing how good I feel, how easily Glenn and I reconnected after all these years.

I trail the tip of my tongue along his jawline to his ear. “How do you always do this to me? Make me so damn hot? I swear, my pussy has your name on it.”

He kisses me. A smoldering kiss that makes it clear just how much I do belong to him.

“I could stay like this all night, buried inside you. I really could.”

“So could I,” I answer honestly.

And it’s not just about the sex with Glenn.

No matter how much time has passed, no matter how many other guys I might date, the moment I’m with Glenn again, I know where my heart is.

I’m in serious trouble.

Glenn and I fucked three more times during the night, each time as explosive and satisfying as the first. I’m not lying when I say no other man has ever loved me like Glenn has. His body speaks to mine on some primal level I can’t understand, but I’m powerless to resist him anytime we get together.

He knows this, of course. Knows that he can call me a year from now and I’ll be there for him. Knows that I’ll get on my knees and let him ram me from behind. That I’ll take him in my mouth and deep throat him the way he loves. That I’ll cancel everything for a two-day fuck session.

Last night was incredible, but this morning I’m having regrets. And to be totally honest, I’m a little pissed off with myself. I needed to get laid. Needed it badly, so why am I letting emotion cloud the issue? Why not take Glenn for what he is—a great fuck partner who can always get me off in the most incredible way—and leave it at that?

Who am I trying to kid? I know it’s not nearly that simple. Last night, getting caught up in a wave of heat and desire, I forgot how unsettling the morning after with Glenn can be. It was the same way six years ago. It was that way the few times we fell into bed in the months after our relationship ended. Because I’ve always cared deeply for Glenn, whether he’s been in my life or not. And every time I have him for only a brief moment, I’m devastated when he’s gone.

No matter how much I tell myself that I’ll be fine without him, and move on after having amazing sex, that’s just not true.

Beside me, he is silent and still. I snuggle my back against his front and sigh. Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic, but I wish this moment would last forever. Us lying together like this. That there didn’t have to be a goodbye in the morning.

I’m surprised when Glenn links fingers with mine, because I thought he was sleeping. A moment later, he asks, “What are you thinking?”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I’m not. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I’m not sure you want to know,” I answer honestly.

“Try me.”

“You’re leaving soon. Let’s just…enjoy our last moments together.”

He kisses my shoulder. “You never know. I might be thinking the same thing as you.”

Now he’s gotten my attention. I turn my body, positioning my breasts against the hard wall of his chest. I wonder if he’s playing with my mind.

“You really want to know?” I ask.

“Uh-huh.”

“And you want me to be completely honest?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’m thinking that I don’t know how I let myself go here again with you. Not that I don’t enjoy fucking you, but what am I doing? We had our chance to make things work out, and it never did. Now I see you once in a blue moon, and my body craves yours like nothing else I’ve known, but what’s the point? What’s going to come of this?”

“A whole lot can come from this.”

“Yeah, sure. More great sex.” I roll my eyes. “Where have you been for the last six years, anyway?” Having tied the knot myself, I’d put Glenn out of my mind. “I thought I’d never see you again,” I continue. “That you’d finally gotten married or something.”

Glenn laughs heartily, amused by the idea. “No, not married. And why do you think I’m here with you now? It’s because I can never quite get you out of my mind. How much you turn me on. How great we were together.”

“Then why do you always call me when you’re in town for just one night or two? It’s obviously about the booty call. Not that I’m complaining, but it’s getting harder for me to face you the morning after.”

“Ouch.”

“No, listen. You wanted honesty, and I’m giving it to you.” I want to make Glenn see reason. “We can’t do this anymore, no matter how much I might want to.” Because you still have a part of my heart…

Maybe that’s why the sex is so good, and that’s why I haven’t exactly moved on. That’s why I always end up comparing other guys to you. Even the man I married.

“Lishelle—”

“I can’t believe I’m admitting this to you, but it hurts when you leave me. There. I said it. And that’s why we can’t get together for these trysts once in a blue moon anymore,” I say, unable to stop now. “I’ll be thirty-one in August. I have to find my Mr. Right and settle down.”

“Wow,” Glenn says slowly. “You certainly got a lot off your chest.”

“You wanted to know. And look, it’s not like we’re not friends, right? We can be honest with each other.” Despite myself, I run a finger down the center of his chest. “I just don’t want us to be friends who fuck each other anymore.”

“No?”

“Well…after today, I mean.” Shit, I’m already getting horny again.

Glenn moves his body so that he’s now on top of me. He surprises me with a soft kiss on the forehead. I was sure he was going to lock lips with me and leave me begging for him to make me come again.

“What if I said I didn’t want us to stop sleeping with each other?”

“Then I’d say you were being selfish and unfair to me. I don’t even know what you’re doing now. I know nothing about you.”

“I’m a pilot.”

Surprised at his announcement, my eyes meet his. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. All-American Air.”

“How—when—”

“While I was in L.A. waiting for my big break, I was taking flying lessons. I started, oh, about seven years ago. Then the big break never came. And here I am.”

I’m impressed. Really impressed. But I say, “A pilot. See—you could have a girlfriend in every city in the country. That’s exactly why this has to end.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend in every city in the country, but yeah, maybe I am a bit selfish like you said. But there’s a reason for that.”

“I can guess what that is.”

“Probably not.” He pauses. “I’m in love with you, lady.”

He’s looking right into my eyes as he says the words, a steady gaze that doesn’t waver.

I ask, “What did you say?” Can he be serious?

“It doesn’t matter where I go, or where I’ve been. I always end up right back here with you. Why do you think that is?”

“Because I’m an easy lay?”

He chuckles, and the warmth of his laugh fills my body. “I’m easy, too. But only with you.”

“Stop lying.”

“I swear.” His lips capture mine in a gentle, earnest kiss. “Honestly, Lishelle, why do you think I keep coming back to you? Six years have passed at this point. I could easily have moved on. I’ve met other women, sure, but no one can compare to you. I know now that I’ll never be able to get you out of my heart.”

Even though I don’t want it to, my heart starts to fill with hope. “You mean that?”

“Hell, yeah. So why don’t we stop playing around and get back together.”

“Get back togeth—”

“Start dating again. But this time, knowing that we’re headed on the path till death do us part.”

I eye Glenn cautiously. “I don’t understand.”

“Are you listening to me? I’m telling you I love you. I’ve been in love with you the whole time we’ve been apart. And I’m ready, babe. Ready to make it work between us.”

“Glenn.” I frame his face and arch my hips against him. “Oh, Glenn.” I kiss him deeply.

He breaks the kiss and asks, “Should I take that as a yes?”

“It took you long enough, you big jerk.”

I can’t believe the words that have come out of my mouth. I can’t believe what’s just happened. And so easily. But Glenn’s warm smile makes me feel entirely comfortable. Makes me feel this is right. That it’s finally our time.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to have to make it up to me,” I tell him. “Right now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you have in mind?”

I spread my legs and wrap them around his waist. “There’s only one punishment that’s fitting,” I tell him as his penis hardens against my stomach. “Do me, baby,” I whisper hotly in his ear. “Do me good.”

Chapter Seven
Claudia

I feel as if I’m going through hell with the wedding plans, and honestly, Adam isn’t helping. Before, I thought his I’m-a-man-I’m-totally-clueless routine was kind of cute, but right now it’s just plain aggravating. There’s still so much to do, and I need a break from it.

That’s why, as I approach the front door of Liaisons this Sunday morning, I feel a burst of happiness, knowing that I’m going to see my dearest friends.

Only Annelise is seated at our booth when I walk into the restaurant just before one o’clock. Every Sunday afternoon, Annelise, Lishelle and I have brunch at this restaurant in Buckhead, which serves the best brunch in the city as far as I’m concerned. We’re so regular, the hostess saves our table for us.

It’s a time for us to sit back, relax and catch up on each other’s week while enjoying great food. Even though we talk quite a bit during the week with each other, during our brunches we really get to let loose.

“Hey,” I say in a singsong voice as I reach the table. An-nelise shoots to her feet, a wide smile on her face. She gives me a long hug.

“How are you, hon?” she asks.

“Ugh, stressed. This wedding’s killing me.”

“I know the feeling. I’m stressed, too.”

“Oh?” I slink into the booth’s soft leather. “Your wedding plans giving you grief?”

“No.” She flashes a sugary smile. “But I’ve had a shitty week at work. Two customers canceled on me, and I was counting on that cash.”

“Oh no.”

“Lots to tell, but only after you get your first cup of coffee.”

“I was thinking more like a mimosa today.”

Annelise’s eyes light up. “Thank God. I didn’t want to be the only one.”

She raises a hand to flag down the waitress, and moments later, Sierra, a petite Asian woman, comes to our table.

“Hello, Claudia,” Sierra greets me. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” I tell her. “You?”

“Busy. Taking a summer course in physics.” She rolls her eyes. “What can I say?”

Despite the fact that Sierra has worked here as a waitress for the past two years, she’s studying to be a doctor. I’m impressed. And a little envious. I’ve always wanted to go to med school. My father is a top neurosurgeon, and the profession fascinates me. But despite my schooling, I knew I’d never pursue a career. That’s the way it is for a self-respecting society woman like myself. The average woman today doesn’t understand that concept, that a woman in my position doesn’t actually work outside the home. She supports her husband in his aspirations, does volunteer work for worthy causes, raises children, works the society circles. One day soon, Adam will be in the political arena, and I’ll need to be by his side. He’ll need a full-time wife to support him.

“Two mimosas,” Annelise is saying to the waitress when I tune back in to the conversation.

“Lishelle’s not coming?” Sierra asks.

“You’re right, make it three,” Annelise decides. “If she doesn’t show up anytime soon, I can always drink hers.” Annelise makes light of her statement with a smile, but I know she’s serious. Which means she really must have had a shitty week.

“Help yourself to the buffet whenever you’re ready,” Sierra tells us. And then she’s off to deal with more customers.

I glance at my watch. It’s now one-ten. “Have you heard from Lishelle?”

Annelise shakes her head. “But I assume she’s coming. I mean, she’d call if she weren’t—right?”

“Right. It’s just not like her. She’s usually the first one here.”

“She’s probably stuck in traffic.”

“Yeah, probably.” Sierra suddenly appears with a tray of drinks. “Wow, that was fast,” I tell her. Both Annelise and I sip our drinks, then Annelise looks up.

“Speak of the devil…”

I turn. There’s Lishelle, gliding toward the table.

“Hello, ladies,” she practically sings.

If I’m not mistaken, Lishelle has extra pep in her step. And she’s glowing. Yeah, she’s definitely glowing. What the hell happened to make her so happy?

“That must be for me,” Lishelle comments, reaching for the extra mimosa as she sits beside me in the booth. “Perfect.” She takes a sip. She looks from me to Annelise. “Ooh, Annie. That’s a really nice dress. You’re showing a lot of cleavage. That’s not like you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got to do something.”

“I don’t follow you,” Lishelle says.

“I’ve been having problems with Charles. In the bedroom. He won’t…well, he won’t touch me with a ten-foot pole, if you want to know the truth.”

“At all?” Lishelle asks.

“At all.”

“I’m so sorry to hear you’re having trouble again.”

“Again?” Annelise laughs without mirth. “It’s been a constant for nearly fifteen months.”

“Fifteen months?”

“Apparently,” I chime, and Lishelle looks at me in surprise. “She only told me a few days ago,” I point out.

“I know you were having trouble before,” Lishelle says, “but I thought you got past that. You haven’t said anything for what, a year?”

“I’ve been too embarrassed.” Annelise then fills Lishelle in on all she told me earlier in the week.

“And Charles,” Lishelle begins, “is he…reacting?”

“I spent five hundred dollars on new clothes, new bras, sexy shoes—and nothing.”

“Wow.” Lishelle reaches across the table and covers Annelise’s hand. “I don’t know what to say.”

“What can you say? I’m starting to wonder if my marriage is in serious trouble.”

“No,” I assure her. “Charles loves you.”

“Every time he rejects me, it chips away at my self-esteem. A little more here, a little more there.”

“How can we help?” Lishelle asks.

“Just be there for me, I guess. Listen to me whine.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Have you talked to Charles about this?” I ask.

“If I even try to talk about why we’re not having sex, he gets upset. Defensive. Sometimes I’ll ask if he’s upset with me or what, and he tells me he’s busy. Stressed. That my impatience is only making him more stressed.”

“I’m sorry,” Lishelle says. “But if he isn’t having sex with you, don’t you think he’s fucking someone else? Let’s face it—what guy doesn’t want to have sex with his wife? You ask me, that’s a neon sign that he’s dipping his cock in another pussy.”

Annelise reels backward, looking absolutely crushed. I shoot Lishelle a glare. She gives me an “I’m sorry” look.

I’ll be honest—the same thought occurred to me regarding Charles screwing around—but I know Annelise isn’t ready to hear that.

I try a more tactful approach. “What if Charles is having some sort of medical problem?” I offer. “That could explain why he’s acting the way he is. Defensive. Standoffish. Unwilling even to hear any talk about lovemaking. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to start something he can’t finish with you.”

“Oh my God.” Annelise’s eyes light up. “Do you think that could be it?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“It would explain a lot,” Lishelle adds. “Let’s face it, you and Charles were the type who couldn’t keep your hands off each other.”

“Which is what makes all of this even harder to deal with.” Annelise sighs sadly.

“Maybe you should ask him about it,” I suggest. “In a point-blank way. Tell him that you love him more than anything, that you’re there for him, and that if he’s having some sort of problem you’ll still be by his side. You know how guys are—they don’t want to admit that they’re having sexual problems. But if you ask if he’s having some sort of problem, and make sure to tell him you’ll support him no matter what…”

“God, I think you’re right,” Annelise says. “It didn’t even occur to me. I figured it was me who did something wrong, and he’d lost interest. My sister suggested I buy sex toys and sexy clothes—none of which has worked. How can it work if he’s got some sort of medical problem?”

“You won’t know for sure until you talk to him,” I point out.

“I’m going to do that. I have to know. If he’s got some sort of medical issue, I’ll feel so relieved. You don’t know how awful I’ve felt, being rejected by the man I love more than anything.” Her eyes began to tear up.

“I can only imagine,” Lishelle says. I catch the look that I hope Annelise missed—one that says Lishelle isn’t convinced Charles’s problems are medical.

“Enough about me and my problems in the bedroom.” She’s more composed now. “Tell us the latest with the wedding plans, Claudia. Four weeks away!”

I groan. “I’m so stressed.”

“Honey, why? You’ve got that great wedding planner.”

“But there are still a million things to be done. And Adam is seeming less and less interested.”

“When I got married, David was the same way. Could care less about the plans. And the closer we got to the big day, the more he seemed disinterested. I think guys can only handle so much talk about cakes and dresses and food courses. They want to go on the honeymoon already.”

“Charles was actually very helpful, and very interested in all the details—and even he freaked out once and told me he didn’t want to hear another word about colors or food or anything more to do with wedding plans. You remember—that was the weekend he took off and went to Macon to go fishing with his brother.”

I crack a smile. I do remember. And I remember how unhappy Annelise was at the time, how she seemed on the verge of having a breakdown.

Is that the kind of bride I’ve become? Uncool, uncalm and uncollected?

“In other words,” I begin, “you both think I’m freaking out over nothing.”

Annelise and Lishelle nod in unison.

“It’s just the way guys are,” Lishelle points out.

“Okay. I’ll try not to lose my head over this stuff. I have to go to New York on Tuesday for another fitting, and after that, my gown should be ready.” Nerves tickle my stomach. “Wow. I can’t believe May twenty-seventh is coming so soon!”

“And your thirtieth birthday.”

“I’ve all but forgotten about that.”

“We were thinking to take you out that night,” Annelise says. “Do a stagette-slash-birthday-party thing.”

“Before you know it, you’ll be a married woman, on a beach somewhere fucking your brains out.”

I can’t help but crack a smile at Lishelle’s comment, however crude. “That’s a nice thought.”

“I might just have to tag along with you,” Annelise jokes.

Little does she know, the way Adam’s behaving now, he might just be down with that.

Lishelle sighs dreamily, and I can no longer wait for her to blurt out the secret she’s hiding. Because I know she’s hiding something. It’s just like her to get all giddy and silent when there’s something she’s not telling.

“All right, Lishelle,” I say. “What is it? Ever since you walked through that door, you’ve been trying to hide this huge grin.”

“I do have something to share, but I’m not sure this is the right time,” she says coyly.

“Of course it’s the right time!” I exclaim. Now I’m dying to know what’s going on with her.

“Not that I don’t want to tell you, but after you’ve both shared not-so-positive stuff, it’ll seem like I’m gloating to share my good news.”

“Enough already,” I tell her. “Spill the beans!”

“You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?” Annelise’s eyes light up. “Oh my God—you crawled out of bed with him just before you came here!”

“Well…”

“Oh my God,” I utter. “You did.”

A guilty smile spreads across Lishelle’s face. “Yeah, I did.”

I couldn’t be more shocked—or more curious. “Last week, you said you were swearing off dating.”

“I know. Believe me, I’m more shocked than anyone to be in a relationship right now.”

“A relationship?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

“Do you guys really want to hear this now?”

“Yes!” Annelise and I exclaim in unison.

“Okay.” Lishelle is really beaming. I haven’t seen her this happy since—

“I’m seeing Glenn again.”

My stomach sinks. “Glenn? As in Baxter?” The guy who only knows how to hurt you?

“Yes,” Lishelle gushes. “And I know what you might think, but this is it, ladies. Finally it.”

Annelise squeals with excitement. I reach for my mimosa and take a huge sip.

“How did this happen?” Annelise asks.

“He called me Friday night at the station. I didn’t want to, but I went to see him. And we clicked, like we always do. Then, the next morning, I was upset that I’d fallen into bed with him. We got to talking and he said he’s always loved me, that he wants us to be together.”

“And you believe him?” I can’t help asking.

“I do.”

I finish the last of my mimosa. While I want to be thrilled for Lishelle, I can’t help remembering how Glenn has hurt her in the past.

“I’m so happy for you,” Annelise says. “I know how much you’ve always cared for him.”

“That’s the hell of it. I still love him. Isn’t it insane? That’s the real reason I can’t resist him. It’s not just the sex.”

“You sure about that?” I ask.

She turns to me and nods. “The sex Friday night was off the hook. But Saturday morning, I couldn’t detach my emotions from what had happened. I told Glenn we couldn’t see each other like this whenever he got the itch. That’s when he told me he’s in love with me and wants our relationship to work. He was supposed to leave yesterday afternoon, but there was a last-minute change in his schedule. We hung out like friends the whole day. It wasn’t about the sex at all. Until later, of course,” she finishes with a sheepish grin.

“When it’s time, it’s time,” Annelise comments.

“That’s what I think.”

“Look, it takes some guys a long time. Look at Big in Sex and the City.”

“Exactly,” Lishelle gushes. “I always wanted Carrie to end up with Big.”

“Oh, me, too.”

Maybe Lishelle notices that I’m not saying anything, because she suddenly turns to me. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Me? I’m not…I’m not thinking anything. Just enjoying…” I look at my empty glass. “I need another mimosa. Aren’t they great?”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re thinking that I’m making a mistake. And I hear you. I know why you think that. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s real.”

I squirm in my seat, sip water and do my best to stay silent. I fail. “You know I love you, Lishelle, and I want what’s best for you, but how can you forget how Glenn has hurt you in the past? I mean, you were dating the guy for two years in college, then you found out he’d been screwing other women. Not just one. Plural. How can you ever trust him?”

“For one thing, college was ten years ago. We were both young. Far too young to be involved in such a serious relationship. You have to admit that.”

“But—” I interject.

“But…enough time has passed for us to mature and know what we really want. We’re in our thirties now, for God’s sake.”

“Once a cheater, always a cheater,” I mumble.

“Claudia,” Annelise says in a tone that indicates I should chill. “Can’t you try to be happy for Lishelle?”

“Yes, please.” Surprisingly, Lishelle isn’t annoyed as she looks at me. She’s still beaming, like a girl in love for the first time. “Just trust me. I know this is right.”

A ragged sigh escapes me. “Okay. I will.” It’s not like I can tell her what to do. “And if you’re happy, that’s what matters to me most. I just want you happy.”

“I know that.” Lishelle gives me a soft smile as she reaches for her drink.

“I guess we’ll be seeing him again,” I say, “if this is serious.”

“Next weekend. I’ve invited him to the charity ball for the Wishes Come True Foundation.”

“Ah.” I wag a finger at Lishelle. “Now I get it. Getting back together with Glenn was all about having a date for the charity ball. Smart.”

“I think she’s onto something,” Annelise agrees, laughing.

“Whatever!” Lishelle shakes her head. “Am I the only one who’s starving here? We haven’t even hit the buffet yet.”

“Sure, change the subject,” I tell her.

We all chuckle as we get up and head toward the buffet.

Chapter Eight
Annelise

As I sit at the desk in my office, I stare at the wall clock, watching the second hand tick by. It’s five minutes after four, and I’m starting to feel like my next appointment isn’t coming. I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s been that kind of day. Two other appointments were no-shows. Potential wedding gigs. The most lucrative of the work I do.

“I can’t make a living like this,” I mutter.

Maybe I need to be doing more advertising. This year, my income has been taking a steady nosedive. The one saving grace is that I’m doing Claudia’s wedding, and her father is paying for a package that’s over ten thousand dollars.

Tick, tock, tick, tock…

The door chimes sing, startling me out of my boredom. Pushing my chair backward, I jump to my feet and force a smile on my face.

In walk a young man and woman, both dark-haired, holding hands and smiling from ear to ear. They can’t be older than twenty-one, twenty-two.

“You must be…” My voice trails off as another man, a Greek God, really, enters behind them. His eyes meet mine, and I feel a zap of raw, sexual desire. It overwhelms me. Leaves me momentarily speechless.

“Sebastian and Helen,” the first man says, moving toward me with his hand outstretched.

I step out from behind my desk. “Right.” I pump the man’s hand, then the woman’s. “So good to meet you both.”

My eyes wander to the man who suddenly has me remembering just how much of a woman I am. A woman with sexual needs not being met.

Earlier, Charles didn’t even notice me in the tight leather pants I bought on Samera’s advice. But this sexy stranger is noticing. And I tell you, it feels amazing.

I offer him a small smile as I say, “If you don’t mind giving me a second to deal with this happy couple—”

“Actually, I’m with the happy couple.”

“Oh.” A nervous laugh escapes me. “I see.”

“My older brother, Dominic,” Sebastian informs me. “He wanted to tag along.”

“No problem.” I glance quickly at Dominic again, and a slow breath oozes out of me when I see that he’s staring at me.

He looks sort of familiar, but from where?

I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing when I slip my left hand behind my back. No, that’s not true. I definitely know what I’m doing. I’m hiding my wedding ring. What I’m not sure of is why.

I clear my throat. “Please. Sit down.”

Sebastian and Helen don’t let go of each other, even as they sit side by side on separate chairs. Dominic stands, perusing the photos on the wall.

“When are you getting married?” I ask Sebastian and Helen.

“September twenty-third.”

I sit behind my desk and jot that information down. Then I go into describing the various packages I offer, starting with the least expensive. “All of the packages are detailed in this brochure,” I add when I’m finished, handing them a glossy full-color brochure that cost a small fortune to produce. “But don’t feel that these are set in stone. I’m willing to tailor a package specifically to your needs. You can use this as a guide and tell me what changes you’d like to make, if any.”

“You do all these photos?” Dominic asks, glancing at me over his shoulder.

Damn, he’s got a nice ass. Honestly, I can’t remember seeing a butt that looked so cute in a pair of Levi’s.

“Yes,” I answer. “I took all the photos.”

“I love this one,” Dominic goes on, fingering the silver frame of a black-and-white photo of a naked and sleeping baby.

“That’s one of my favorites,” I tell him, pleased.

A quick look at Sebastian and Helen and I see that they’re still evaluating the various packages. So my gaze wanders back to Dominic. He grins at me.

Now I know I’m desperate, because that simple and sexy grin has my vulva pulsing. I’m actually shocked. I don’t ever remember feeling this kind of immediate carnal attraction even in the early days with Charles.

And yes, he does look familiar. Where have I seen him before?

For the sake of my sanity, I have to look away from him. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as I face the young couple once again. “Do you have any questions?”

Helen shakes her head. “Not really. Obviously, you’ll do both black and white and color.”

“If you like.”

“Oh, I know,” Helen quickly says. “How much of a down payment do you need?”

“Depending on the package you choose—and you can change your mind anytime before the big day—I ask for twenty percent up front.”

I watch Sebastian’s and Helen’s faces for a reaction. Helen worries her bottom lip.

“Or you can give me ten percent when you secure the booking, if it’s easier, and the final ten percent thirty days before the wedding. Just let me know.” I pause. I hate when the couple isn’t saying much. I always feel as if I’ve lost them.

But, the last thing I want to do is pressure anyone. I don’t believe in the hard sell, though Charles says I should. He tells me all the time that I’d make more money if I were a bit tougher.

But that’s not me. “Take your time,” I tell Helen and Sebastian. “Look around the studio if you want. I have sample albums you can go through, as well. No pressure.”

“We’ll take a look around, but we already know we want you,” Helen says. “We’ve heard such great things about your work. And the photos you have displayed speak for themselves.”

Yes! But I keep my cool and say calmly, “Why, thank you.”

“We can’t leave a deposit right now, though,” she continues. “We’d like to figure out the package we’ll go with, then come back and leave a deposit.”

This is the point where some photographers get aggressive to try to secure the deal, by insisting that a client at least leave some money down. But I hate to scare anyone away, even though I know I might never see them again.

So I say, “Whenever’s convenient. Just give me a call.”

“Thanks so much,” Sebastian says. “It’ll be later this week, or early next week, when we can bring the deposit.”

“There’s always the chance that someone else might come in wanting me for the same date, so for now, I’ll mark your wedding date down. I’ll see you by next week?”

“Yes,” Helen answers.

“I look forward to it. And congrats on your nuptials.” Sebastian and Helen get up and start for the door. I get up, too. Dominic, who’s still checking out my pictures, doesn’t even realize that his brother is ready to leave.

“Yo, Dom,” Sebastian calls out.

Dominic whirls around. “You ready?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s like an invisible bat hits me hard when Dominic looks at me again. I can’t help wondering why he bothered to tag along with his brother for this visit.

“Did you have any questions?” I ask him. There’s a part of me—a big part—that doesn’t want him to leave yet.

He shakes his head. “None.”

“Okay.” So he’s Mr. Mysterious.

“I think Dom is bored and needs to get a life,” Sebastian tells me. He turns to Dom. “When was the last time you were on a date?”

So he’s single…

And you’re married. Don’t even let yourself go there.

Despite what I tell myself, I do my best to hide my ring as I see them all to the door. I know nothing will come of this, but at least I have someone to think about when I masturbate. Thinking about Charles usually doesn’t work for me anymore, because it’s hard to get off fantasizing about someone who doesn’t fucking want you.

Sebastian and Helen are unable to let go of each other, as if the very act of releasing hands for even a moment would be physically painful. I watch them, feeling a lump form in my throat as I reminisce about my courtship with Charles, how he was the same way, always touching me, always giving me soft kisses on the cheek.

Always letting me know I was loved.

I can’t stand thinking of Charles right now, so I let my gaze wander over Dominic’s tall, muscular frame.

He’s almost out the door when he turns back to smile at me. I smile, too, and wave.

And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I whirl around, close my eyes. Dominic and I barely spoke, yet the way he looked at me has left me feeling like his hands have caressed every inch of my body. My vagina is still pulsing, and my panties are wet.

Is this what Samera meant when she said that dressing sexy makes you feel more sexually alive? If so, then I’m amazed.

The sound of door chimes has me whipping around. There he is again, smiling that charming smile that makes me so hot.

I swallow. “Hi. Did you forget something?”

Dominic walks the few steps toward me. “Actually, I realized I couldn’t leave until I came back in to ask you something.”

My heart slams against my rib cage. What could he possibly want to ask me? Something personal? Of course he won’t ask something personal. He’s thought of something he didn’t ask about my services.

“I knew you’d think of something,” I joke.

He withdraws his wallet, takes out a card. He extends his hand, like he’s going to pass it to me, but instead asks, “Do you have a pen?”

“Yes.” I head to my desk, aware that my walk is different. Sexier. Liberated.

Even the way I stretch forward to reach for the pen, lifting one foot that’s in a cute sling-back as opposed to a comfortable flat shoe, is deliberately orchestrated to tease.

Really, what am I doing here?

I pass Dominic the pen.

“This is my card,” he tells me as he scribbles something on the back. “My office and cell numbers are on the front. And on the back is my home number.”

I scan the card as he passes it to me. “You’re an architect.”

“Yep.”

“Impressive.” Even more impressive, he’s given me every possible way to reach him.

“It’s all right. I work for myself. Have an office at my home. I’m not part of some big architectural firm. That way, I can set my own pace and do the projects I want.”

“I completely get you on that one.”

There’s a glint in his eye, one I haven’t seen in a long time but recognize immediately. It’s hunger. Lust. Lust for me.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

I knew he looked familiar. “Should I? Have we met before?”

“Well, kind of. A couple of weeks ago. In a store not too far from here.” He chuckles softly. “A Little Naughty?”

Oh my God, I could die! The hottie when I was checking out. My face flames.

“No, no,” Dominic quickly says. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“Too late.”

“I only mentioned it because I thought you…thought you might have remembered seeing me.”

I can’t meet his eyes. “You did look familiar. I couldn’t remember from where.”

“Please don’t feel bad. And I’d love it if you looked at me. You have the most incredible blue eyes.”

My pulse is in overdrive as I lift my gaze to his. “There,” he says. “I love those eyes.”

Butterflies tickle my stomach. But I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.

Dominic is the first one to speak. “Let me ask this before I lose my nerve. I’m hoping we can get together for coffee sometime.”

“Coffee?”

He nods. “Or dinner. Something else…”

Something else. I’d be a moron not to know what he’s talking about.

Am I a moron for being attracted to him? Or worse, am I a dirty whore?

But how can I not be attracted to him? I’m so starved for sex from my husband that the first sexual interest in me from an attractive male has me turned on.

It’s only natural.

But I can’t cheat on Charles.

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t tell me no. Just think about it.”

Seriously, Dominic has a voice that could probably leave me shuddering in the bedroom. And he’s got such a warm smile. It’s hard to resist him.

“Okay,” I finally tell him. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not making any promises.” My left hand is still behind my back.

“That’s fine.”

Thankfully, Dominic turns and starts for the door. I don’t deny myself the pleasure of checking out every inch of his magnificent body.

I’m gonna burn in hell…

It’s incredible how you don’t lose the internal dialogue you were raised with, and my mother was always preaching fire and brimstone. While other parents read to their kids at bedtime, my mother lectured us on all the sin in the world. She made sure to tell us that if we messed up in any way—from stealing candy at a store to engaging in premarital sex—we were going to hell.

I remember her saying all the time that just thinking something inappropriate is in fact a sin. I guess by that standard, I’ve already committed adultery. What’s to stop me from doing the real deed?

At the door, Dominic looks at me over his shoulder. “You’re really beautiful. Just thought I’d tell you that.”

“Thank you.” I swallow again. He has no clue how badly I’d like to rip his clothes off and have sex with him right here on my desk.

At least I can do that in my fantasies.

Who cares if I’ll burn in hell?

I think about Dominic all the way home.

Mentally, I’ve already crossed the line with him, so I take it a step further. I imagine what it’d be like to have my soft breasts pressed against that hard chest of his. I think about what it’d be like to gaze into his eyes as I lay beneath him, his penis deep inside me. I dream of how he might taste, and how he’d moan with pleasure as I take him deep in my mouth.

The sexual images continue even as I pull into my driveway, and I don’t want them to stop. The moment I step into my house, I know what I’m going to do. What I have to do.

I go to my closet and dig out the last-minute purchase I made after my day of shopping for new clothes. The vibrator. It’s thick and long and lifelike, except that it’s blue.

Before now, I’ve been embarrassed to try it, but I’m looking forward to it now.

I strip off my leather pants and blouse and lie down on the bed in my bra and thong.

I turn the penis on and close my eyes. The gentle vibrations stimulate my breasts, and I imagine that Dominic’s hands are touching me. It’s so easy to get hot thinking about this man, and when I touch myself, I’m already wet.

“Oh yes, Dom,” I whisper, pretending it is his fingers stroking my nub, his fingers slipping into my folds. And then I imagine his tongue, hot and hungry, laving my pussy with such expert skill that I almost come from it.

But I don’t want to feel his tongue. I want to feel his cock. So I move the vibrator lower, between my legs, where I rub it against my clit. Oh, that feels good. So good, I’m moaning as if it’s really a man’s penis.

Not just any man’s. Right now, it’s Dominic’s. And he’s hard for me and wants me more than he’s ever wanted anyone else.

I spread my lips and insert the tip of the vibrator. Holy shit, I’m tight. It’s like I’m a virgin again.

But I keep going, keep urging it inside. Finally, it’s so deep inside me that the balls settle against my opening and the featherlike tentacles meant to massage me are rubbing against my clit.

“Oh, Dom…” My breathing shallows. “Hell yes…”

I tweak a nipple, picturing it in Dominic’s mouth as he thrusts deep inside me. And those little tentacles work like magic, bringing me closer and closer to pure bliss.

“Ohh…Ohhhhh!” My moan is long and rapturous as the sweetest orgasm I’ve experienced takes its hold and doesn’t let go for several seconds. Dominic has his penis nestled deep inside me, and he’s watching me as I come. God, that smile of his. Right now, I am completely his.

The seconds pass. My breathing calms. Dominic fades away. I pull out the vibrator. I’m as satisfied as any woman could be, yet there’s something hollow about it. Something that can’t be completely fulfilled.

Because it’s not the real thing.

After my orgasm, I rifle through every single pair of pants hanging in Charles’s closet. And then I go through his drawers. And when I’m finished searching every spot in his dresser, I head back to the closet and even go through his shoes.

And find nothing. Not a single thing.

I slump onto the floor, exhausted both physically and mentally. And I’m disappointed.

Oh my God. I really am disappointed, when I should be elated.

“What am I doing?” I ask aloud. When Samera suggested I check Charles’s clothes, I didn’t. So why am I doing it now? Am I trying to find a reason to justify jumping Dominic’s bones?

I groan softly, knowing that’s the real reason for my disappointment. And God, how pathetic is that? I meet a guy who has my libido burning and suddenly I’m digging through my husband’s stuff in a desperate attempt to find even one thread of evidence. It’s like I want to find out that Charles is an unfaithful asshole who doesn’t deserve my fidelity.

Lord but I want to get laid. This is what no sex does to you. It eats at the core of you, like a worm inside an apple. And slowly but surely it spoils you. It corrupts you.

I’m corrupted now. I don’t care if I’m married to Charles. I want to have hot, wild sex with a man who finds me attractive.

I push myself up off the floor and walk out of the closet. I plop myself onto the bed. After a moment, I reach for the phone. I want to call Claudia, but then I remember she’s in New York for her fitting. Lishelle’s no doubt at the studio, so I don’t want to bother her there.

Instead, I find myself calling Charles. The man I swore to be faithful to until death parts us.

“Charles Crawford’s office,” his receptionist says pleasantly.

“Emily, it’s Annelise. Is Charles available?”

“Oh, sure. Hold on a sec.”

A moment later, Charles comes onto the line.

“Annelise, hi.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing much. I was just thinking about you. I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m fine. Just…missing you.” And feeling incredibly guilty for my mental infidelity!

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says, surprising me. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe what we need to do is plan some time away. I’m always so busy with work. Maybe if I get the hell away from this place…”

My heart fills with hope. All this time, I thought my suggestions were going in one ear and out the other. But Charles was listening. He really was.

“Oh, Charles. That would be fantastic. Do you really think you can get the time?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Okay. That’s all I can ask.” I pause. “What about tonight? Do you want to go out for dinner?” I ask him. “It’s a Tuesday, it shouldn’t be hard to get reservations.”

“Sure. We haven’t done that in a while, have we?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“I can’t believe how caught up with work I get. I’ll have to make a better effort.”

Charles is being so agreeable, I could cry.

“I’ll call around and find someplace suitable. Is a reservation for seven o’clock okay?”

“Perfect. Now, I hate to cut this short—”

“Charles,” I say quickly.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

There’s a pause. I’m wondering if Charles is going to say anything when he finally speaks. “I know you do, sweetheart. And I love you, too.”

When I hang up the phone, I immediately go to my purse and dig out the card Dominic gave me earlier. I rip it to shreds. Then I walk to the bathroom where I flush them down the toilet.

Chapter Nine
Lishelle

I’m gazing into Glenn’s eyes. Yes, gazing. And holding his hand as we lie in my bed face-to-face, naked as the day we were born. One of Glenn’s legs is slung over both of mine. This feels so natural—like he’s been in my life and my bed forever.

I could stare into those mesmerizing hazel eyes all day. You’d think I’ve never been with a man before and Glenn’s got some kind of spell on me.

But hey, I’m in love. And the truth is, I’ve never loved anyone like I love Glenn.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask him.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to eat me up with your eyes.”

“You want me to stop?” he asks.

“Not a chance. I want to stay here like this forever with you.”

“I know what you mean.”

A beat passes. I yawn. “I’m so exhausted. Thanks to you.”

“You weren’t complaining last night.”

“I sure wasn’t,” I reply, chuckling softly. “What a start to my weekend!”

After speaking with Glenn during the week, I didn’t expect him until today. But he surprised me by calling me at the studio last night and telling me he was in town.

We’ve been fucking ever since.

What can I say? I haven’t had sex in two years. I’m going to take as much of it as I can get these days.

Glenn lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it. “I aim to please.”

“Did you ever!”

We both giggle, then gaze. Sheesh, you’d think we were fifteen and had just shared our first sexual experience together.

“You ready to get up?” Glenn asks me. Of course, he asks this as he tweaks one of my nipples.

“Oh, you don’t play fair, do you?”

“Life ain’t fair, sweetheart.” Glenn lowers his head and his hot tongue covers my nipple. I close my eyes and moan. He takes my nipple deep in his mouth and suckles it slowly. Slowly, yet it nearly drives me out of my mind.

I run my hands over his closely cropped hair. “Damn you, Glenn.”

“You want me to stop?”

“I thought…thought we were…” I can’t finish my thought. Glenn is now massaging my clit, and oh, it feels so good. If I let myself, I could come. It’s like my whole body is a giant nub, and the moment he touches me, I’m lost.

I’m his.

Glenn rolls onto his back and pulls me on top of him. His fingers dig into my ass, kneading my flesh. I quickly straddle him. Damn, his cock feels amazing pressed against my vagina like this.

But it feels much better inside me.

I ease my body up and stroke my finger over the length of his shaft—then guide his throbbing erection inside me. “Ooh, Glenn. Damn…”

He pulls my hips down so that he fills me with a hard thrust. We spent more than half the night screwing, so my inner walls are sore, but this pain is pleasure.

“You’re so hot,” Glenn whispers. He kneads my breasts, plays with my nipples. I ride him like he’s a wild horse, hanging on to his solid legs for support. And I watch the expression on his face. It’s a look of total ecstasy, the same one I know he must see on my face. I love how we stare into each other’s eyes, like there’s total openness and honesty between us.

“Come on, baby,” Glenn moans. He grips my hips as he thrusts upward deep and hard, over and over again. I rub myself against him so that there’s delicious friction against my clit.

A moment later, I close my eyes as a wave of orgasmic bliss washes over me. I arch my back and enjoy the ride.

Glenn’s fingers dig into my butt. I’m still coming when I hear his grunt-giggle sound. I tighten my inner walls around him, knowing that will intensify his pleasure.

Slowly, his lips curl in a smile. He presses his palms against my shoulder blades, urging me forward. I collapse against his chest.

We’re silent for a moment, our ragged breaths mingling. Then we start laughing.

“You do this to me every time, Baxter. Make me forget about everything but making love to you.”

“I can’t keep my hands off you.”

I slide off his chest and onto my back. “I’d better take a shower. Alone. You’re gonna have to keep that lethal weapon away from me if we’re ever going to do anything else today.”

“All right, all right,” Glenn grudgingly agrees. Still, he reaches for my body as I move off the bed. He grins at me, then settles back on his pillow.

“I guess we should go out for breakfast,” he says. “Eat something to build our strength up.”

“For more sex?” I ask, twisting my lips in mock reproof.

“No, actually. There’s something I want to show you.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Show me? What could you want to show me?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?” I plop back down on the bed beside him. “Come on, Glenn. You know how I am with surprises. Just tell me what it is.”

“You go get your shower. Or we’ll never get out of here.”

“Glenn…”

He pushes my leg. “Go.”

I glare at him before scooting off the bed. I’m kidding, of course. I bluff a good game but I don’t really want him to tell me what the surprise is. I love surprises.

“Hurry,” he tells me. “Or it might not be today.”

“All right, I’m going.” I grin all the way to the bathroom.

“You can’t possibly want more food?” I say to Glenn a couple hours later, when we’re sipping coffees at a Denny’s fifteen minutes from my house. I’m not a big fan of the Denny’s chain, but most anyplace can do breakfast right.

Glenn peruses the plastic-encased lunch menu in the center of the table. “I don’t know. I could have a burger.”

“You could not, so let’s just settle the bill and leave already.”

“Impatient for that surprise, are you?”

I smile sweetly at him.

“Can I order dessert?”

“No dessert!” I laugh. “Boy, you know how to tease a girl.”

“So I’m told.”

Something catches in my chest. I know we’re both joking here, but it hits me instantly that I’ve never asked Glenn about his past. We’ve been too busy getting reac-quainted in bed, and the subject hasn’t come up.

“I bet you have been, haven’t you?” Before he can answer, I continue. “Tell me what your life has been like over the years. You said you’ve never been married, but there had to be someone serious. Maybe a few women you were serious with?”

Glenn sips his coffee. “You don’t really want to talk about this, do you?”

“I do. At first I thought I didn’t want to know, but I realize now that I was lying to myself.”

“All right. There was someone serious. Only one since you and I have been apart. A couple quasi-serious relationships, but the last one was the most intense.”

My gut tightens. Can you believe I’m jealous? “How long ago?” I ask. “And how serious?”

“How long ago?” He thinks for a moment. “I guess about fourteen months.”

“Wow. That’s pretty recent.”

“I know.”

“Don’t leave me hanging. Tell me what happened.”

“We dated for about two years. Yeah, two years,” he says, seeing my surprised look. “I’d popped the question, and we were going to get married.”

“Really?” I’m stunned. I know I didn’t ask before now, but isn’t this information Glenn should have volunteered? Or am I being too sensitive over the matter?

“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes slightly. “But it didn’t work out.”

“Oh, no no no. You don’t just tell me you asked a woman to marry you—barely over a year ago—then tell me it didn’t work out. What happened—and do I have to worry that she’s going to come back into your life at any moment?”

“No chance of that, since she decided to get back together with her ex-husband. She broke down and told me that my proposal made her realize she had unresolved issues with her ex—you really want to hear this?”

I nod.

“I proposed to her. She didn’t answer, said she needed time. Three days later, she gave me some lame story about the sacredness of marital vows and how she shouldn’t promise the same thing to another man that she’d promised to her husband. She said she wanted to give him another chance.” Glenn shrugs. “As far as I know, they got back together, and they’re married again.”

I am feeling much, much better. Well, maybe not that much better. “So she broke your heart.”

“I’m not still hung up on her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Are you sure? You were going to marry the woman.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Because I’m hung up on someone else.” He gives me a pointed look. “Always was, if you want to know the truth, even though we’d gone our separate ways. Plus, I don’t think things were really meant to be with Tess. She had a couple kids—”

“Tess?”

“—and she didn’t want more. I’d be forcing it with her to make it work. I know that now. Believe me, everything’s worked out for the best. Especially now that I have you back in my life.”

I search Glenn’s eyes. They seem sincere. Truthful. There’s really no reason for me to be making an issue out of this.

But still I ask, “How did you two connect in bed?”

“Nowhere near the way we do,” Glenn answers without hesitation. Then he reaches across the table and strokes his thumb across my palm.

“So I don’t need to spend the rest of my life hating her?” I joke.

“It’d be a waste of energy.”

“I know. You’re right. What matters is here and now. Us.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Glenn reaches for his wallet in the back of his pants and pulls out some money. He drops it onto the table on top of the bill. Then he asks, “Ready for your surprise?”

“I can’t wait.”

My excitement mounts when Glenn and I arrive in Duluth, one of Atlanta’s upscale and beautiful suburbs. The houses are large here, with sprawling, well-manicured lawns, neatly trimmed shrubs, colorful flowers and winding driveways that stretch for at least a couple hundred feet.

My heart is beating a mile a minute. What on earth could Glenn be doing taking me to a spot like this?

He’s holding my hand, something that feels so comfortable. It makes me smile. It’s nice to know that despite how well Glenn and I connect in the bedroom, there’s more to our relationship than that.

“I’m dying here, babe. When are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“You’ll see…”

I continue to survey the area as Glenn makes a series of turns. At last, we pull into the driveway of a gray stucco house with a For Sale sign on the lawn. The interlocking brick driveway veers to the right, where there’s enough space for eight or so cars.

My eyes whip to Glenn’s. He doesn’t say a word. Simply grins at me like a fool as he pulls his cell phone out of the holder on his belt.

He dials a number. Then I hear him say, “Hey, Sandra. It’s Glenn Baxter. I’m in front of the house. Great, see you shortly.”

“Who was that?” I ask Glenn, although I know who it had to be. At least I think I know who it had to be.

“That was the real estate agent.”

“Glenn! What are you doing? And when did you arrange to meet a real estate agent here? We’ve been together the whole time.”

“I called her when you went to use the restroom. And don’t get too excited. You don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Not like it? Glenn!” I look out at the line of trees dividing this property from the next one. In the distance, I can see the glistening waters of Lake Lanier. I want to throw my arms around him and squeeze the life out of him.

“I’ve always wanted a house on the water. And look at this place. I love the stucco. All the trees for privacy. The size of the land. What is it, an acre?”

“A little larger than that.”

“Glenn!”

“Don’t get excited…”

“How can I not get excited? It’ll be a longer drive to get to work, yes, but this is the kind of house…” My voice trails off when I look at it.

“The kind of house you raise a family in,” he supplies for me.

I could become an emotional mess right about now. I’m seeing my dreams come to fruition at a time I didn’t expect it. When I’d convinced myself the dream no longer mattered to me.

“What are you doing, Glenn?”

“I want to see if you like the place. Then we’ll go from there.”

I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him. A deep kiss that goes on and on. It stokes the embers of my love for him.

We pull apart when we hear the sound of a car pulling up beside us. A pretty, dark-haired woman jumps out of a silver Lexus, smiling apologetically.

Glenn and I get out of my BMW.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says. “Got stuck in a bit of traffic.”

“It’s fine,” Glenn assures her.

“Lishelle Jennings.” Sandra offers me her hand, and I shake it. “I’d know you anywhere. I love you on Channel Four News.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“I’m Sandra Holloway.”

“So nice to meet you.”

Sandra turns and starts for the house. Glenn and I fall into step beside her. “I hope you like it as much as Glenn does,” Sandra says to me.

“I’m sure I will,” I reply. But I’m shocked to hear Glenn has already seen it. When? He just got back to the city last night.

I gasp my delight the moment Sandra opens the door. The massive foyer boasts cathedral ceilings and a double staircase heading upstairs. The entire area is covered in hardwood floors.

“There are six bedrooms, five bathrooms.”

“Oh. My. God.” I step into the house.

“Cherrywood floors,” Sandra continues. “There’s also a staircase at the back of the house that leads upstairs. Ten-foot ceilings throughout, except the foyer and family room, where there’re cathedral ceilings.”

“I love this place.”

“I figured you’d like modern,” Glenn tells me.

“I love the modern look. It’s also got some classical touches,” I comment as I look at the moldings in the nearby living room.

“It’s a mix of styles,” Sandra informs me. “European, traditional, colonial.”

“Whatever it is, it’s stunning.”

“Do you like to cook?” Sandra asks.

“I love to cook. When I’ve got the time.”

“You should see the kitchen.”

Sandra leads us to the back of the house. I actually start to giggle, that’s how giddy with excitement I am.

“All maple cabinets,” Sandra says proudly. “And this breakfast bar could seat twenty.”

I tune Sandra out as I make my way to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows at the back of the house. “Look at that pool!”

“It’s an Olympic-size lap pool,” she comments. “Heated. With a Jacuzzi.”

“And that’s the lake,” Glenn tells me, pointing through the thicket of trees.

A house on the water. I could die.

The rest of the house only gets better. There are two master-bedroom suites, both with excessive closet space. There’s a den, an office. Hardwood floors throughout.

Sandra’s grinning as she faces me. “So, you like?”

“I love it. What’s it selling for?”

“It’s listed for eight ninety-nine, but I’m sure you can get it for eight twenty-five. It’s vacant right now. You could move in anytime.”

“It’s a little pricey,” Glenn comments.

“But such an incredible home,” Sandra interjects. “An investment, really.”

“The best kind of investment,” I say. I don’t just mean for real estate property. I’m thinking family here, and marriage.

Glenn must be thinking this, too.

When we arrive back in the foyer, Sandra says, “I’ll let you two roam around without me as a third wheel.”

I take Glenn’s hand and head back up the stairs to the master bedroom that has a stunning view of the lake. I look out at it, shaking my head in disbelief.

“What?” Glenn asks.

“It’s just…this has always been my dream. To have a place like this on the water…”

“Why do you think we’re here?”

My heart stops beating as I face him.

“Don’t you think I remember what you always used to say—that you wanted a place on the water one day? A great place to raise a family?”

For a moment, I can’t speak. “You remember that?”

“When it comes to you, there’s not much I forget.”

I clearly have forgotten some things. I forgot how romantic Glenn can be, how he would surprise me on occasion.

“What about that view from the kitchen?” he asks. “And we haven’t even been outside yet. There’s a tennis court.”

“Why am I not surprised? I love it. The entire place is amazing.” I glance around the master bedroom. Not only does it have a living-room area to the left offset by columns, it has a fireplace.

“Look.” Glenn points out the window.

“What?” I ask.

“On the lake. Don’t you see it?”

“See what?” My eyes search, but I see nothing out of the ordinary. And when Glenn doesn’t respond, I turn around to face him.

He’s on one knee, holding a ring box in his hand.

A tingling sensation runs along every inch of my skin. My hands begin to shake.

Glenn opens the burgundy-colored box, and I gasp. There’s a three-diamond ring in there—a round diamond in the center, and two triangular-shaped diamonds at each side.

“That’s got to be—”

“Two point two carats.” Glenn beams. “I wanted to get something bigger, but—”

“Bigger? Don’t be crazy. I love it.” I start to reach for it, but pull my hand back. He hasn’t offered it to me yet.

“I know this place is pricey, and maybe we won’t be able to get it,” Glenn begins. “Yet. But it’s something to aspire to. Our dream, sweetheart. Yours and mine.”

He takes the ring out of the box and then takes my hand. I realize I’m crying when a tear touches my lips.

Glenn slips the ring on my left hand. “Lishelle Amanda Jennings—will you marry me?”

I scream. Scream and throw myself onto him with so much excitement that I knock him off balance and he tumbles backward onto the hardwood floor. He puts one arm out to cushion his fall, while slipping the other arm around my waist. I land against the hard wall of his chest.

We erupt in a fit of giggles.

“Glenn Baxter, you little devil. I had no clue.”

“That’s the point of a surprise.”

I’m planting kisses all over his face when I hear, “Oh, sorry.”

My gaze flies to the door. Sandra is standing there, blushing.

“I heard a scream,” she explains.

I heave myself off of Glenn and stand. “Guess I got a little excited.” I thrust out my left hand and wriggle my fingers. “Glenn just proposed!”

“Oh, my.” Sandra oohs and aahs as she inspects my ring. “How beautiful is that? Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Thanks.” Glenn speaks at the same time I do.

“With a wedding around the corner, it’s the perfect time to get a new home.”

“I do love it.” I gesture around the extraordinary room. “How could I not? Of course, it’s the first home we’ve seen—”

“I completely understand. And I wouldn’t expect you to buy without looking around.” Sandra reaches into the pocket of her blazer and produces two cards. “I know Glenn is out of town most of the week, but if you want me to show you some other options, just give me a call. I’d happily do it today, but I have another appointment in half an hour.”

“No problem,” I tell Sandra. “We have a fund-raiser to go to this evening, and we’ll have to go home to get ready.”

“Call me anytime. We’ll set something up.”

We all walk downstairs. Outside, while Sandra locks up, I imagine two children chasing each other around the lawn.

A boy and a girl.

I can almost hear their happy laughter.

Glenn takes my hand, and I snap out of my reverie. I snuggle my face against his shoulder.

I’ve heard it said that it’s usually when you’re least expecting it that love comes into your life.

I can’t believe it, but that’s what’s happened with me.

Chapter Ten
Claudia

I look amazing. If I do say so myself.

I’ve opted for color for this evening’s charity ball, so I’m wearing a floor-length red Versace gown. It’s an off-the-shoulder number that shows a good amount of cleavage. Quite frankly, it’s stunning. And I stand out in a good way because many of the women here have opted to wear black and other dark colors.

Adam is resting his hand on the small of my back as we walk through the crowd. All around us, people smile. Other high-profile families we know, many of them who will support Adam’s campaign for mayor when he announces his intention to run after our wedding.

Henry Dixon, an Atlanta judge, excuses himself from the small group of people he is talking with and approaches us. “Claudia,” he says, taking both my hands in his and spreading them wide to get a good look at me. “You look fantastic.”

“Thank you, Henry.”

“And Adam.” Henry pumps Adam’s hand. “Great to see you, as always.”

“Great to see you, as well.”

“This evening looks like a roaring success. You’re doing such wonderful work for children who so desperately need it.”

I slip beside Adam and link arms with him. “I’m so proud of him,” I say.

Adam, who has a law degree, gave up practicing a couple years ago to run the Wishes Come True Foundation, a charity to aid terminally ill children. He’s president of the board—a volunteer position. I fully supported his decision, and every day I admire the work he does. It’s such a great cause.

“It’s all about the kids,” Adam says. “What better cause is there than giving terminally ill children a chance to have their greatest wish come true?”

“I agree,” Henry says. “You’re doing great work. But I still think your talents are better suited to the legal arena.”

Adam chuckles softly. “I know what you’re getting at—and while I’m not ready to make any commitments yet, stay tuned after the wedding for a very special announcement.”

Henry’s lips spread in a wide and knowing grin. He clamps a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Adam Hart for mayor. I can’t wait.

I’m gazing up at Adam lovingly when I feel a hand cup my ass so intimately that fingers graze the back of my vagina. I’m so startled that I gasp and nearly jump out of my skin. Adam quickly curls his fingers around my waist, and I don’t even have to look at him to know he’s the culprit.

“Are you all right?” Henry asks me with concern.

“Yes.” I surreptitiously pinch Adam’s arm. “I just had a…a chill.”

“I hope you’re not coming down with something,” Adam says, and I want to smack that smirk off his face.

“With all the planning I still have to do for the wedding? Not a chance.” I smile sweetly at him.

“Claudia!”

At the sound of my name, I turn, and there’s Lishelle, hurrying toward me while holding Glenn’s hand. She releases him only when she’s close enough to throw her arms around me. No polite air kisses from Lishelle. She’s my girl and shows me love no matter where we are.

“How you doing?” she asks, and I have to say, she’s never sounded happier. “God, you look amazing. You said you were gonna look hot, but I didn’t know this hot. Whoo!”

“Thanks. You look pretty hot yourself. That’s the Kate Spade?”

“Mmm-hmm. Classic but sexy.”

“That it is.” I suddenly realize that I’ve totally ignored Glenn. I turn to him and take one of his hands into both of mine. “Glenn, hello. It’s been a long time.”

“That it has. It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too. I hear I’ll be seeing more of you.”

“A lot more,” Glenn agrees. Then he lifts Lishelle’s left hand to show off a brilliant three-diamond ring.

“Whoa.” My mouth hanging open, I reach for Lishelle’s hand. “I know you said it was serious, but—”

“He proposed this afternoon.”

“Lishelle!” Wow, she wasn’t kidding when she said that Glenn had finally gotten his act together. “Congratulations!” I give her another hug, then hug Glenn, as well.

I whip around when I feel hands circle my waist. Adam is looking toward Glenn, waiting for an introduction.

“I don’t think you’ve ever met Glenn, have you, Adam?”

“I haven’t.”

“Adam, this is Glenn Baxter. Lishelle’s fiancé. Glenn, this is my fiancé, Adam Hart.”

The two men shake hands.

“How are you, Adam?” Lishelle asks.

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Glenn and I just got engaged,” Lishelle gushes. “Should I tell them about the house in Duluth?”

“What house in Duluth?” I ask.

“Well…” Glenn shrugs.

“I shouldn’t say anything, because I don’t know if we’ll even get it, but Glenn took me to this fabulous house in Duluth, and that’s where he proposed. It was so romantic.”

I can’t help being skeptical. “Didn’t you just reconnect, like, last weekend?”

Glenn holds Lishelle close. “It’s been in the making for over ten years.”

“Congratulations,” Adam tells them. “That’s great news.”

“Thanks.”

“What do you do, Glenn?” Adam asks.

“I’m a pilot.”

“Ah. Which airline?”

“All-American Air.”

Adam nods politely, but I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking the airline isn’t big enough and prestigious enough.

“Now you’ll be able to fly anywhere in the country,” I tell Lishelle, hoping Glenn won’t pick up on any of Adam’s snootiness. Really, I love him, but I hate how elitist he can be sometimes.

“That’s just one of the perks I’m looking forward to.” Lishelle separates herself from Glenn to link arms with me. “Where’s Annelise?”

“I haven’t seen her yet.”

“Then we should find her,” Lishelle suggests. She turns to Glenn and offers him her free hand. He gazes deeply into her eyes as he takes it, like a man hopelessly in love.

“I’m going to circulate.” Adam gives me a soft peck on the cheek.

“Oh, all right.” I’m a little disappointed, even though I know Adam’s going to want to make the rounds, thank people for coming out to support the event. “I’ll see you later.”

I force a smile as I turn to Lishelle and Glenn. “Come on. Let’s go find Annelise.”

When I spot Annelise, she’s grabbing a champagne flute off of a sterling-silver tray. No sooner has she taken the drink than she downs it—every last drop.

Something’s wrong.

As I get a little closer, I see that her eyes are red-rimmed. She’s been crying.

Annelise’s eyes light up as she sees us. Releasing Charles’s arm, she floats toward me. We air-kiss, and then she does the same with Lishelle. “Glenn.” Annelise takes his hands in hers. “How nice to see you again!”

She’s a little too bubbly—like she’s had too much to drink.

“We’re engaged!” Lishelle flashes the ring.

“What? That’s so great.” When the tears flow from Annelise’s eyes, I know they’re not for Lishelle and Glenn. I wonder if Lishelle knows that, too.

Saying, “Excuse me,” I link arms with Annelise and pull her aside to a spot where there aren’t many people milling around. “Okay, Annie. What’s going on?”

“I’m so happy for Lishelle—aren’t you?”

“That has nothing to do with why you’re crying. And how much have you had to drink?”

“Just one, I think. Maybe two.”

“Stop lying. You can hardly stand straight. What’s going on?”

Annelise starts to cry discreetly. I take her hand and cross the floor to the bathroom, which is thankfully not more than a hundred yards away.

“…fucking son of a bitch,” a woman is saying as we enter. She’s passing Kleenex to another well-dressed woman, who is also crying.

Drama. There’s always drama in women’s bathrooms.

I lead Annelise to a sofa on the opposite side of the bathroom’s sitting area. “Tell me everything,” I say in a hushed tone.

“I don’t…” Her eyes sweep the bathroom. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”

“Is it serious?” I continue. I hate seeing my friend like this. “That’s what I want to know.”

“It’s just…I was supposed to do a wedding in the morning. But the woman called and canceled when I was already at the church. Said she found her boyfriend making out with a stripper at the bachelor party and she ended things.”

“And you’re this upset about it several hours later?”

“No…I also had a fight with Charles. But I think we’ll be okay,” she adds bravely.

I wrap an arm around her as we sit. When the two other women in the lounge area get up and leave, I immediately ask, “What do you mean you think we’ll be okay. You just had a fight, right? Nothing serious.”

Fresh tears fill Annelise’s eyes. For a moment, she can’t even speak.

“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “Annie, no.”

“He said I’m driving a stake into our marriage, that I’m pushing him away.”

“What?”

“Me—the one who’s always there for him. Always washing his clothes, making sure even his briefs are neatly pressed.”

“You’ve been nothing but a great wife to him.”

“According to him, because I’m doing everything I can to get him in the mood, I’m putting too much pressure on him.” Annelise pauses to blow her nose. Gone are the tears, replaced with a look of defiance. “You know what got him so pissed? That I booked a weekend away for us at that retreat in Arizona. Earlier this week, he told me he’d take some time off. Then I tell him I tentatively booked something for next weekend, and he got upset.”

“Come on.”

“I’m serious. I’m trying to save our marriage, and he got upset. Told me that he’s knee deep in work with the lawsuit, and yeah, I know he is. But he’s got to be able to book some time off, can’t he? He’s not the only one working on that case. Marsha Hindenberg can pick up the slack for one day, can’t she?”

“I agree.” I rub Annelise’s back. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“And it’s not just that. On Tuesday, I made reservations for dinner at his favorite restaurant. I’d called him earlier and he sounded excited about going out. But you know what—he never even made it home. He called from the airport to say he had to go out of town for a couple days.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’m so embarrassed about all of this. Is this my husband or a stranger? I don’t know anymore.”

“You’ll get past this. I know you will.”

“What if we don’t? What if he leaves me?”

“No. Oh my God, no. Listen, there were many times my father left my mother waiting after promising he’d be home at a certain time. Charles has a high-profile career. He’s working on a high-profile case.”

“Then why did he say I’m pushing him away?”

“Couples have arguments like that all the time. Say things they don’t mean.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am. Annie, you had an argument. That’s all.”

Annelise seems to consider my words but doesn’t comment. Instead, she gets to her feet and straightens her buttercup-yellow gown. It looks fantastic on her, highlighting her blond hair.

“We’d better get back out there,” she says.

“You’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she assures me, and thankfully, she does seem fine. “Let me freshen up my makeup, and I’ll be good to go.”

We both spend a couple minutes retouching face powder and lipstick, then we head out the door.

I bump right into someone entering, and offer a quick apology before I see who it is. It’s Arlene Nash, and unlike me, she doesn’t offer an apology. Instead, she gives me the quick once-over, checking out my gown. Her lips turn ever so slightly in a barely noticeable frown.

“Arlene,” I say. I have to admit she looks gorgeous in a form-fitting black gown. I saw the same gown at Fendi and almost bought it myself.

She forces a smile. “How nice to see you, Claudia. How are the wedding plans going?”

“It’s going to be the event of the season.” I can’t help boasting a little. I’ve often heard rumors that Arlene is interested in Adam. When I started dating him, she stopped inviting me to events.

“I can’t wait,” she says, but I don’t believe her.

Arlene continues into the bathroom, followed by a woman I don’t recognize.

“Whoa,” Annelise comments. “She’s a royal bitch, isn’t she?”

“You’ve met her only once and you figured that out.”

“I’m guessing there’s a story there.”

“Yeah, but I won’t bore you with it. Let’s find Charles.”

There’s something electric about Adam when he speaks. Something captivating. He has the power to mesmerize people, make them stop whatever they’re doing and listen to him, just as they are now.

And he’s so natural when he’s speaking before a crowd. It’s obvious to me and anyone who knows him that he should be in the public arena.

“The mother came to me in tears, and told me that the vacation to the Turks and Caicos brought a smile to her son’s face that she hadn’t seen since he’d first become ill. For the first time in a year and a half, he was able to be a child. To laugh and have fun without worry about treatments.” Adam pauses as his eyes move over the crowd. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is why I do what I do. It’s important work. The most important work.” There are nods and hums of agreement. “I thank each and every one of you for coming out tonight to support this great cause. With your help, we’ll make every child in need’s dream come true in Georgia!”

The crowd erupts in applause. I smile at Adam with admiration. He raises a hand in a wave to everyone, then, as the applause dies, makes his way off the stage.

I wrap my arms around him. “That was a great speech, Adam. You knock ’em dead every time.”

“Thank you, babe.”

I’m by his side as he spends time shaking hands. He’s already working the crowd like he’s on the campaign trail.

After several minutes, he takes my hand. “I’ve got to escape for a minute.”

He whisks me away. We hurry across the floor of Atlanta’s prestigious Supper Club. It’s a members-only type club, and you have to be invited to join. Of course, on a night like this, anyone able to pay the ticket price for dinner—the proceeds of which go to the Wishes Come True Foundation—is allowed entry.

I’m about to ask Adam where he’s taking me when he opens the door to what looks like a utility room. He ushers me inside.

Before the door clicks shut, he’s pushing my gown up to my waist. “Adam,” I say cautiously.

“I’ve had enough of everyone out there. I want to eat your pussy.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he’s already pulling my panties down. When he flicks his tongue over me, he moans long and loud, like my nectar is the sweetest thing on earth.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night.”

I know there are five hundred guests just outside that door, but I can’t resist my man. And I don’t really want to. I doubt anyone else will venture into this utility closet, so I feel safe.

His hot tongue laves my clit, and now I’m the one who moans. I grip his shoulders to keep my balance.

I’m in the throes of passion when I hear the door creak open. I jump back so fast, I slip and nearly fall.

“Shit,” I utter, trying to right my dress. It’s then that I realize Adam isn’t hurrying like I am. In fact, he’s still on his knees, smiling as he swipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Adam!” I whisper sharply.

“Relax,” he says, stroking my hand. “I’m expecting company.”

“What?”

“Hello?” someone calls out. A man’s voice.

Now Adam gets to his feet. “Around the corner,” he answers.

My stomach takes a serious nosedive, and my breath leaves me in a rush. “Adam…”

“It’s a surprise, babe.”

Before I can say another word, an attractive white man rounds the corner. A moment later, I recognize him. Jason—the bartender who helped us create our own special drink for our wedding!

“What’s going on here?” I ask. My voice is shaky, and I feel sick. And scared.

“You remember Jason,” Adam answers.

“I remember him, but what’s he doing here?”

Jason moves toward me slowly. His lustful gaze makes me feel dirty. “Think of it as a present.”

My eyes fly to Adam’s. “A present?”

Adam rubs the small of my back. “Uh-huh. It’s okay. Jason enjoys…the lifestyle.”

“The lifestyle?”

“Usually when you swing, you bring a partner, but I was working the bar here—”

“A swinger?” I hiss, glaring at Adam. I look at Jason and say, “Give us a moment, please.”

I take Adam by the hand and pull him out of earshot from Jason. “What the fuck—”

He puts a finger on my lips to shush me. “I thought you wanted to try this.”

“Me? When did I ever tell you that?”

“That night we were at the club. You said you were turned on.”

“With you, yes. But it’s not something I want to try with other people. You want me to be with another man?”

“I didn’t think you were ready to be with another woman. I figured this was safer.”

“Here’s a news flash. I’ll never be with another woman, okay? You’ve been watching too much porn.”

Adam’s gaze wanders beyond me, and his lips curl in a grin. I whip my head around. Jason has his cock out and is stroking himself.

“Oh my God, Adam. He’s some kind of freak.”

“No, he’s just hot for you. He told me that the moment he saw you, he got a hard-on.”

I glare at Adam. “You’ve been smoking up, haven’t you?” Adam doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. I can see it in his eyes. And in this absurd scenario he’s suggested. I can hardly believe that just moments before he gave such an empowering speech.

He covers my breasts, then kisses me. “Relax, baby. You’ve got two guys here to fulfill your every fantasy.”

I don’t understand him. He wants to watch me fuck another guy in this utility room, when there are hundreds of well-dressed, influential people just outside the door?

He nibbles on my ear. “We get married in four weeks.”

“And I don’t want to be doing this kind of shit.” I use a finger to angle his face so that he stares directly into my eyes. “Do you hear me? I am not into the ‘lifestyle’ or ‘swapping’ or whatever you want to call it. I am into you. But I’m not sure you’re into me,” I add, my voice cracking a little.

“Of course I’m into you. Why do you think I want to give you this gift?”

I inhale sharply when fingers skim my neck. I throw a gaze over my shoulder.

Jason smiles as he runs the tips of his fingers down my back. “I love your skin,” he tells me. “It’s so soft.” His hands move lower. “And I love this ass. I wanted to touch you the first moment I saw you.”

I quickly look at Adam. My eyes search his. For what—permission?

“It’s okay.” He plants a gentle kiss on my lips. “You’ll like this.”

Behind me, I feel Jason kiss my butt through my gown. A sexual charge shoots through me.

Oh, God help me.

“I’m not sure—”

“The moment you feel uncomfortable, we’ll stop. Okay?”

My reply is a shaky breath. Then Adam is kissing me, and Jason’s hands are trailing up my thigh…

I’m tense for a good ten seconds—Adam kissing me, Jason stroking my skin. I’m a little surprised that Jason’s fingers feel so…so gentle. Like he’s trying to savor every moment of this. Trying to seduce me.

But I jerk when his fingers graze my clit.

“Relax, baby,” Adam whispers. “Close your eyes.”

“I don’t know, Adam…”

Jason pushes my dress up and kisses my ass. I shudder. Then stiffen. This is disgusting. It’s wrong. Friggin’ twisted. And yet…his touch is strangely erotic.

Electric.

Jason slowly turns me around, and though I can hardly breathe, I don’t fight him. Fingering the lace of my thong, Jason groans with pleasure. “Oh my God, Claudia. What a beautiful pussy.”

I feel a jolt of unexpected heat.

Behind me, Adam unzips my gown. Jason wets his fingers and massages my nub. Adam’s warm lips kiss one of my shoulders as he pulls my dress straps down my arms. Now, my breasts are exposed. And to my shock, my body is thrumming with sexual energy. I’m feeling turned on. My body is excited and alive, reveling in the taboo of having a strange man’s fingers on my pussy.

“Fuck, I want to eat you, Claudia,” Jason rasps. “I want my tongue so far inside you…”

“You’ll like that, baby,” Adam says hotly against my ear as he tweaks my nipples. “You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” The word escapes on its own.

Jason pulls my clit into his mouth, and I gasp. And then I flinch. He’s sucking me so fervently, it’s too intense.

“Softer,” I tell him. “Not so much.”

Jason slows down, gently flicking his tongue now. “Like that?”

“Yes…”

Adam nibbles on my ear while playing with my nipples. “God, baby. You’re so beautiful. So amazing…”

An electrical charge of pleasure zaps me when Jason inserts a finger inside me. And then he starts sucking my clit again, softly this time, and my legs weaken. My breathing grows shallow.

“Yes, baby,” Adam whispers.

I explode, coming hard and panting fast. I close my eyes against the delicious sensations. Adam turns my face to his and kisses me while I ride the wave.

“I love you, baby,” he says. “God, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” And for a moment, I’m in orgasm heaven. But as my carnal bliss subsides, I glance down at Jason, see his smiling face. I’ve just shared the most intimate part of me with a stranger.

Christ, I came in his mouth.

I’m disgusted with myself.

Chapter Eleven
Annelise

It’s Sunday afternoon, the day after the charity fundraiser, and I’m sitting with Lishelle and Claudia at our booth in Liaisons. I’m in a pissy mood and need to bitch.

“I mean, what is wrong with a sexual-wellness spa? Does something seedy happen there—something dirty? Because that’s what Charles implied on the way home last night. Worried that he could tarnish his reputation if people found out we went there. Am I completely clueless? Everything I’ve read says that couples go there to reconnect sexually—and what’s wrong with that?”

Lishelle swallows her mouthful of food, then answers. “Nothing. I would think Charles would jump at the chance to go.”

My own plate of scrambled eggs and bacon is mostly untouched. Instead, I’m sucking back mimosas like I didn’t wake up with a hangover. “I’m beginning to think that even if Charles can get it up, he doesn’t want to.”

“Did you bring up the whole impotency thing?” Lishelle asks.

“I tried. Another brush-off.” I can’t help groaning. “What am I supposed to do—live without a man forever just because I’m married to a guy who doesn’t want to make love to me? We got home last night and I hoped, I prayed he would make a decent effort to get it up. But he went right to bed. Leaving me there in a Dolce & Gabbana gown any other man would have wanted to rip off. I’m not sure I can take much more of this. I need to have sex.”

“I understand your frus—”

“No, you don’t,” I say, cutting Claudia off. “I’m so desperate, I’m considering having an affair.”

Claudia and Lishelle exchange a glance before looking at me again.

“I met someone,” I continue. “He came into my studio. And the way he looked at me…I don’t remember ever feeling so sexually charged just from a look. This guy made me remember that I’m a woman. He made me remember all the times I’ve been hit on in my life. Even by some of my clients’ fiancés—you remember the stories. I used to look in the mirror and see a confident and beautiful woman, but somehow, Charles has taken that from me. I want that back.”

“Wow.” Lishelle pushes her plate of pastries to the side. Claudia suddenly stops chewing her bacon.

“After I met this guy, I went home and used a vibrator for the first time, thinking of him through it all, and I had the best orgasm.”

“Aren’t vibrators fucking great?” Lishelle asks. “I’ve been telling you for years to buy one.”

“I thought that would be enough,” I say sadly, “but it wasn’t.”

“So now you want to have sex with him?” Claudia asks, sounding a little shocked.

A beat passes before I answer. “I’m not sure. I thought I wanted that, but then I ripped up his card, so I have no way to contact him. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Lishelle asks.

“He came in with his younger brother and the brother’s fiancée. They said they want to hire me, but they haven’t been back, so who knows?”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Claudia comments.

“You think I shouldn’t have an affair?”

Claudia holds her forkful of eggs before her mouth. “If you want my honest opinion, no. But I’m about to get married.”

“Yeah,” Lishelle says. “You’re still in that blissful stage. When everything about marriage seems wonderful and perfect.”

“And what about you, Miss Suddenly Engaged to your first love.”

“I’m just saying—I was married, and it wasn’t always wonderful, and the sad reality is that yes, some people have affairs.” Now Lishelle faces me. “I am in no way saying you should have an affair. But then, that’s not my decision to make. If things are rough with Charles and you’ve tried all you can and you need to get some sex on the side…” She shrugs. “I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

“Wonders never cease,” Claudia mutters.

“Annelise is a grown woman, and we’re not her parents. We’re her friends.”

As Lishelle and Claudia banter back and forth about what’s morally right, my mind drifts to Dominic. I can’t stop thinking about him. Even last night, when I was so pissed with Charles about Arizona, I began comforting myself with thoughts of Dominic. I’ll bet he wouldn’t balk at the idea of going to a sex spa. I’ll bet he couldn’t pack his bags fast enough.

That’s exactly what I imagined last night as Charles lay with his back to me, snoring. I thought of me and Dominic walking into a magnificent room at a resort tucked away in an Arizona desert, with a fire already going in the living room’s fireplace. Of course, there was a bottle of champagne chilling, and excited, Dom took my hand and hurried into the room with me. We both laughed like teenagers. Then he scooped me in his arms and twirled me around, and I clung to him, knowing that within minutes we’d be naked and having the best sex of our lives.

In my dream, once the twirling stopped, Dominic laid a heavy kiss on me, his tongue twisting with mine. I grabbed at his shirt, ripping it in my haste to get it off. Then I went for his jeans, unzipping them and shimmying them down his hips with his briefs. I moaned in delight at the sight of his penis—large and solid and angling to my right.

I took it in my hands, stroked him as I kissed the tip. Stroked him as I added my tongue, tasting the flavor of salt. Then I ran my tongue in circles around the top of his cock.

“Christ, Annie…”

Pressing my fingers into his ass, I took him into my mouth as far as I could. In and out I moved around him the way my pussy would.

Dominic tangled his fingers in my hair. “I can’t take this. I don’t want to come yet.”

He tugged me to my feet and pulled my simple black dress over my head. When he saw I was wearing nothing underneath, not even panties, his eyes roamed over me with heated appreciation. Then he kicked off his jeans and dropped to his knees, giving me not even a moment to catch my breath as he sucked my clit into his mouth and devoured it with his hot tongue.

With Charles beside me, it was too risky to get the vibrator, but I pushed two fingers as far as I could inside my body with one hand, while with the other I massaged my nub until I was panting.

“Oh, Dom…”

I stole a quick glance at Charles, wondering if my moans had wakened him. They hadn’t.

I slipped another finger into my pussy, imagining Dominic pushing his tongue inside me as far as he could go. I imagined gripping his head, staring into his eyes as he twirled his hot tongue over my clit.

And, fuck, I started to come. I had to bite down on my bottom lip to quiet my moans, certain I’d wake Charles.

But Charles never stirred.

“Annelise!” I feel an urgent slap on my hand.

“Huh?” I say, confused for a moment as to where I am. And then I remember. I’m with my friends. In a restaurant. And I’ve just wet my panties remembering my hot fantasy of last night with Greek God, Dominic.

“You look totally flushed,” Claudia says. “Are you all right?”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Holy shit, I can’t believe I just zoned out like that. Here! And now I have to scramble to remember what we were talking about.

“You do look a little…something,” Lishelle tells me.

I take a huge gulp of my drink. And then I remember. We were discussing the pros and cons of me cheating with Dominic. Of course, I already have—in my mind.

“I’m probably all talk, anyway,” I assure Claudia. I drag a hand over my face in an attempt to regain my composure. I really am flushed. “There’s a big part of me that believes I’ll burn in hell for even thinking I might want to have an affair.”

“Maybe you should try something else, but still drastic,” Claudia counters.

I look at Claudia. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like…like going to a swingers’ club or something. That ought to get Charles’s attention.”

“A swingers’ club?” Lishelle jerks her head in Claudia’s direction so fast it’s a wonder her neck doesn’t break. “Where did that come from?”

“Yeah, where did that come from?” I echo, though I remember Claudia telling me about Adam’s craving for weird sex these days.

Claudia gulps her mimosa before speaking. “It was just…I saw something on HBO about swingers’ clubs a while ago. Just an idea. Something different.”

“I have a hard enough time trying to get Charles to have sex with me,” I point out. “I don’t want to watch him get hot and bothered for anyone else.”

“Of course. Forget I even said it.”

“Honestly, it’s not like there’s anything I haven’t tried. I even rented porn in hopes that it would turn him on. He didn’t even stay up to watch it with me.”

“That would get Adam off,” Claudia mutters.

“Do you think he’s having an affair?” Lishelle asks me point blank. “Because when David stopped having sex with me—” Lishelle stops speaking, her eyes narrowing as she turns to Claudia. I look at her, too. She’s quietly crying.

“Okay,” Lishelle says. “What’s going on, babe?”

“I’m being testy and miserable, and it has nothing to do with you, Annie.”

“I’m not mad at you, honey,” I tell her. “Please don’t cry.”

“That’s not it.”

“It’s not about the dresses, is it?” Lishelle asks. “Because if you want violet—”

“It’s not the dresses.” Claudia blows her nose in her napkin.

“I’m starting to worry here, Claudia,” I tell her.

“I did something last night,” Claudia begins quietly. “And I feel so awful. So dirty. But Adam ambushed me with this. He told me how much it would turn him on if I did it.” Claudia squeezes her eyes shut. “Oh, God…”

My heart is racing, that’s how concerned I am for her. “What, hon? What did he make you do?”

Claudia inhales a deep breath, and glances around to make sure no one is within earshot. “After his speech, he took me to some utility room. He wanted to make out, like he always does. And that was fine. He gets off doing it in risqué places. But then…”

“What?” Lishelle asks.

Claudia sniffles. “Then some guy comes in. No, not just some guy—the bartender I told you about who helped us make our own personal drink for our wedding?”

I nod. “Right.”

“Apparently this guy was working the party last night. And Adam arranged for him to meet us in the utility room so we could have a threesome.”

I’m so stunned by Claudia’s words, it’s like there’s no one else in the restaurant. All the noises I’d been aware of moments before—laughter and chatting and a baby crying—it doesn’t exist anymore, I’m so focused on this situation with Claudia.

Lishelle is the first one to speak. “You had sex with a stranger?”

“I didn’t let him…do that. He…he played with me. Fondled me. Ate my pussy in a serious way.”

Lishelle gasps. “Some strange man went down on you?”

“Twice,” Claudia admits shamefully. “The first time, I came quickly. You know—because Adam was touching my nipples. The guy—Jason—said he wanted to do it again, wanted me to really savor it.”

“Holy shit,” Lishelle exclaims.

“Believe me, Lishelle, I’m not proud of myself. It would have been one thing if I wanted to do it, but Adam was pressuring me, and then Jason started touching me…”

I have no clue what to say. The first thing that pops into my mouth is, “Did you enjoy it?”

Claudia’s gaze bounces from Lishelle to me. “Not really, no. Well, I don’t know. I guess…maybe. After he figured out how I liked it. At first he was chomping away on me and I kept telling him to slow down. It was like, ‘Hello, I still need that in the future!’”

“I’m speechless,” I say. “I really am.”

“I didn’t want to enjoy it, but it was a tongue on my clit and he was cute. I thought that the first time I saw him. There’s no doubt I was physically attracted to him, but I don’t go around fucking every guy I’m physically attracted to.”

“Adam was excited?” I ask.

“I’ve never seen Adam so turned on in all my life. Jason’s got his tongue so far inside me, and when I glance at Adam, he’s jerking off.”

Lishelle’s eyes widen in surprise. “Holy. I can’t believe Adam wanted to share you with some other guy.”

Claudia downs the last of her mimosa. “Adam’s sexual appetite lately is out of control. I don’t know what’s going on with him.” She pauses. “Do you guys hate me?”

“Hate you? No,” I assure her. “We don’t hate you, and I certainly can’t judge you. And hey, this is the new millennium. I know there are lots of people out there who swap partners, and they’re happy.”

“But I don’t want that to be me. I told Adam that. I’m not into all that crazy stuff. I just want Adam. Please don’t ask me any details about what I’m about to say, but he took me to a swingers’ club a couple weeks back—shocked me with that, too. And no, we didn’t swap partners. We watched, fooled around…But after last night, I had to put my foot down. Tell him this kind of thing is not okay with me. He swore last night was the last of it, that he wanted to live out some fantasies before we got married and he’s satisfied now.”

“And you believe him?” Lishelle asks.

“I have to. Beside, there’s no way when we’re married that I’m going to be saying okay to anything like this. I’m sick to my stomach admitting any of this to both of you.”

“Maybe he’s freaking over the wedding more than you realized,” Lishelle says. “Some guys see marriage as the end of their sexual freedom. It doesn’t make sense, I know.”

“I give him everything he wants when it comes to sex. Everything. I should be enough, shouldn’t I?”

“Of course you should,” I agree.

“Should is one thing. Reality is another.” Lishelle shakes her head. “Look at how David was screwing around on me. And that was a happy man when it came to our sex life. Sometimes, you just can’t figure men out.”

“And despite being burned, you’re willing to get married again?” I ask.

Lishelle smiles, an ear-to-ear grin. “Fucking right I am. I have no doubts. Glenn’s different, ya know? We go way back. Whether he’s been in my life or not he’s always been in my heart.” She sighs happily. “What can I say—the man’s my soul mate.”

“I’m going to live vicariously through you,” I announce. “You’re totally in love, having great sex—right?”

“The best.”

“It’s a good thing I love you or I’d want to slap you right about now.” I smile sweetly. “You’re just so…happy.”

“That’s what love does to you. And Annie, if you get laid anytime soon, you’ll be smiling like this, as well. It had been two years for me.”

“I know. That’s why I can’t hate you.”

“Well, I can,” Claudia interjects. But a smile is tugging at her lips. “You’re stealing my thunder, girl. It’s my wedding that’s four weeks away.”

Lishelle mimes running a zipper across her lips. “No more about Glenn. For the next four weeks, it’s all about you and all about that fabulous wedding that will be the talk of the town for years to come.”

Finally, the smile reaches Claudia’s eyes.

“And that dress.” Lishelle lets out a low whistle. “I know it’s going to be spectacular.”

“For two hundred thousand, it’s got to be.” Claudia beams. “A one-of-a-kind Vera Wang.”

“Fit for a princess,” I tell her.

“Which she is,” Lishelle adds. “A Black-American Princess.”

“Enough already, guys. Stop.”

“The point is,” Lishelle begins, “you’re going to have a fabulous wedding.”

“I will, won’t I?”

“Of course you will.” I pat Claudia’s hand. “And then you and Adam are going to have a wonderful life, with lots of babies.”

“Ten,” Lishelle interjects.

“Ten!” Claudia exclaims.

“How ever many you want,” I say. “And you’re going to be happy forever and ever. I promise.”

THE GAMES BEGIN

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