Going All the Way. Tanya Michaels
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helps save on groceries. The free meals came at a fortuitous time. With the recent lull in business, it was nice to have dinner out without worrying about funds, but it was a forcible reminder that she and David lived different realities. It wasn’t just the finances, though, or their upbringings; they moved in opposing cultural circles. He went to the opera, she went to local bars to hear her struggling guitarist friend. David had gone for his MBA with the determination to make even more of himself than his birthright gave him, and Serena had studied business to get a good idea of what the rules were before she broke them.
When he’d kissed her last summer, she’d been stunned. There’d always been the occasional flirtatious undercurrent to their conversations, but until that day and the surprising sparks that had combusted between them, she hadn’t truly thought he was attracted to her. Romantically, they didn’t make sense. As friends, he could tease her good-naturedly about the artistic way she’d decorated her various apartments because he didn’t have to live in any of them, and she could cluck her tongue over the hellacious hours he worked because she wasn’t one of the girlfriends he cancelled on to do so—she’d had enough of that on the weekends her father was supposed to take her, thank you very much.
Even without the excruciating ordeal of her parents’ divorce, Serena had enough sense to know she wasn’t David’s type. That Tiffany he’d started mentioning a few months ago sounded perfect for him. Yes, but she’s in Boston, and they broke up. You are here with David.
The knock at the door was a merciful interruption. She might be spending the day with David, but only because she was doing a favor for a friend. No different than spending a day with Alyson.
Except she didn’t fantasize about Aly.
She crossed the hardwood floor, away from the windows and toward the door that opened into what had once been a junior-high hallway. In the part of the building where they’d housed the management offices, there were still some of the original lockers.
“Morning.” David greeted her with a smile and a white paper sack that emanated delicious aromas. He looked even more delicious.
“You brought breakfast.”
“I told you I was going to,” he answered, shifting his weight from foot to foot, as though wondering why he was still standing in the hall.
“Yes, but I thought…” Crowds, onlookers, public ordinances against her ripping off his long-sleeved red T-shirt and Dockers. She really, really needed to talk to the super about fixing her air-conditioning. “I’m sorry, come in.”
He entered, but didn’t head for the green-and-rose kitchen that sat below her loft-style bedroom at the other end of the apartment. Instead, he paused, glancing at her with those unbelievable sky-blue eyes. “I hope you don’t mind my making a unilateral decision, but I saw that breakfast burrito vendor you liked so much was still in business and figured it would be a fun surprise.”
“You are just full of those,” she muttered.
His gaze held hers. “You aren’t exactly predictable yourself, Serena.”
Was he referring to the fact that they’d made love, or the fact that she was adamantly opposed to it happening again? Less adamantly every second that passed, she admitted to herself. Her body had remained in a ripe, sensitized half-aroused state ever since he’d set foot in her office yesterday, and now she wondered if she would have made things easier on herself if she’d tried to alleviate some of this building pressure when she’d been in the shower. Too late now.
Unless she asked him to help alleviate it.
She swallowed, then jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the forest-green countertop of the breakfast bar that served as a room divider. “I—I have juice in the fridge. I might even have some coffee.”
He grimaced, but his gaze was still affectionate. Heatedly so. “No offense, but your coffee’s horrible. I grabbed some on the way over.”
Pivoting on the blocky high heel of one sandal, she told herself she’d scarf down her food and get them out of here.
David followed at a slower pace, taking in the surroundings. “You’ve changed some stuff.”
“Here and there. I wanted some new decorative touches, but the major furniture’s all the same.” Good thing she was skilled at creatively redecorating on a budget. And the orange-framed acrylic pieces she had on display not only livened up the high white walls, they allowed her to help her friend Craig without it seeming too much like charity.
“Glad to see you still have the couch,” David told her, his voice husky with remembrance.
She froze reaching for juice, caught between the heat of her own memories and the welcoming blast of cold air that came from the fridge. Even now, every moment she and David had spent together that night was as vivid as her favorite Matisse painting—they’d barely shut the front door behind them when David had pulled her into that first startling, sizzling kiss. Then, when they’d managed to shimmy out of the majority of their sodden clothes, they’d made it as far as the bright purple velour sofa.
She struggled for a light tone, not daring to look out in his direction. “Oh, come on. You always made fun of that couch.”
When he spoke again, his voice was so close, she jumped. “I’ve developed a new appreciation for it.”
Straightening fast enough to give herself a head rush, she clutched the gallon of orange juice to her and leveled a reproachful glance in his direction. “You startled me.”
“Sorry.” He grinned. “I didn’t exactly tiptoe in here, so you must’ve really been lost in thought.”
The tiny room that she’d decorated to be evocative of a garden was nowhere near big enough for her, David and her peace of mind.
“If you want to have a seat,” she suggested, “I can bring the juice out.”
He took a step—in the wrong direction—and shrugged. “I like being in here.”
Leaning past her, bringing his body so close it almost brushed hers, he stretched up to open the cabinet over her shoulder and pulled down two glasses. Serena held her breath, paralyzed in front of the refrigerator, mesmerized by how easy it would be to touch him. To live out the fantasy she’d been craving for the past nine months.
He set the glasses on the counter and lowered his voice. “I like being with you.”
His words warmed her more than they should have, and she closed her eyes for a second as she stole a guilty moment to savor the sentiment. When he’d last been here, she’d not only liked being with him, she hadn’t been able to get enough of him. She’d never been so insatiable with any lover, before or since. Would it still be that way between them?
Almost as if she’d asked the question aloud, he groaned in response. Serena felt him take the juice out of her hand and heard it land on the counter with a dull thud.
“Serena.” The warmth of his breath was soft on her face, and he ran his thumb along the curve of her lower lip, skin so sensitive the caress almost tickled. It was all she could do not to catch the pad of his thumb with her teeth. “Look at me, honey.”
Forgetting to breathe, she did as he asked, knowing he was about to kiss her. Wanting him to kiss her. She’d spent hours thinking about this very thing—not just during her hot sleepless night, but ever since he’d flown back to Boston last summer.
His gaze melted with hers, and he sucked in his own breath, his expression almost one of agony. Maybe he was afraid she’d push him away. As if that were even possible. Her entire body was starving for him.
She laced her fingers behind his neck and pulled him to her. His lips met hers eagerly, and the moment his tongue slid into her mouth, she felt dizzy with joy. This was what she’d longed for. This was what she’d remembered, what had kept her awake on nights she should’ve been missing Patrick but hadn’t.
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