Jennifer Greene - Pink Satin

“Greer…” He took a very careful breath, eyes on her face. “You’re upset because I interfered. I don’t blame you, but try to understand. I didn’t want to go behind your back, but I knew damn well you’d say no if I asked you ahead of time.”

“You bet I’m upset. And as I said, I’d like to talk with you, McCullough. Like in an hour. Your place.”

“Greer…”

She turned on her heel, whirled into her apartment and locked the door. Truce screamed. She opened the door, let the cat bound in and relocked it.

Her heart shifted promptly into race, as though a computer button had suddenly been turned on. She flipped off one shoe, then the other, then padded barefoot toward the bathroom, unbuttoning her shirtwaist dress as she went. The pale lavender cotton dropped somewhere in the hall, and she left it there. By the time she turned on the shower taps, she was wearing only bra and pants, and she stripped those off as the shower warmed up.

Ten minutes later, she stepped out, fiercely rubbed her hair with a towel until it was half dry, then used a blow dryer and brush to do the rest. Naked, she walked to her bedroom and bent down over her lowest dresser drawer.

It was there. The cream lace on pink satin negligee. Her quick-quick movements slowed abruptly. Her fingers took the time to caress the soft fabric before she drew it out. Really, Greer. This is terribly out of character.

And her heart was suddenly beating erratic rhythms. Old ghost rhythms.

For so long, she’d valued the safe niche she’d carved out for herself in her relationships with men. “Safe” was being a friend, not a lover. “Safe” meant caretaking and playing with men only when she was in control. “Safe” had been convincing herself that that was what she was as a woman, and all she was and wanted to be.

Ray had blown her definitions of “safe” off the map.

Ryan had made her see what she wanted and needed for herself as a woman.

Slowly, she slipped the satin over her head, and with a whisper it draped itself over her body and fell in long, sleek lines to the floor. Ryan had taught her a lesson in honesty. Now it was up to her to put his teachings into practice.

Fingers suddenly trembling, she drew on the cream lace peignoir that matched the negligee, and caught her reflection in the mirror. A boldly sexual woman stared back at her. An alluring woman. Her breasts were barely covered by the cobwebby bodice; she could see the dark tips of her nipples. Lower, she could even see the indentation of her navel: satin did show everything. Every curve, each line of her bottom and thighs, even the small raised mound that was the woman of her.

She sprayed perfume on her throat, then between her breasts and, with wildly shaking fingers, between her thighs. The perfume cooled, raising goose bumps on her skin. Leaning over the dresser, she brushed an almost imperceptible layer of mascara on her lashes and a subtle blush on her cheeks, then bit her lips to make them red.

Even watching herself in the mirror brought color to her cheeks, and she left the room in a rush, making it all the way to the door before she realized her palms were damp from nerves. Impatiently, she backtracked to the kitchen, dried her hands determinedly on a towel and rubbed some cream on them. It didn’t make any particular sense to apply lotion to damp hands, but Greer wasn’t acting rationally at the moment.

Old ghosts had to be exorcised. There was a man across the hall who seemed to think she was a sexually vibrant woman. Mostly because he’d brought out that side of her the night before. She’d been a participant then, not an aggressor, and that was the difference. Life just refused to be easy.

She opened the door, crossed the hall, took a huge breath and knocked on her neighbor’s door.

The door opened instantly. Ryan had his sleeves rolled up and a drink in his hand. He’d obviously run his fingers through his hair over and over, because that cinnamon-colored mane was impossibly tousled. Worry lines were etched around his deeply troubled eyes, and his mouth was parted to say something immediately when he caught sight of her. Caught sight of all of her.

His mouth abruptly closed. He leaned out into the hall and looked one way, then the other. Seeing no one else, he abruptly pulled her inside and out of sight, then slammed the door behind her and put his drink down on a table.

She hadn’t breathed yet, not in about the past five minutes as far as she could remember. Ryan leaned against the door, that frantically worried look only gradually leaving his face as his eyes slowly skidded over her body from throat to toe. And then again. And then again.

When his eyes finally traveled up to hers, they were sky blue, bottomless blue, and filled with love. Greer desperately, desperately wanted that love, but what she’d anticipated seeing in his eyes was desire. She had not expected him to shake his head with a scolding grin. “You knew damn well I was worried as hell when I walked in and you jumped me. I thought you were angry.”

“I was angry. With me.” Because he’d touched her. And she’d never touched him. Not the right way. Not in a way that honestly expressed how much she wanted him. Not in a way that told him she felt out of control and lustily wanton like some primal Eve when he kissed her, when he made love to her. And that really loving him meant finding the courage to express those feelings. She moved forward slowly, her eyes not on his face but on his top shirt button.

It had to go. So did the next. So did the next. He stood very still while she pressed slow, nuzzling kisses on his throat and neck. She pulled the shirt out of his waistband while still kissing him. And as she pushed it off his shoulders, she rubbed her breasts seductively against his bare skin. The feeling of Ryan’s warm flesh against her satin-and-lace-clad body was…delightful. Dangerously delightful.

For the first time in her life she was in the mood to court danger.

His shirt dropped to the floor. Her tongue lapped at the tiny flat nub on the right side of his chest; her fingers fumbled with his belt. It wouldn’t give. She felt his hand trying to nudge hers aside and murmured, “No. Let me.”

His belt buckle simply wouldn’t give. But finally she loosened it, and then unfastened the waistband of his pants, her lips still trailing kisses on his bare chest. She stopped then, simply to rub against him again, her arms around his neck and her fingers sneaking slowly into his hair. The satin made a small sliding sound, like a whisper, every time there was the slightest friction between the two bodies. Greer was fascinated, creating more friction. And both bodies seemed to be growing warmer.

Ryan said nothing. She would probably have died if he had. He stood so absolutely still, while her fingers lightly slipped down his sides and slid inside his pants, beneath the waistband of his shorts, seeking bare, intimate flesh, finding it. She tried a love bite on his shoulder and marveled at how he responded. So many things she had to know. So many things she wanted to learn about him, instantly.

Her whole body was willing to continue that slow exploration-except for her knees. There was something wrong with her knees. They just didn’t want to stand up anymore. Slowly, she raised her eyes to his and murmured softly, “One of us seems to be having a problem with heavy breathing.” She hesitated, and then added shakily, “Me.”

“A penny for them.”

Greer glanced at Ryan next to her and smiled, fluffing the pillow behind her as she shifted to a slightly more comfortable position against the headboard. Her body was bare, and so was Ryan’s. The negligee was really in a rather bedraggled heap on the floor; but then, lingerie was the fantasy. Making love, she would never tire of discovering, was real. “I was just wondering,” she said pensively, “whether or not I should ask you to marry me.”