Kathleen O'Reilly - Just Kiss Me

He studied her over his bottle. “Who are you?”

Tough question. “I don’t know the answer to that yet, but I’m not happy with who I am now.”

He took a sip and swallowed. “Thought you’d be over the moon. Making the big bucks, an upstanding young doctor who wants to marry you, you’re smart and beautiful. What’s not to be happy about?”

“How did you learn to be happy with who you are?”

He did grin this time. “You mean, me, the poor airplane mechanic?”

Oh, right. “You’re not poor.”

“Maybe not poor, but I don’t make half the money you do, honey.” He didn’t sound like he was joking.

“Really?” She shook her head, not letting him divert her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Why do you think I know the answer?” he shot back.

“Because you do. Aren’t you happy with who you are?”

Joe shrugged. “Most of the time.”

Most. Surprise number two. She leaned forward, wanting to pry, and he shook his head and picked up the tape. “So, are we really supposed to watch this?”

The easy contentment was back, that quiet peace that made her want to see if his heart was still beating, if his blood could still run so hot. “Unless there’s something else you want to do?” She looked at him, trying a sultry, provocative stare, but ended up blushing furiously. Darn. She did not blush well.

Joe watched her for a minute, and tension snapped in the air. Finally he stood and slipped the tape in the VCR. The clock on his VCR was not blinking. She was impressed.

“You sure you don’t want something to drink? Water, beer, cola.”

Amanda started to refuse, but then changed her mind. “Beer.” After all, the purpose of this exercise was to let her hair down a bit. She put a hand to the clip at the back of her head and pulled it free, trying to get eliminate that little bump you get with clip-hair.

Again Joe watched her. Finally he nodded. “I’ll get your beer.”

While he was gone, she kicked off her sandals, and curled up on the couch. Okay, this was neat. When she was a kid and lived in Queens, she could lie down on the couch. But that all changed after her Dad’s big promotion. Her parents now lived in an old renovated farmhouse in Vermont with antiques. No lying down on those things.

A few minutes later he appeared and placed the beer on the coffee table in front of her, and then looked rather determinedly at the television.

“Could you dim the lights a bit?” she asked.

He jerked his head in her direction, and she shrugged apologetically. “You know, in case Avery shows up.”

He stood, flipped the light switch, the room turning a deep shade of indigo, the last bit of sun long gone. Joe sat down, looked more determined than ever.

Progress. She crossed her legs at the ankles.

The movie was good. A great mystery, and some very steamy love scenes. She wasn’t brave enough to stare meaningfully at Joe during the intimate moments, but she did peek out of the corner of her eye. His jaw looked pretty tight, and there was a bead of sweat on his upper lip.

She shifted a little on the couch, and crossed her legs a little tighter.

When the intercom buzzed, they both jumped. Joe shut off the TV quickly and the room went dark.

Amanda looked at the clock. Eleven-twenty? Already? Gee, time flew when you were watching smut, um, art. “That’s Avery, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Joe answered.

Avery. Show time. Amanda looked at Joe, shirt untucked, chest untouched, and she glanced down at her own still-ironed look. Even the couch, with all its comfortableness, couldn’t lose the starch.

Great. “We don’t look like we’ve been doing anything.”

Joe cut his eyes towards her. “Usually women just get this look. Some sort of aura.”

She wanted to laugh, but darn it, she needed to think. This was important to get right. “No. Joe, remember this is supposed to be torrid. You need to look like you can’t stand one minute without touching me. Remember,” she stressed the words, “Avery needs to think he doesn’t have a chance.”

The doorbell rang and Joe lowered his voice to a furious whisper. “This was your idea. What are we supposed to do? Get a little down and dirty on the carpet and just let Avery walk in?”

She looked at the carpet and got a nice visual and decided right then and there that someday indeed she would indeed get down and dirty on the carpet with him.

The doorbell rang, longer this time.

“I’m coming. Just a minute,” Joe yelled, still standing several feet away from her, looking completely untorrid.

Amanda took a step toward him. “Look, if this were a real date, what would Avery expect to find?” She wanted to know exactly what was the current fashion for flagrante delicto.

His smile was slow, but smoky. “Babe, if this were real, you’d be lucky to have your socks.”

She drowned in the absolute hedonistic waters of his eyes and forgot all about her socks. Socks. Heavens. She looked down at her bare feet. She didn’t have on socks, did she? She shook her head free of lust. Not now. “Okay, here, let me button my shirt up wrong.”

She attacked her buttons, Avery now knocking politely but firmly at the door. Well, he could just wait. Very efficiently, she undid the tiny pearl buttons, popping them free. She pulled the stiff cotton material free of her skirt and made the rather huge mistake of looking at Joe.

Her fingers froze. His eyes were leveled on the black satin bra she wore underneath her shirt. Okay, her chest was a little small, but she liked to think of herself as pert.

The way Joe was looking right now, as if she were edible, she was beginning to like pert. Okay, she was beginning to love pert, but she really did need to move her fingers. Unfortunately, every bit of her was paralyzed.

Joe found his tongue, his voice a little hoarse. “You need to button up some of those buttons. I don’t think Avery needs to see you looking like that.”

She almost reminded him that that was exactly the point, but decided now was not the time to argue. She fumbled for a bit, but the button-loops had mysteriously shrunk two sizes too small, and her hands had grown much more clumsy.

With a muttered curse, he brushed her hands aside and began the task himself.

“Joe, you’re buttoning them up right!”

His hands froze. Right on top of her breasts. Oh.

He swore again. One of those fun New Jersey expressions, and then began muttering to himself. “Joe, concentrate. Joe, your brother is at the door.” His thumb brushed against her skin.

She jumped. “Joe, you’re talking to yourself.”

The doorbell rang, longer this time.

Joe looked up, eyes bright with lust. “Don’t talk to me right now. I need to just button these damn buttons. What do you have, a million of these tiny things? I told you I don’t handle celibacy well.”

“How long has it been?” she asked, trying to distract both of them.

“A week.”

She groaned.

He gritted his teeth and his finger brushed against her nipple.

She gasped.

Her nipples grew even perkier, clearly visible under the black silk. Joe’s breathing turned shallow.

Oh.

Not knowing what else to do, she apologized. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped messing with her buttons and focused on her face. A flush ran under his skin, and she noticed where the shadow of whiskers clung to his jaw. Her fingers lifted, wanting to touch.

“For what?”

She started to explain that she was apologizing for her nipples and his breathing problem, but realized this was not what a sultry, provocative seductress would do. That is, here she stood, her breasts in his hand, well, almost, and surely she could think of something.