More Than Friends (Kingsley #4) (13 page)

Twenty minutes later, Michael and Sherry were both showered and lying together in his bed. She had turned toward him, propping her head up on one hand as she traced circles on his stomach with the other, her red hair falling in pools around them. He brought one arm down behind her, using his fingertips to echo on her back the circles she was still making on his stomach. “You’re still on your birth control, right?”

She sighed, pausing. “You know I am, Michael. I’m not the kind of girl who takes that kind of risk. I know what happens when you let someone into your life in a permanent way, and –” She shrugged, lifting her hand from his stomach and lying back beside him. “Babies? Those are definitely permanent. And I don’t do permanent.” She brought her eyes up to meet his, her eyebrows slightly arched. “I thought you didn’t anymore, either.”

“Maybe I could,” Michael answered, lowering his eyes. He turned toward her, circling one pink nipple with a gentle fingertip; it stiffened responsively at his touch, and he smiled.

“How could you trust anyone again, after what you’ve been through? I would think you’d understand where I’m coming from on this.”

Michael dipped his head and passed his tongue over her nipple, moving his hand to her other breast. “I could, maybe,” he murmured. She gasped as he closed his mouth over her flesh, and he slipped his hand down her stomach, circling the dip of her belly button before sliding lower. “You saying you’ll never trust anyone? Not ever?” he asked. Sherry groaned softly, squirming as he kissed the insides of her thighs. She was proud of her body, and she lay calmly while he raised his face and looked up at her over the length of her naked torso, hiding nothing from him. Still looking into her eyes, he poked his tongue out and lapped at her, making her groan. “You won’t even trust
me
at some point? No one?”

“What would I wanna go and do that for?” she asked. “I haven’t ever trusted anyone who didn’t hurt me. After a while, you figure out it’s not them, it’s you.”

He blew over the damp folds of her sex, and she opened her thighs to give him access. He smiled as he heard her breath quicken in anticipation, but raised an eyebrow at her as he said, “What’s that mean? It’s not them, it’s you?”

Sherry reached for his head, urging him to lower his face. He lapped at her obligingly, sweeping his tongue over her clit. He grinned, amused, as she spoke around halting breaths. “Yeah. Uunng … it’s me … oh, God … it’s … aaahh … my expectations.” She sighed heavily as he closed his mouth over her and sucked gently, but spoke again as he drew circles around her clit with his tongue. “It’s … oh … it’s easier to … God, don’t stop, Michael … it’s easier … to get … disappointed … if you expect things.”

Slipping a finger between her folds, he glanced up, smirking. “So, what? You think it’s that easy?”

She bucked slightly as he added a second finger, moving them slowly inside her from fingertip to knuckle and back again. “It works … for me,” she whispered. “Has for … years. All I ask … is not to be one of many.”

“That’s an expectation.” Stroking one last time with his tongue as his fingers quickened their rhythm, Michael turned his head and reached to kiss the pulse beating in the crease of her bikini line.

“No,” she moaned, shaking her head. “It’s an arrangement. You agree, I agree.” She hissed softly as Michael bit the tender flesh of her inner thigh and then turned back to flick his thumb over her clit. “Oh, God, Michael! Don’t stop.”

He curled the finger inside her, stroking, watching as she writhed. “Arrangement,” he murmured. “That’s it, an arrangement? With terms, not expectations?”

“Mmhmm.” She licked her lips, bucking her hips against his hand. “And when the parties – aaah … right there, Michael. Don’t stop … uuhhn … when the parties no longer agree, then … Aah! Then you –“

“Just break it off?”

She nodded, her red hair rustling against the pillows. She rocked her hips sharply against his hand, bringing her own hands up to grasp her breasts. Michael worked her steadily, his fingers still lost in the wetness of her body; he watched her fingernails flash against her skin as she pinched her nipples.

“So … you wouldn’t trust me, either?”

“No,” she breathed. “That’s … the arrangement, Michael.” She turned her head from side to side, her hands fisting in the sheets. She whispered his name again, clutching his head; he braced his hands against her inner thighs and used his thumbs to spread her folds as he dipped his tongue inside her body, tasting her.

She didn’t speak again for a while, unable to form coherent thoughts as he pleasured her with his mouth. But as he rose above her and slipped a hand between them to guide himself into the warmth of her body, she met his eyes again. “I won’t give you that, Michael. Just this. And this is all it’ll ever be.”

Refusing to answer, he lowered his face and nipped the curve of her shoulder as he sank into her. They rocked together, slick body against slick body, and as she cried out with her release, Michael tried to ignore the nagging pit of longing in his stomach. Propped up on his forearms, he curled himself into her body, driving himself deeper as she scraped her nails down his back. He crashed into her again, and she gasped his name as he buried himself fully, groaning as he emptied inside her.

Collapsed against her throat, he heard her whisper quietly, “This is all though, Michael.”

The words set off a warning bell in his head, and he rolled away, sighing. He could see the moon through the windows of the balcony doors – the last time he’d watched the moon off the balcony, he’d been watching Renee, too. He sat up on the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands, trying to sort through his thoughts. Sherry waited silently and when he turned back, she was toying quietly with the ends of her hair. She glanced over at him and her mouth tightened slightly, as if she were steeling herself to some unseen battle; he closed his eyes and turned back to the windows. “What if I want something more?” he asked.

She shrugged, and he felt the bed move as she sat up too. “So, you want more. Fine. But do you want it with me?”

“I don’t know, Sher,” Michael answered. “Maybe?”

He glanced over, watched her breasts rise and fall as she sighed. “Well, it doesn’t matter, because I can’t offer any more than this,” she said, turning away. He watched her stand, stretching her arms toward the ceiling; her breasts stood out proudly from her body, slick with sweat, and the cherry blossom branch tattooed down her side writhed with her movement.

“This is really all you want?” he asked, suddenly angry. He stood to face her, throwing his arms wide in a gesture that encompassed the messy bed between them. “You’re okay with just being some guy’s Saturday night fuck? That’s it?”

Sherry’s mouth fell open in surprise and her eyes widened, the blue irises going icy as she stared back at him. “That’s what I am, Michael. I’m not Sunday brunch and Christmas dinner, alright? Look at me, I’m a bartender who gets her kicks with a drunk that only comes in when he’s lonesome. I’m not good morning beautiful, Michael, and I know that.” Flinging out her arms, she sighed and then crossed them over her naked chest. “I’ve never
been
that – I’ve never been anything more than somebody’s red light special. Not in a long damned time, anyway.” Reaching out, she snatched the sheet from the bed, her cheeks flaming as she covered herself.

It was Michael’s turn to be surprised. “What?” he asked. Shaking his head, he turned his back and scraped his palms over his face before he turned back to her. “What?! You are
not
red light special, dammit, so don’t give me that shit. God, don’t you see I’m asking you to stay? With me?”

“I can’t,” Sherry answered simply, shaking her head. “I don’t do …
more
.” She didn’t look back as she moved out of the bedroom, and he waited, listening, as she made her way to the bathroom and closed the door. The faucet turned on, then turned off again. The toilet flushed, and he heard her sigh briefly. “I should have known,” she muttered breathlessly, as he turned back to strip the rest of the sheets from the bed. “I should have known he’d want more.”

He tipped his head, listening as she talked quietly to herself, and when she walked back down the hallway – fully dressed – he was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, arms crossed over his chest, a pair of comfortable lounge pants hanging loosely from his hips. “So that’s it?” he asked.

She looked at him, her eyes sparkling, and bit her lip. Finally, she closed her eyes and lowered her face, sighing. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s how it has to be.” Shaking her head, she made her way down the hall, and then he heard the soft thumps of her heeled boots as she moved down the stairs.

It wasn’t until he heard the click of the front door closing that he turned back to gather the rest of the bedclothes. “Well, I guess me and Jim Beam are doing laundry tonight.” Clutching the wadded sheets to his chest brought the scent of sex wafting up from the fabric; his mind settled on the lingering taste of sex on his tongue, and he threw the sheets back to the floor with a grimace. “Gonna have to wait, Jim,” he joked, turning toward the bathroom. “I’ve at least gotta brush my teeth.”

He had just closed the lid on the washer when he heard the first tap on the door. Checking the settings quickly, he pulled the knob to start the wash cycle, scraped his palm over the stubble already forming on his face, and turned to make his way through the kitchen to the living room. She had knocked two more times by the time he got to door, and when he opened it, he did so with confusion. “What’d you forget?” he asked, swinging the door open. She didn’t answer, and he arched a brow as he raised his eyes. “I mean, it’s not locked and you have a key … to my …“

She arched her own eyebrows, crossing her arms amusedly over her chest. “A key? No, I don’t.”

“Renee!?” Michael felt his mouth fall open, and his face heated as she laughed. “What are you doing here? You’re on a date! I’m – it’s –“ He clamped his lips together, checked his wrist, and rolled his eyes. “I’m not wearing a watch. What time is it? Why aren’t you on a date?”

Renee laughed again, but her eyes were fearful and she turned to glance behind her. “Can I come in?” She asked. “Or is this a bad time?”

Still sputtering, Michael backed away from the door and gestured for her to come in. In the living room, she crossed her arms again and moved to stand beside the window that faced the street. It wasn’t until then that he noticed how stiff she was; her shoulders were bunched up around her neck, and her back was ramrod straight. She looked date-ready though, in a pair of black tights that smoothed over her thighs and stopped just below her knees, a golden yellow camisole with a lace band that circled her hips, a black lace crop top with a beaded neckline, and simple black flats – the kind Harmony always called “ballets.” Following her to the window, he stepped close beside her and draped an arm over her shoulders, pulling her in close to his side. “What’s wrong? It didn’t go well?”

“It did,” she said softly. “Until
his wife
showed up.” She rested her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his arm.

“Oh, that’s not good.”

She shook her head against his shoulder, and he tightened his hold on her, allowing his hand to run down her arm. “It’s my luck,” she said quietly. “The one time I think I should step out of my comfort zone and take a chance, I’m taking a chance on a creep. His wife was
really
upset. She made a scene in front of the whole restaurant.”

“She thought you knew?”

Renee shrugged. “Apparently. She was pretty mad. And I’d be mad too, you know? She didn’t believe I didn’t know – I just ducked in time to avoid getting hit with a dinner plate.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I’ve never been attacked like that before, you know?” Her arm slipped around his back, her skin soft against his. He felt her fingertips against his side, tickling, and tensed slightly against the sensation. She squeezed in response, laughing softly. “And it made me paranoid, the whole thing. I kept looking in my mirrors as I drove from the restaurant, and there was this car behind me most of the way. And I just … I don’t know. It’s stupid, and I’m sure it wasn’t anything. Just someone going the same direction as me probably, but Chelsea’s not home tonight. She’s with Nick again, and I just didn’t want to go home alone. Not yet. And then I saw the turn for here, and – well, here I am.” She glanced up at him though, uncertain. “I can go though, I’m okay. I shouldn’t be here if you’re … expecting someone.”

Stepping back from the window, Michael tugged Renee along with him, and as they walked to the couch, he noticed the light from the kitchen reflecting off of what must be Sherry’s key to his house – hanging abandoned on the key hook next to the door. He shook his head, lowering himself to the edge of the couch. “No. No, I’m not expecting anyone,” he said quietly. “It’s okay – stay here as long as you need.”

She followed his eye and caught sight of the key. “Are you – I didn’t even know you were dating someone,” she said. He saw her eyebrows draw together as she pursed her lips, and then she turned to look at him. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m not,” he answered. “Dating anyone, that is. I … it’s complicated, I guess. Or it was. It isn’t now.” He looked down, twisting his fingers together in his lap.

“You broke up?”

Michael laughed, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I uh, I guess you could say that.”

Her eyes widened and she sat back, finally taking in the sight of him – his bare feet, his shirtless chest. “Oh,” she said, her mouth forming a neat little circle.

He bit his lip against the urge to lean forward and press his own mouth against hers, to watch her eyes widen still further. Smiling slowly, he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “Mmhmm.” He watched her for a while, watched her eyes move over his face, watched them dip down to his chest and jerk back up again. “I’m divorced, Renee,” he laughed. “I’m not a monk.”

“I didn’t think you were,” she said, her cheeks blooming with color as she looked back at the key hanging next to the door. “I just didn’t know you had someone, I guess. Someone with … a key. You never told me.”

Clearing his throat, he rose from the couch and walked over to the door, lifted the key from its hook, and moved into the kitchen. He dropped it into the silverware drawer and opened the cabinet above, taking down two small glasses. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Renee bring her hand up to her mouth, chewing gently on her thumbnail as she stared into her lap.
Why did she seem so surprised? She had to think he hadn’t been celibate in the years since his divorce. Hell, she knew he had dated!
Pouring an inch of bourbon into each glass from the bottle sitting on the counter, Michael topped each drink with soda and turned to the fridge, still thinking.
You never told me,
she had said.
I didn’t know … you never told me.

Pulling the little jar of cherries from the pocket on the refrigerator door, he turned and opened the silverware drawer for a spoon.
Would she have wanted to know? What difference would it have made?
By the time he’d dropped two cherries into her drink and put everything away, he’d heard the soft rustle of her movements and knew she was behind him. Picking both drinks up from the counter, he turned and offered one to her. “Would you have wanted to know that?”

Renee shrugged. “Well, usually if you’re giving someone a key to your house, it’s because they matter to you, or because things are getting serious.” She sipped her drink, refusing to meet his eyes. “I just … thought we were better friends than that, I guess. I thought if you were at the key giving stage, I’d at least have heard something.” She glanced around, as if in search of something. “Or seen … something, I guess.”

“I didn’t give her the key because she mattered to me,” he said. Her eyes flew to his, and he lowered his face. “Not the way you’re thinking, anyway. And I didn’t give it to her because we were
serious
, either.”

“Oh. I see.” She sipped again, glancing over his shoulder and into the laundry room as the cycle timer on the washer went off. “Laundry? It’s gotta be close to midnight! When do you sleep, Michael?”

Grimacing, he set his glass back on the counter with a soft thump. “It’s, uh – it’s bedsheets.” He shrugged. “They needed washing.”
Why the hell did he suddenly feel ashamed? He was a single, red-blooded man – he had done nothing wrong! And she had no right to any explanations. So why did he feel like he owed her an apology?

“Right. Um, I think I’d better go,” she said quietly.

Reaching out, she handed him her glass, carefully not touching his hand as they made the exchange. He stared at the glass in his hand, at the cherries that he kept in his house just for her, at the small print her lip gloss had left on the edge of the glass. Swallowing the wave of anger that rose up in him, he turned and placed the glass very carefully on the counter, beside his. “So, what’s this? You’re mad or something? Or uncomfortable? Because I have someone who … comes here sometimes?”

She stepped back, surprised. “Are you serious right now? Am I mad that you –“ she paused, swallowed, and took a breath to steel herself before she went on. “That you bring … women here? No, why would I be? This isn’t my house, Michael. Your bed isn’t my bed. It’s none of my business.”

The words conjured images in his mind, images that he wasn’t sure he was ready for. He had seen her smile more times than he could remember, but never had he seen her smile the way it looked in his mind right now – erotic and sexy and … for him. He had seen her first thing in the morning, after any number of times that she had slept at his house, but never had he seen her the second his eyes opened, with her hair spread across his pillows and her pouty mouth within kissing distance. “No,” he said. “It isn’t.” Shaking his head to dispel the chaos of his thoughts, he arched his eyebrows at her. “So what’s this?”

She sighed, dropping her head back to roll her eyes toward the ceiling. He stared at her throat, the long elegant column of taut skin circled by a strand of shining black beads. She chewed her lip silently as he watched her, then released it. “I just thought we were at least the kind of friends who were honest with each other. I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

“Again – we weren’t
seeing
each other. And if we were, would you have wanted to know?”

“Yes!” she shouted. “Yes, Michael, I would have wanted to know if my best friend was seeing someone. I would have wanted to know if it was getting serious. I would have wanted to know if you were feeling –“

“I wasn’t seeing her!” Michael cut in. “I wasn’t serious with her – I was screwing her, okay? And that’s all it was! She had a key so she could meet me here sometimes, but that’s all it was. And I wasn’t
feeling
what you –“

“Oh. My. God.” She looked at him then, really looked at him, and suddenly he felt like they were complete strangers. She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before, as if she didn’t know him at all.

“I told you, I wasn’t a monk,” he said.

“I heard you,” she whispered, lowering her eyes. Moving back from the kitchen doorway, she walked into the living room, her arms crossed over her chest, her back to him. “I just didn’t think you were that kind of guy,” she said.

“What kind of guy?” he snapped, annoyed now. Following her into the living room, he stepped in front of her and hooked a finger under her chin, dragging her eyes up to meet his. She closed her eyes, allowing him to raise her face but refusing to look at him. He didn’t care; he knew she was listening, so he spoke anyway. “What kind of guy did you think I wasn’t, Renee? The kind who needs to be touched, even if it means nothing to the person touching me? The kind who seeks out someone to hold when the days are too long and the damn nights are even worse?”

“Not the kind who has cheap, and apparently pretty much meaningless sex,” she said. Her eyes flew open, blazing with anger he didn’t understand, and when he reached out to touch her arm, it was trembling.

“I didn’t say it was entirely meaningless,” he answered, his voice barely more than a whisper. It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it as soon as the words were out. She gasped, her breath warm against his lips, and he clenched his hand against his leg to keep himself from pulling her against him.

She wrenched her arm from his grasp and stepped back, her chest heaving. Her eyes shimmered with anger and – tears? “I gotta go.”