The Alibi

“You know I’m lying.”

“Your middle name’s not Greer?”

“That much is true. The rest, all lies.”

“No!”

“I wanted to impress you.”

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m impressed.”

Hammond recalled the touch of her hand, the sensation of swelling…

“Hmm,” Steffi purred. “Just as I thought. You missed me.”

He was hard, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting on his lap and fondling him through his trousers. He brushed her hand aside. “Steffi—”

She bent forward and kissed him aggressively. Hiking her skirt up around her hips, she straddled his thighs and continued kissing him while her hands attacked his belt buckle.

“I hate to rush,” she said breathlessly between kisses. “But when Smilow calls, I’ll need to dash. This will have to be quick, I’m afraid.”

Hammond reached for her busy hands and clasped them between his. “Steffi. We need to—”

“Go upstairs? Fine. But we can’t dawdle, Hammond.”

Agile and energetic, she hopped off his lap and headed for the door, unbuttoning her blouse as she went.

“Steffi.”

She turned and watched with bafflement as Hammond stood up and rezipped his trousers. She laughed lightly. “I’m willing to try just about anything, but it’s going to be a little tricky if you don’t take it out of your pants.”

He moved to the other side of the room and braced his arms on the edge of the granite counter. He stared down into the spotless kitchen sink for several moments before turning to face her again.

“This isn’t working for me any longer, Steffi.”

Once the words were out, he felt hugely relieved. He had left town yesterday afternoon burdened for several reasons. One of them—the least of them, actually—was indecision over his affair with Steffi. He was unsure he wanted to put an end to it. They had a comfortable arrangement. Neither made unreasonable demands on the other. They shared many of the same interests. They were sexually compatible.

However, the topic of cohabitation had never come up, and Hammond was glad. If it had, he would have compiled a list of appropriate excuses as to why living at the same address would be a bad idea, but the real reason was that Steffi’s energy level would have worn thin very quickly. Apparently she hadn’t wanted him around her constantly, either. They kept their affair private. They saw each other regularly and when they wanted to. For almost a year it had been a perfect setup.

But lately, he had come to feel that it wasn’t so perfect after all. He disliked secrecy and subterfuge, especially when it came to personal relationships, where he clung to the outdated belief that honesty should be a requisite component.

He was dissatisfied with their level of intimacy, too. More to the point, there was no intimacy. Not really. Although Steffi was an ardent and capable lover, they were no closer emotionally than they had been the first time she had invited him over for dinner and they had wound up wrestling out of their clothes on her living room sofa.

After weighing all the pluses and minuses, brooding over it for weeks, Hammond had resolved that the relationship had reached a plateau that left him wanting and needing more. Instead of anticipating their evenings together, he had begun to dread them. He was returning her calls later rather than sooner. Even in bed when they were having sex, he found himself distracted and thinking about other things, performing adequately but routinely, physically but unemotionally. Before indifference festered into resentment, it was better to break it off.

What he wanted and needed from a relationship, he wasn’t sure. But he was certain that whatever it was, he wasn’t going to find it in Stefanie Mundell. He had come closer to finding it last night, with a woman whose name he didn’t even know. That was a sad commentary on his relationship with Steffi, but sound confirmation that it was time to end it.

Reaching that decision was only half the problem. He was now faced with actually doing it. He wished to end the affair as gracefully as possible, preferably avoiding the temperamental equivalent of the Hundred Years War. The best he could hope for was that it would end with no more fireworks than it had started.

The likelihood of that was nil. A scene was virtually guaranteed. He had dreaded it, and now he saw it coming.

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. When it did, Steffi swallowed, folded her arms over her open blouse, then, in a defiant motion, uncrossed them and let them hang at her sides. “By ‘this,’ I take it you mean—”

“Us.”