She put her hands in his hair and dragged his mouth down to hers.
“Yes,” she said, against his lips, “oh, Jake, yes.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE country road wound through the trees like a black ribbon, glittering wetly in the headlights of Jake’s Corvette.
The windshield wipers beat a steady, swift pattern as they tried to keep up with the falling snow.
Emily was surprised the road was passable at all. She’d said as much, to Jake.
“It’ll be clear,” he’d said tersely. “The plows are always out early, especially in a storm like this.”
The brief exchange had taken place almost an hour ago. Jake hadn’t spoken a word since then.
Emily couldn’t blame him. Ever since he’d pulled away after kissing her, she’d sat stiffly in her seat, her fingers almost painfully knotted together in her lap. Jake had to be thinking exactly what she was thinking, that the two of them had made an awful mistake.
Lights glinted ahead.
“Litchfield,” Jake said.
The sound of his voice startled her. She looked over at him, nodded, searched desperately for something to say in reply as they drove through the town, which lay quiet under its heavy white mantle of snow.
“It’s—it’s beautiful.”
“Yeah.”
“It looks familiar. I know that’s impossible. I mean, I’ve never been to this part of Connecticut before, but...”
“You’ve probably seen pictures of it on postcards. Typical New England scene, etcetera, etcetera.”
It was a short, almost abrupt answer, delivered in a gruff tone. So much for conversation, Emily thought, and looked straight ahead again.
There was no question about it. Jake was definitely sorry he’d asked her to come with him. She could hear it in his silence, see it in his stern profile, in the way his hands gripped the steering wheel. He was as tense as an overwound spring.
Well, so was she. Jake’s regrets couldn’t be any greater than hers.
Emily clenched her hands together in her lap.
What insanity had made her say yes to his proposal? Why had she said she wanted him to teach her all those things she didn’t know? It wasn’t as if she’d misunderstood him. He was talking about things that happened in bed.
And she’d agreed. She hadn’t even been subtle about it. She’d made it clear sleeping with him was precisely what she wanted but she shouldn’t have. She wasn’t cut out for a quick tumble in a man’s bed.
In Jake’s bed.
Yes, she wanted to know what sex was like. There was something pathetic about reaching this age and knowing only what you’d been taught in Sex Ed, back in high school, or what you’d picked up, over the years, from other women’s comments. Her sisters, especially, made lots of references to sex. Barbed references, that suggested the whole thing wasn’t half as terrific as it was cracked up to be.
Emily wanted to know for herself. She’d thought she did, anyway.
Now, with all this time to consider what came next, she wasn’t so sure.
Was she really supposed to have sex with Jake tonight, go home tomorrow, then show up at work on Monday as if nothing had happened? She had no foolish illusions; this wasn’t an affair she was entering into with him. He’d made that clear. This was part of her transformation from wallflower to woman.
Next week, maybe even sooner, she’d be ordering flowers for his latest conquest, making his dinner reservations, be having politely when some new candidate for McBride’s Playmate of the Month telephoned.
“May I speak to Jake, please?” they always said, in breathy voices that made her think of satin sheets and chilled champagne.
Or they’d show up at the office and she’d be expected to smile politely when he slid his arm around a slender waist and left for the weekend with some oversexed, overdressed, overeverythinged female...
Oh, God!
Emily swung towards Jake. “Stop the car!”
He responded instantly and stood on the brakes. The Corvette gave a sickening lurch. Emily gave a thin scream as Jake fought for control of the car as it slid crazily across the slick blacktop and spun in a drunken circle.
When the car finally came to a stop, it was pointed towards the forest, its headlights burrowing a cavern of light into the darkness. The engine coughed and died. In the sudden silence, Emily could hear the roar of the wind, the rasp of Jake’s breath and the thump-thump of her own heart.
“Holy hell!” Jake reached for her hand and squeezed it hard enough so she felt the imprint of his fingers. “Em? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, past the lump of terror high in her throat. She looked at him. His face was white, his eyes deep, dark pools. “Are you?”