Never Say Forever

“My sentiments exactly,” I answer, my gaze sweeping over her again.

I get rid of the popcorn and top up her barely touched glass, and when she re-enters the room, I’m back on the couch and the music playing in the background is the exact kind you’d expect to hear from speakers picked up from Bang & Olufsen.

More bang. Less Olufsen.

“That’s not exactly subtle.” She inclines her head in the direction of Marvin Gaye’s dulcet tones coming from the speaker system. She bends to grab her glass from the coffee table, but it does nothing to hide her amusement at calling me out.

“Subtlety is overrated,” I murmur as she takes a seat on the other side of the sectional. And way out of reach. “So, what now?” Hooking my arm over the back of the couch, I bring my knee up onto the seat as I turn to face her. “Wanna make out?”

“I, ah-hem. No.”

“Liar.”

The flash of her smile is brief and sweet, and I can’t take my eyes off her legs as she brings them up onto the cushion, curling them a little. Lithe and toned and still wearing a summer tan. I wonder where her tan ends. Is she a bikini kind of girl? It would be a shame if she’s not. So, string or highcut? Boy shorts or thong? So many questions, but I can’t regret that five years ago we didn’t keep the lights on. Because in the moonlight, she glowed like an angel yet burned like sin.

“I’m going to finish my wine, then turn in.”

Turn in to the maid’s room. What the hell is that all about?

“Come on, live a little. It’s barely ten.”

“Lulu isn’t the only one who walked her feet off today. Seriously, I’m shagged. Shagged tired,” she adds the quick qualifier. “That wasn’t an invitation.”

“As I recall, when you issue invitations, they’re pretty clear.” The way her cheeks suddenly glow makes me want to find out where her blushes run to.

“So that’s what you want to go with? Conversation about that night? When you don’t know me. You don’t know what I do for a living. I could be a complete psycho!”

“You’d have to be a little bit crazy to be Rose’s friend. Who, by the way, told me what you do for a living.” If I recall, she wants to make women’s lives better. Little does she know we have that in common, though our methods might be very different. “And no. I don’t need you to fill out a rental application.”

“You mean you don’t want to know if I have any criminal convictions?” she asks saucily.

“Only if they’re interesting ones,” I reply with a grin.

“Funnily enough, I am currently contemplating murder.” She sends me a narrowed glance more playful than serious.

“With mitigating circumstances, you’d probably swing manslaughter.”

“I could have terrible hobbies.” She glances around the room almost exasperated. “Messy, destructive ones that could obliterate your home. I could own a pack of vicious dogs.”

“But you don’t. So whatever will we talk about now?”

“Fine. Okay. I can see where this is heading, so let’s get it over with.” She shrugs, a jerky motion, then takes a large mouthful of her wine. “Though five years is little late for a dissection. There should be a statute of limitations for these things,” she mutters, setting the glass down.

“You want to talk about it? That night?” Not where I thought this conversation was going, but I’m game. “Are we comparing notes? Telling dirty stories? Because I really enjoyed that thing you did—”

“I don’t need a blow-by-blow critique—”

“Nice choice of words.” I lean forward and pick up her neglected wine glass, passing it to her. She looks like she might need it. “And in the right region, at least.”

My God, the way her eyes had shone in the moonlight. The feel of her soft hands electrifying the coarse hairs on my thighs. The way she’d watched my expression as she’d taken me to the back of her throat.

“I-it’s not often you have sex with someone you know nothing about,” she continues, ignoring my goading. Outwardly at least. But, man, that blush gets me right in the crotch. “I suppose there’s bound to be curiosity. Things you’ve wondered about over the years. And you’re smiling again. So I guess it’s just me who wondered.”

“I would love to talk about it.” Almost as much as I’d love a repeat. “As for thought about it? You might even say constantly.”

“Flattery. That is to say, I don’t believe you. And we are not talking about sex.” Her eyes dart away, and I watch as she takes a sip from her glass.

“Good, right?”

“If you mean the wine, yes. It’s delicious.”

“The wine is good. The sex? The sex was outstanding.”

“And we’re still not talking about it, but I don’t mind discussing what got us there.”