Why hadn’t Joe called me?
I wrapped myself in a white hotel robe, went to the bedroom, checked the empty voice mail on my cell phone, much like my stubborn answering machine at home.
It had been six days since I’d seen Joe.
Was it really, truly over between us?
Would I never see him again? Why hadn’t he come after me?
I pulled the drapes shut, folded the gold-quilted spread, and fluffed the pillows. Dizzy from the wine and the heat of the shower, I lay down.
Eyes closed, I found that the fading images of Joe were replaced by more urgent fantasies.
I was drawn back to only a half hour earlier, when Rich had held me. I relived the moment when dancing with him had gone from good to too good, when I’d felt him hard against me, when I’d put my arms around his neck and pressed my body against his.
It was okay to have these feelings, I told myself. I was only human, and so was he, and both of us were having a completely natural response to being alone together — .
A tapping at the door startled me.
My heart jumped as the knock came again.
Chapter 85
I CINCHED THE SASH OF MY ROBE and padded barefoot to the door. I saw Rich Conklin through the peephole. He was wearing a flimsy clear-plastic shower cap on his head!
I was laughing as I undid the bolt, my hand shaking as I pulled open the door. Conklin was wearing his trousers, his blue cotton shirt unbuttoned to about his third rib. And he was gripping a Marriott toothbrush with the stem in his fist, like it was a small white flag.
“I was wondering if you have any mouthwash, Lindsay. I got a lot of moisturizer in the complimentary toiletry basket, but no mouthwash.”
His serious expression, combined with the wacky request and the shower cap, cracked me up. I swung the door open wide, said, “I didn’t get mouthwash either, but I think I have something in my handbag.”
The door closed behind me, and as I stooped for the handbag I’d dropped on the floor, I stumbled over one of my shoes.
Rich grabbed my elbow to steady me, and there we were. Eye-to-eye. Woozy. Alone in LA in a hotel room. I reached up and pulled off the shower cap. His forelock of light-brown hair fell across his gorgeous face, and he dropped the toothbrush onto the floor. Then Rich put both arms around my waist and pulled me to him.
“I have only one problem with this working arrangement,” he said. “And it’s a big one.”
Rich bent to kiss me, and I wanted him to. My arms went around his neck again, and his mouth found mine. Our first kiss set off a chemical explosion.
I clung to Rich as he lowered me to the bed in the dimly lit room. I remember lying beneath him, our fingers interlaced, his hands pressing my hands against the bed, saying my name softly, oh so gently.
“I’ve wanted to be with you like this, Lindsay, before you even knew my name.”
“I’ve always known your name.”
I ached for him, and I had a right to give myself over to this. But when my young, handsome partner opened my robe and put his lips to my breast, a bolt of pure reasoned panic pulled the emergency brake in my brain.
This had been a bad idea. Really bad.
I heard myself whisper, “Richie, no.”
I clasped the edges of my robe together as Rich rolled onto his side, panting and flushed, looking into my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No, don’t be.” I took his hand and held it to my cheek, covered his hand with mine. “I want this as much as you do. But we’re partners, Rich. We have to take care of each other. Just . . . not in this way.”
He groaned as I said, “We can never do this again.”