Nothing to Hide

“That you’re uncomfortable because you live in a palace and I live here.”

He huffed. “You think that matters to me?”

Sandra pulled another wineglass from the cabinet, forming her answer carefully. “I would guess that you don’t want it to matter, that intellectually it might not, but that coming here and looking around, you are fairly shocked and possibly repulsed.”

He looked startled for a moment, then stepped to the table, poured a second glass of wine and held out the first for her, his eyes warm. “I’d say that once again you have cut through bullshit and forced me to acknowledge a subconscious truth. My mom constantly warned Jonas and me about women after our money. She never told us about women who’d hate it.”

Sandra shrugged uneasily and gulped some wine, which she should be savoring sip by sip. Maybe it was just as well that he got the impression she hated his money. Though it made everything even more complicated. “So, what have you brought?”

“Ah.” He reached toward the table and held up a baguette from the local organic food store, which she couldn’t even afford to step into. “Basics. Bread, cheese, salads, plums and chocolate.”

Locally made bread, foreign cheeses costing upward of twenty dollars a pound, deli salads with fresh artichokes and imported caper berries, organic plums and exclusive Hawaiian chocolate.

Her hunger had been renewed. For this meal, for that life...and for Erik.

They settled on her stained couch in the living room, food spread out on the coffee table she’d found at a rummage sale.

While they stuffed themselves, they chatted about her show, about Allie and Jonas, about Lake George, about Boston versus New York, until the bottle was empty, the food decimated.

“So, Sandra.” Erik moved closer to her on the couch. “We have some unfinished business.”

She sent him a withering look. “Did you really just use that line on me?”

“No.” He shook his head violently. “Absolutely not. That was someone else.”

Sandra giggled, buoyed by the wine and Erik’s really fun company. “I believe you owe me one more secret.”

“Do I?” He took her wine, put it down next to his, drew her to him and kissed her, gentle and sweet. He smelled amazing, of spice and leather. Her body responded—but so did her heart. “I thought maybe we could do a short recap first of previous sexual—”

“Not so fast.” Sandra told her heart to cut it out. “You owe me that secret first.”

“And I intend to pay up.” He put his hand to his heart, then took hers and pressed it there, as well. “But you have to go first this time.”

Sandra snorted. “Why, you want to make me cry again?”

“Ah, but you cry like an angel.”

“Ha!” She smiled unwillingly. “You’ve never seen one.”

“Not until I met you.”

Sandra ignored the piercing sweetness in her chest. “Save the lines for your other women.”

“Ooh.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately...there aren’t any.”

“No?” She pretended to be surprised, wanting desperately to smooth back hair that had fallen over his forehead.

He looked down at his hands clasping his wineglass. “I’m not sure what’s happening to me, Sandra, but I’m starting to suspect you might be it for a while.”

“Because...” Her heart started thumping. This was dangerous ground. “You’re becoming a monk?”

“Never!”

“Oh.” She patted his knee sympathetically. “Impotence, I understand.”

He shot her a glance. “Just try me.”

Sandra laughed, feeling twenty times better than she had an hour before, and swung her legs over his, easing into his lap. What had she been worrying about? Everything was back to the way it was. Everything was fine. “I don’t think that’s a good idea just yet.”

He held her gaze, looking more serious than she’d ever seen him. Forget thumping, her heart was hammering now; instinct was warning her, fight or flight. “I want to make love to you, Sandra.”

Lord have mercy.

She managed to keep her reaction mostly under control. Only the smallest gasp leaked out. “Sorry, that wasn’t the deal until after the third secret.”

“I’m changing the rules.” He pushed her legs off him, stood and dragged her to her feet with more force than he needed so she overbalanced. As she cried out, he bent down, catching her across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, and strode with her back into the kitchen.

“Oh for—” She was half laughing, half turned on by the macho act. “Put me down.”