But that didn't work, either. After he'd made love to her, he ended up wanting to hold onto her more, wanting less to let her go.
Fighting a strange species of panic, Dean rubbed his fingers up and down his lips. He had to try harder, that was all. Surely this bounty of feelings had to change, and diminish.
He just didn't know how much longer he could go on until they did.
###
Kelly waited in her bedroom that night, knowing Dean would come. Just past ten there was a knock on her door.
Oh yeah, big surprise. Well, she had a surprise for him. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, she opened her door. "Hi, Dean," she said.
"Hello." If he were disappointed in her casual attire, Dean didn't let on. He stepped toward her.
Kelly stepped back. "Come on in."
Dean hesitated, apparently noticing her small physical evasion. But he put his smile back on and came in.
Pretty confident, Kelly thought, but then she'd been giving him every reason to believe she was his sexual slave.
Halfway into the room, Dean came to a halt. "You don't know how happy I am to see you."
No, but Kelly had a pretty good idea he was about to show her. "I'm happy to see you, too," she said.
He smiled and began loosening his tie. For a moment Kelly marveled at how far he had come. He was in her bedroom, wanting to make love to her — and smiling. Could she have imagined such a thing on that horrid airplane ride from Vegas?
But enough was enough.
She had to retrieve her self-respect, stop playing the doormat. And Dean had to stop evading. They had to see if they really had something going here.
She sashayed toward him. "I am happy to see you," she repeated. "Very happy." She got close enough to stop his hands on his tie. "But it so happens I have a headache tonight."
"What?"
"A headache," Kelly repeated. She tried to soften the blow by tapping him on the chin. "You look awfully nice, though."
It took him a second to get it. His expression went flabbergasted. "You mean you don't want — ?"
Kelly's eyebrows rose.
"You don't want — " He stopped again. A strange sequence of emotions crossed his face. "No," he then said, his eyes narrowing. "You're not tired of me. That isn't it."
"Well, no, of course — "
"Then I must have angered you." He took a step back. "Done something to displease you."
"No — "
"Yes." He bit the word out. "You're unhappy with me."
"Dean — "
He waved an imperious hand. "Tell me. What have I done? I'm not ready — That is, there's no reason I can't change it, make things better. Tell me."
"No!" Kelly made an effort to calm herself. At least one of them should keep their head. "Listen. Just — sit down." She pointed to a well-stuffed armchair.
He turned his gaze toward the chair. "Ah," he said. "So it's a long list."
"Dean..." Kelly wavered. Perhaps they should make love, after all. He was taking this wrong, so ready for rejection.
But Kelly steeled herself. Making love to him would only reinforce the notion that sex was all they had to offer each other. And it would be disastrous for her self-respect. "The only thing you need to do to please me," she enunciated carefully, "is sit."
His brows jumped. But he turned. With long strides he made for the indicated chair. Brusquely, he sat.
Kelly suppressed a sigh as she took the armchair next to Dean's. She leaned back and smiled.
"Are you pleased now?" Dean asked.
"Yes." Kelly bit her lip. "How about you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Are you pleased?"
His brows lowered. "Oh, I'm just peachy."
Kelly felt her heart skip around. This wasn't working. They had to do something together, something to demonstrate they could enjoy each other's company other than in bed. Assuming, of course, that was even true. "Uh, would you like to play checkers?"
He stared at her. "No."
"How about watch TV?"
His amazement abounded. "No."
Kelly got desperate. "Well how about — taking a walk?"
Some of her desperation must have gotten through. Dean gave her a close look. "This would please you, a walk?"
Kelly smiled. "Yes." Oh, anything.
"Fine." In one smooth motion, Dean stood up. "Let's take a walk."
###
She wanted to take a walk. Taut as a bowstring, Dean led Kelly out through the kitchen. She wanted a walk.
He couldn't imagine what he'd done to turn her off, but it must have been something. Just before they went out the door, he flipped on the exterior lights. They walked into a landscape of glowing trees and flowers.
Kelly made a low sound, though whether of pleasure or scorn Dean couldn't tell. Hell, maybe she'd have preferred the natural light of the moon. He hadn't thought of that.
Clearly, he hadn't thought of anything that would please her tonight.
Kelly's sneakers crunched on the gravel of the drive that led off toward the garage. "I remember there's a kind of meadow at the end of the trees in that direction." She waved a hand. "Do you know how to get there?"
Dean gave a jerky nod. "This way." He walked past her and toward the path that wound through the woods. He didn't dare take her hand. If he did, she'd find out he wasn't nearly as calm as he was pretending.
It was absurd, really. His whole goal here was to come to an end in the relationship. If Kelly were displeased with him, he should be happy. That meant she'd discovered their fundamental incompatibility. They could come to a mutual, amicable parting of the ways.
But, damn it, Dean wasn't ready for that. He wasn't...through with her yet.
They walked side by side through the trees. Accompanying them was the gentle peeping of new frogs and a hint of the symphony of crickets that would come later in the summer. The setting would have been bucolic if Dean hadn't felt so panicked.
What did she want from him? What?
The path wound upward until the trees thinned. They were beyond the scope of the electric lights by then, picking their way along the softly matted path.
"Yes," Kelly breathed, looking forward. "This."
They came out into the meadow, a place of grass and wildflowers left to grow at will. Dean's hands itched to take Kelly and draw her into his arms. He wanted them close again. But she didn't want closeness. She'd told him so. Panic clawed its way up his throat.
Kelly walked away from him through the long, bending grass. He could see her breathing in deeply. He gazed around himself in desperation, searching frantically for something, anything, to say.
"Uh, so how is Robby?" he blurted.
Dumb. Dumb as a post. But it was the best Dean could come up with under the circumstances. Pretending he wasn't nearly suffocating from fear, he shrugged. "I haven't seen him for the past several days. I assume you've continued befriending him. How has he been lately?"
"The truth?" Kelly turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "I think he's bored."
"Bored? Oh." Dean wondered, without much hope, if this was the problem. Did Kelly blame him for Robby's boredom?
In the darkness, she frowned. "Troy is out of sorts, as well. He's actually been home for dinner four nights in a row. Very strange. But as for Robby, well — I never thought I'd say this, but I think he needs to be in school."
On top of everything else, Dean felt a surge of guilt. "I tried," he told Kelly. "No one would take him so late in the semester. Not to mention his running-away problem and poor grades. And now the school year is basically over."
"Ah, that's right." Kelly sighed. "Then even someplace local wouldn't work."
"I'm afraid not."
Kelly uncrossed her arms. "What about a tutor?"
"A tutor."
"He could make up for this lost semester, maybe even raise his grades." Kelly waved an arm. "And he'd get some confidence, being at home and gettin
g individual attention and all."
"A tutor," Dean repeated. So simple. So exceptionally simple, and the idea had never occurred to him.
"Of course, he still needs some contact with other children his age," Kelly went on. Her lips pursed. "Maybe a few days a week in a summer day camp as well."
"Day camp." But Dean was still thinking about that tutor. Robby could be got ready for school in the fall. Dean had despaired, but it could be done.
"Yes," Kelly said. "Do you think you could find somebody for the tutoring bit?"
Dean smiled widely. "I know people who know people."
"Well, good then." Kelly was smiling, too.
They were standing in the moonlight, yards apart from each other, and both grinning like idiots. Whatever it was she'd wanted, he'd managed to deliver it, by guesswork, by sheer, stupid luck.
She wasn't unhappy with him any more.
The sense of relief that wound through Dean was intense. It was so intense it took a minute before he got it. His smile vanished. His relief turned to horror.
He'd cared. He'd cared about making her happy with him. Desperately.
"What?" Kelly's smile disappeared now, too. "What's the matter?"
Dean stood frozen. He couldn't believe himself. He was a traitor to his own cause. He needed her unhappy with him. He needed to make this thing end. Instead he'd just done everything in his power to make it continue.
Why? For God's sake, why?
"What's the matter?" Kelly repeated.
"Nothing." Woodenly, Dean turned toward the house. "It's getting late. We ought to start back."
But Kelly wasn't moving. They'd been happy one second ago, really connecting. And now Dean was acting like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
"No." She remained right where she was planted. "What just happened?"
Dean stopped. His back stiffened. "You're unhappy with me again."
"What? No. I wasn't unhappy with you to begin with — " Kelly stopped. She realized that wasn't exactly true. "All right," she conceded slowly. "Maybe I was a little upset, but not with you. I was upset with — well, our activities of late."
"Our activities?"
Kelly cleared her throat. "We only — you know."
Slowly, Dean turned. He was frowning. "But don't you like — ?"
"Well, yeah, sure." Kelly felt her face warm. "But that's not all I'd like to do with you."
"No?"
He looked so confused, Kelly had to smile. "No," she assured him. "I'd like to do all kinds of things with you."
He cocked his head. "You would."
"Sure."
"But — other things aren't intense enough. They won't get us through — "
"Through? Through what?"
Dean shook his head. "Never mind." He pressed his lips together. "So what, exactly, do you think you want to do with me?"
"Oh...anything. This walk, for instance. I'm liking this walk."
Dean snorted.
"I am." Kelly took a step toward him. "It isn't all that important what we do, just so long as we do it together."
Dean's eyes narrowed on her. "Why?"
"Why?"
"Yes, why?"
Kelly hesitated. It was the million-dollar question. And just how far, she wondered, dare she answer it? "Why?" she asked again, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I guess because...I like you." Her heart beat very fast.
Dean went absolutely still. He stared at Kelly like he'd never seen a creature of the sort in his life. "You like me," he repeated.
Kelly tried to look nonchalant. "Sure."
Dean continued to stare until Kelly couldn't take it any more.
"And you like me," she announced firmly. She held out her hand. "Come on, you were right. It's time to go inside."
For an awful moment she thought Dean was going to ignore her outstretched hand. But then, jerkily, he reached out. Their palms connected. Slowly, carefully, Dean closed his hand around hers.
"All right," he said, his voice hoarse. "Let's go inside."
###
Dean walked toward the house in a daze. She said she liked him. She liked him. The woman was clearly confused, muddled by the inexplicably powerful emotions roused by their physical passion. He was no doubt adding to her confusion in doing something so cozy as holding her hand.
Nevertheless, he gripped Kelly's hand all the way back to the house. He sensed this gesture was dangerous, but he didn't let go. Inside, he hummed.
Hand in hand then, they walked through the kitchen and into the main hall. The stairs loomed before them. She didn't really like him, Dean reminded himself. She just thought she did, as a natural by-product of their physical infatuation. The same with him liking her. Oh sure, she was sweet and nice and all that, but the 'liking' would pass, probably around the same time that their physical obsession faded.
Nevertheless, he kept her hand all the way up the stairs.
As they approached Kelly's bedroom door, Dean wondered if she still had a 'headache.' Not that it would be a good idea for them to have sex tonight. In fact, it would be a damn disaster. She'd take it all wrong. And besides, sex didn't seem to be moving this relationship toward its natural conclusion.
But that didn't stop Dean from feeling a tug of disappointment when Kelly let go of his hand at her bedroom door and turned with definite physical evasion. "So," she said, and leaned her back against the door.
"So." Dean had no idea what else to say.
Kelly wore a soft smile. "Thanks," she told him. "That walk was exactly what I needed tonight."
"It was?" But it couldn't have been, according to Dean's theory. As far as he understood things, Kelly needed exactly what he did: physical passion. Their sexual attraction to each other was at the core of this whole mess. A little walk couldn't truly have satisfied her.
But Kelly's smile only widened. "Uh huh. You're very good to me, you know."
Dean could feel his face warm. "Well..."
"You pay attention," she claimed. Then she stepped forward and Dean felt the quick brush of her lips on his. "Good night, Dean."
He had to close his eyes at the touch of her. Such a simple thing, so soft, so delicate, yet it ran through him with earth-shattering force. Meanwhile Kelly opened her bedroom door, stepped around it, and was gone.
Dean was left in the hall, shaken by that small kiss, though he knew by all his theories he shouldn't have been. He really shouldn't have been.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
On Saturday night, Felicia decided she couldn't avoid the Club forever. She might run into Troy, true, but such a meeting was going to occur sooner or later. Considering the people and places they had in common, they were going to see each other again. Repeatedly. Somehow they would have to get back on a normal footing.
Still, she didn't expect to see Troy her very first time back. Walking into the lounge of cool green walls and smart white furniture to find him sitting there in an overstuffed armchair was something of a shock. He had one smartly clad knee crossed over the other and was joking with Joe Esterley and Martin Goeffland. Felicia's immediate reflex was to turn around and leave the room.
But she suppressed the cowardly impulse. This was her club, too. If she wanted to sit in the elegant, half-lit lounge and enjoy a glass of white wine then she shouldn't let the mere presence of Troy stop her.
Pinning a casual smile on her face, she straightened her shoulders and waltzed on in. But she was acutely conscious of Troy across the room, still chatting with his friends and apparently unaware of her. She was terribly conscious of her own body, the working of her legs and hips beneath her St. John white dress as she moved toward the bar. And she was blisteringly conscious of the precise moment Troy caught sight of her. From the corner of her eye she saw his nonchalant smile falter.
An astonishing rush of satisfaction went through her.
Behind her cool smile, Felicia gritted her teeth. Oh, but feeling satisfaction was...inappropri
ate. She shouldn't want Troy to notice her, nor should she want him disconcerted because he had.
Deliberately, she placed her back to Troy and his little group as she slid onto one of the leather cushioned bar stools. "Glass of the house white, please," she told the bartender.
The young woman with the blond ponytail smiled and nodded. "Right there, Miz Thurgood."
Felicia kept on smiling but her heart pounded at the sound of Troy's voice, recovered from his shock and now rumbling in and out of the conversation going on behind her. It was no lie they needed to get back to a normal footing. For three days now she'd been hearing that voice, seeing his face. She'd been over and over it, the image of his stark features right before his mouth had come down on hers. The gritty sound of his voice telling her he was attracted to her, that all this time he'd actually liked her.
At odd moments of the day her heart would speed, just as it did now, simply from remembering.
Felicia breathed in and out deeply, determined to calm down.
"You okay, Miz Thurgood?" The bartender's youthful features showed concern as she set a glass of pale gold wine in front of Felicia.
Felicia brightened her smile. "What? Oh, I'm fine." To prove it, she lifted her glass and took a small sip, smiling again at the bartender as she lowered the glass.
The young woman's expression relaxed and she turned away. Felicia's smile faded. The wine, which she knew was excellent, tasted like water. Nothing, actually, had tasted very interesting since Troy's kiss.
Meanwhile, Felicia could hear the group behind her breaking up. Joe was announcing he had a dinner meeting. Martin grumbled that he had a wife and kids waiting for him at home. Felicia felt her heart pounding mercilessly against the wall of her chest.
Troy was going to leave, too. He was going to walk out with the other two men. She tensed, in anticipation of being able to relax.
"Tennis tomorrow?" Troy asked someone.
"Noon," Martin replied. "On the dot, man. Some of us have jobs."
Troy chuckled. But then, instead of leaving with the others, he walked right up to Felicia. The hair on her arms stood up straight as he sauntered oh, so casually, to the barstool on her right.
She wanted to look at him. She wanted to send him a cool and casual smile, something to say that he'd never rattled her. But all she could do was sit there, staring fixedly at her wine glass.