Cougar Christmas

  Things were changing between them, changing in ways Drew had never dreamed would be possible.

  He found himself hoping they would change even more.

  Chapter Five

  “Well, you appear to have made some progress last night.” Phillips was sitting on a chair in his office to one side of a large flat screen TV. Drew and Genevieve were sitting on a loveseat together, watching the recording of the night before play out.

  “We did our best,” Gen said stiffly. Drew could tell she felt intensely uncomfortable and he didn’t blame her. It wasn’t easy to watch yourself having sex. Or simulating sex, anyway.

  “No, I don’t think you did.” Phillips sounded critical as he frowned and rubbed his long hands together, making that weird sandpapery sound.

  “What do you mean?” Drew demanded, frowning. “We did the exercises exactly as the instructions stipulated. And then we made love, exactly like we’re supposed to every night.”

  “Yes, but you did so fully clothed.” Phillips frowned. “It’s almost as though you two are afraid to expose your bodies to each other. Or else you don’t want to see each other naked?”

  “Of course we do,” Drew protested. “I love Gen’s body. She’s absolutely gorgeous naked.” From the corner of his eye he could see his boss blushing at this but he didn’t care. She was beautiful and he had no problem admitting it.

  “Then you should let her know you find her beautiful in a more intimate fashion,” Phillips responded. “In fact, tonight I want you to do the sensual soaking bubble bath for two intimacy exercise. You should take your time and wash each other everywhere.”

  “What?” Genevieve looked panicked. “But…but I thought you said we got to choose which exercises we did each night!”

  “And you will—you can choose the second one.” Phillips nodded as though the matter was decided. Before either Drew or Genevieve could say anything else, he added, “At least it’s obvious you weren’t faking your orgasm, Genevieve. That’s a good sign you’re on the right track.”

  “What?” Gen’s big brown eyes got even wider. “Why…I mean, how could you possibly tell that?”

  “I know, it’s supposed to be impossible for a man to tell if a woman is pretending to reach the peak.” Phillips laughed, as though it was a great joke. “But for a trained therapist like myself, it’s not difficult.”

  Genevieve shook her head.

  “I still don’t see—”

  “Look here—see how your pupils are dilated? And there’s a redness on your chest, right above your breasts. That’s a sexual flush—a tell-tale sign of arousal. And then here—” Phillips ran the recording back and froze it at a certain spot. “Your fingers and toes are curled in a spasm of pleasure and your back is arched, as though you’re trying to allow Drew here the deepest penetration possible. That’s a physiological response to orgasm—an evolutionary reaction that allows the male’s seed the best possible chance to fertilize a waiting ovum.” He frowned. “Tell me, Genevieve, are the two of you trying to conceive? Sometimes that can put a strain on a relationship, especially if you’ve been unsuccessful in the past.”

  “I…I…” Genevieve was clearly speechless—speechless and mortified, Drew saw. Her cheeks were flushed pink and she couldn’t seem to get any words out.

  “No, we’re not trying for a baby right now,” he said smoothly, trying to cover for her. “But we were thinking about it in the next few years. Look, is this session almost over? It’s nearly lunchtime and I am starving.”

  Phillips frowned at them.

  “Well, I suppose we can call a halt to the session for now. But I want you two to do better tonight. Take off your clothes and really look at each other—explore each other’s bodies. Enjoy each other. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal,” Drew said quickly, rising. Genevieve was already up and headed for the door. Clearly she was still really upset.

  “I’ll see the two of you later,” Dr. Phillips called.

  Drew gritted his teeth. I’m sure you will, you perverted old bastard!

  Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it—they were stuck in this situation. Quickly, he followed Genevieve out the door, hoping to speak to her about it.

  But by the time he got out of the therapist’s office, she was already gone.

  * * * * *

  Oh God, he knows—he knows I wasn’t faking! Genevieve paced around the luxurious bedroom, running her hands through her hair. Damn that idiot Phillips for telling on me that way and giving it away!

  “Gen? You in here?”

  Drew’s voice came floating in and she knew she was caught.

  After the therapy session that morning she’d been so mortified she had run out of the therapist’s office as fast as she could. She’d skipped lunch—she couldn’t eat when her stomach was tied in knots anyway—and Drew had gone without her, obviously sensing she needed time alone. But now he was back and she would have to face him and look him in the eyes knowing that he knew.

  I’m supposed to be his boss, she told herself for the umpteenth time. How can we possibly go back to our regular relationship at work now that he knows how much he turns me on? Knows that he made me come? Even after he gets that promotion we’ll still be working in the same space—I’ll still have to see him every day and remember what happened between us…

  “Gen?” he said again, coming in to the bedroom. “There you are. Are you feeling any better?”

  “Some.” Genevieve forced a tight smile. She hoped like hell that Drew wasn’t going to ask why she’d run out of the therapist’s office so quickly. “Uh, what did I miss for lunch?”

  Drew shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t nearly as fancy as dinner. There wasn’t a bowl of caviar or a platter of pâté as far as the eye could see.” He made an indignant face. “I was going to complain but then I decided I would just have to make do with the duck a l’orange and steak au poivre with black truffle mousse instead.”

  Against her will, his words drew a more natural smile to her face. How did he always know how to lighten her mood? She’d always known he was kind of a smartass at the office but now she was seeing a whole new side of his humor—a side that made her like him more and more.

  “Drew…”

  “Come on.” He held out a hand to her, smiling encouragingly. “We’re going to be late for group therapy. And I don’t like to think what Phillips will do to us if we miss. Or make us do to each other,” he added darkly.

  “You’re right.” Genevieve made herself square her shoulders. “Who knows what other, uh, homework he might assign. I mean…” She felt another miserable blush rising to her cheeks. God, how had she just blurted that out? She really didn’t need to remind herself and Drew of the incredibly intimate scene they would be facing after dinner that night. Especially when she still wasn’t over the embarrassment of knowing that he knew her orgasm of the night before hadn’t been faked.

  Drew seemed to guess what was going through her mind.

  “Don’t think about tonight,” he said quickly. “Let’s just take one thing at a time, okay, Gen? Right now we have to get through this group therapy session. And after that, we get to try and find new ‘couple friends’ to eat dinner with. Unless you want to sit with Myron and Mitzie again?”

  “Ugh, no!” Genevieve made a face. “I swear if I have to hear about his ‘pump’ anymore while I’m trying to eat—”

  “I don’t know—I thought that was the interesting part of the conversation.” Drew grinned. “Although the mental image of Mitzie pumping him up and going to town on him was a little hard to get over.” He cocked his head to one side as though considering. “You think she uses a bicycle pump on him or what? And how does she know if he’s getting over-inflated? I mean, you know how when you’re pumping up a tire—you don’t want it to pop, so…”

  He trailed off because Genevieve was giggling. The idea of the redheaded Mitzie standing over the rotund, balding Myron and pumping industriously while his equipment go
t bigger and bigger—a huge red balloon rising between his thighs— was just too ridiculous to resist.

  “Drew,” she said, finally giving him her hand. “What is it with you?”

  “No, Gen…” He drew her closer and looked into her eyes. “What is it with you? Are you all right? I’ve been really worried about you.”

  “I’m fine.” She looked away quickly, both unable and unwilling to talk about the source of her embarrassment. “Let’s just go to therapy, okay?”

  A look of frustration passed briefly over Drew’s face but he simply nodded.

  “Sure. Let’s go.”

  When they got to the group therapy room—a large, luxurious space in the center of the retreat with large windows that let in the light and had a gorgeous view of the mountains—they found it had been set up as a potter’s studio. Or rather, like six studios since there were six potter’s wheels situated in different areas around the large room.

  “What is this?” Genevieve walked over to the nearest wheel, which already had a damp lump of clay on it. It was about waist height so they could stand while working on it.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Drew grinned at her. “We’re going to be re-enacting that hot scene from Ghost. You know with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze?” He gave her a wistful look. “I just hope I get to play Demi’s part—I’ve always wanted to be groped at a pottery wheel.”

  “Oh, come on.” She put a hand on her hip and gave him a skeptical look. “You’re too young to have watched that movie.”

  “Not in a houseful of older sisters.” He grinned at her. “I’ve seen all the classic chick flicks—Steel Magnolias, Pretty in Pink, the Terminator…”

  Genevieve found herself smiling despite herself.

  “Drew, the Terminator, is most certainly not a chick flick.”

  “Yes, it really is,” he said earnestly. “The hero—meaning the guy who’s not Arnold Schwarzenegger—comes across time to rescue the girl the Terminator is trying to kill.”

  “So?” Genevieve shrugged. “And that makes it a chick flick how exactly?”

  “Think about it, Gen—he travels back in time, stark naked to face a killer robot in order to save a woman he’s never met because he fell in love with her picture.” Drew emphasized. “If that’s not a romantic chick flick, I don’t know what is.”

  “All right,” Genevieve shook her head, still grinning. “But you have to admit it has a slightly different tone than the other chick flicks you mentioned.”

  “Which is really a shame,” Drew remarked. “Because adding a time traveling killer robot to Pretty in Pink would really have livened it up some. It would have helped Sixteen Candles too, and Pretty Woman.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Really, just about any romantic movie could be improved by a killer robot from the dystopian future when you come to think of it.”

  Genevieve found she was laughing again, helpless to stop herself.

  “Drew,” she managed to say, shaking her head. “How do you do that? How do you always get me laughing even when I’m upset?”

  She expected him to make another joke but to her surprise, he grew suddenly serious.

  “It’s a defense mechanism,” he said quietly. “Being a smartass—making you laugh. It’s just to hide how I’m really feeling, I guess.”

  Abruptly the laughter died on her lips and she looked at him uncertainly. What was he saying?

  “I thought guys weren’t supposed to want to talk about their feelings,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, well…another thing to chalk up to being raised with sisters I guess.” He shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling beneath the green sweater he was wearing.

  “Actually, how I’m feeling right now is confused. I’m seeing a whole new side of you since we got here, Gen. And I like it—probably more than I should.”

  “I…I like it too, I think,” she whispered. “But Drew, I don’t know if—”

  “Oh goody—arts and crafts! I just love arts and crafts!”

  The blaring voice of Mitzie cut off what she’d been about to say.

  “Ah—it’s ridiculous crap,” Myron boomed, following her into the room. “But I guess if you like it, sweetie, it’s all good.”

  “I do like it. I love it! Oh, hello, you two!” Mitzie waved at them and came over, grinning. “Would you look at this setup? Do you love this or what?”

  “We do—we love it a lot,” Drew said seriously. “Gen and I can’t wait to start working with the clay. In fact, Gen is planning to sculpt a nude statue of me.”

  “What?” Myron frowned. “I thought we were just making pots or ashtrays or something.”

  “Nope—Gen’s too much of an artist for that. Besides, she’s been trying to get me to model for her for some time.” Drew cocked an eyebrow at them. “I hope you guys don’t mind if I take off all my clothes. Gen can’t get the details right otherwise.”

  “Oh, uh…” Mitzie looked uncertain but Myron was already taking her by the arm and guiding her to the front of the room, as far away as possible.

  “I told you that one was crackers,” Genevieve heard him mutter to his wife. “All that talk about dressing up like a school girl and singing the dirty version of Home on the Range last night and now this. We’re staying away and we are not sitting with them at dinner tonight either!”

  “We’ll just…stay over here so you can do what you want,” Mitzie called to them from across the room. “Okay?”

  “Fine. That’s fine.” Genevieve was trying not to laugh again. “Thanks,” she muttered to Drew under her breath.

  “My pleasure.” He grinned. “Looks like we are definitely getting different dining companions tonight.”

  “I think you’re right,” Genevieve murmured.

  Soon the other couples came in and the class got underway. The instructor was a tiny woman who had a degree in art therapy. She showed them how to work the wheels and explained that they were supposed to make a pot together. After whipping up a quick and beautiful example—and making the whole process look deceptively easy—she turned them loose with the strict instructions to work as a team and keep their hands on the clay at the same time.

  It turned out to be a lot of messy fun. The wheels weren’t electric so one of them had to keep up a steady rhythm, pumping the foot petal to make it spin while the two of them kept their hands in the grayish-brown clay, trying to make something out of the shapeless lump.

  Across the room Genevieve could hear Myron and Mitzie arguing.

  “You’re pumping too slow—go faster,” Myron commanded. “No, now you’re pumping too fast! Stop—it’s going all over the place! You’re making a mess!”

  “No, you’re making a mess,” Mitzie shot back. “Just look—you got it everywhere! Somebody’s going to have to clean all this up, Myron and it’s not going to be me.”

  No words were needed. Drew just looked at her and cocked one eyebrow and Genevieve started laughing so hard her hands shook and their own pot collapsed.

  In the end, they wound up with a lopsided vessel that was never going to win any art contests but Genevieve—who was usually kind of a perfectionist—found she didn’t even care. Making the pot with Drew had been one of the most entertaining, downright fun experiences she could ever remember having. And she couldn’t help the spark of pleasure she felt when their hands touched in the wet clay as they tried to mold it together.

  For a time, she was able to forget her embarrassment and she found herself wishing the class would never end. Wished that she and Drew could stay here forever and keep pretending, keep living the increasingly seductive lie that they had woven for themselves.

  But that’s impossible, Genevieve told herself firmly. Sooner or later you’ll have to go back to reality and face the fact that Drew is your assistant and nothing more. It doesn’t matter how funny or handsome he is or how good he smells or what a ridiculously amazing kisser he is, he’s still too young for you and a coworker—not a lover.

  Genevieve knew it was true and yet, s
he was having so much fun she decided to ignore it—at least for now. After all, hadn’t Drew asked her to just forget about everything that was standing between them in the real world and just let herself go a little?

  That’s what I’ll do, she promised herself as the class ended and Drew proudly put their pot on the shelf to dry. I’ll try to let go…at least until this is over.

  Genevieve just hoped she could keep the promise. After being a control freak for so long, it wasn’t going to be easy. But she swore to herself she would try.

  Chapter Six

  Dinner was a much more sober affair that night. They had picked a new couple to eat with but there was hardly any conversation—mostly because Stan, the husband, was constantly on his cell phone and Georgia, his wife, simply sat quietly, morosely picking at her food.

  Drew watched them interact—or rather not interact—and wished they had picked another table. Even the loud, obnoxious Myron and Mitzie had been better than this. Cell phones were supposedly forbidden at the retreat because you were supposed to concentrate on your partner. However, Stan—who was the owner of a company that appeared to require constant attention—had brought one anyway. He texted through the entire dinner, ignoring almost everything that was said to him.

  Genevieve tried valiantly to start a conversation. She asked Georgia where she and Stan lived, how they liked the area, and what they thought of the retreat. But Georgia gave short, almost terse answers, and went back to picking at her food.

  Drew tried too. He asked Stan—between texts—what his company did, how long he had owned it, if he had built it from the ground up, and whether he planned to expand.

  He also got one word answers. Between texting and shoveling food into his mouth, Stan was completely preoccupied.

  At last Genevieve exchanged a look with Drew and they both stopped trying and ate dinner in silence. But though they stopped talking, Drew noticed that Genevieve was still watching the couple sharing their table with something like sadness in her eyes. He wondered why.