“That is exactly what makes you not an asshole,” I said.
He smiled and shrugged. “It’s not an excuse. But it’s why I did what I did with you that day. It’s why I’ve been trying to avoid you.”
I reached for his hand across the table, and he didn’t pull it away. I held it out to look at the palm and traced the lines of it with my fingertip like I was telling his fortune, though I could only go back and not forward. “So then how come you’re here with me now?”
Johnny closed his fingers over mine, holding my hand tight. “Because no matter where I went, you were there.”
“You make it sound like I was stalking you.” My words came out in a whisper, throaty and hoarse.
His eyes gleamed again. His thumb rubbed over the back of my hand and I felt that touch all the way through me. “Not stalking me. Just impossible to get away from.”
“And you wanted to get away from me?” This stung less than it should’ve, the words counterbalanced by the heat in his gaze.
“Yeah.”
“Why, Johnny? Why would you want to get away from me?”
“Because you scared me.”
I squeezed his hand. “I’m not scary. Really, I promise. Bossy, maybe…”
“Bossy, definitely.” He squeezed back.
“I just… I can’t explain to you why,” I told him in a low voice.
All around us, the clatter of forks on plates and low murmur of conversation reminded me we weren’t alone, and yet nothing else was in front of me but Johnny’s face. We held hands like lovers, though that wasn’t quite what we were. Then again, it wasn’t what we weren’t.
“There’s something about you, that’s all. I know you’ve probably had a lot of women tell you that—”
“Hundreds, easy.”
I squeezed his hand hard. “Hey!”
He laughed and my grip softened. Our fingers linked. It was a little awkward, stretching across the table this way, but I didn’t want to let go of him. Not now that I’d grabbed him. Held him tight.
“None like you, Emm,” Johnny said. “None like you.”
Chapter 19
I chose to take that as a compliment, even though I wasn’t entirely sure he meant it as one. I made it through dinner without embarrassing myself, although every time he wiped his mouth I wanted my cunt to be the napkin. I thought he had to know this about me, but if he did, he made no sign of it. He just talked.
And then…he took me home.
I hesitated on the doorstep, hoping he would kiss me. And he did. On the cheek, soft and sweet, at the corner of my mouth. I tasted garlic and olive oil, but though I opened my mouth, it was too late. He’d already pulled back.
Scent of citrus, carried on the cold night air.
I took one step back.
“Johnny,” I said, but it wasn’t now-Johnny who answered.
“This good, babe?” he said from behind me in that butter-slick voice, thick and sweet and low, and I turned to face my foyer and wound up rolling over in Johnny’s bed.
“Johnny?”
Naked beside him, my body slick with sweat, his hand between my thighs. His fingers moving. And just like that, I was shivering and shuddering, consumed with pleasure.
And just like that, blinking, I pushed myself up from the cushions of my couch. A damp cloth fell from my forehead. Water had run down my cheeks and wet the front of my shirt. My hair was wet.
“What the hell?”
Johnny had been pacing, biting his thumb, and now whirled to sink beside me. “Jesus Christ, Emm!”
He went to his knees in front of me and gathered my hands in his. He rubbed them together. I sat up, but he pushed me to stay still.
“What happened?” My stomach, sick and churning, twisted into knots. I was sure I already knew.
“You went dark.”
My mouth opened when he described it the way I always had. “What? How…how long?”
“Fifteen minutes. Shit.” Johnny got up to pace again, running a hand over his hair, which then flopped into his eyes. “I was going to call the ambulance in another five minutes.”
“Oh, God.” I sat up all the way and swung my legs over the edge of the couch. I put my face in my hands, bending forward to combat the faint feeling rushing over me.
I felt his weight beside me. His arm around me. “You fucking had me so worried, Emm. Jesus.”
He got up after half a minute and paced again. “I’m calling the doctor.”
“No!” I looked up. Johnny stopped. “No. Please don’t.”
Tenderly, he sat next to me again and took my hands in his. “Emm…I have to. You were out like a light. I shook you, nothing. Said your name. Nothing. Fifteen fucking minutes, Emm. I was so worried.”
Alarmed, I heard his voice break and I looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry. But please, Johnny. Don’t call the doctor.”
“But if there’s something…”
I shook my head. “I told you before. This has happened for years. There’s no treatment. And if you make me go to the hospital, they’ll do all sorts of tests. I’ll lose my license again. Without my license, I can’t work. And if I can’t work, I can’t afford this house. I won’t be able to live here anymore. I’ll have to move back home with my parents….”
“Shh,” he said. “No, you won’t.”
I shook my head again, fighting tears. “Yes. I will.”
“I’ll drive you to work.”
I swallowed hard. “You’re not even… Why would you do that?”
“So you’re safe,” he said. “So other people on the road are safe.”
“No. I mean, why would you make that commitment? Why would you help me like that? We’ve had one date,” I said. “What happened in the kitchen aside, one date. And before that, you barely spoke to me. I mean, I think we’ve sort of cleared up why, but that doesn’t change the fact that you have no reason to get involved with me like this. To make promises.”
“To help you?” he asked, and brushed my bangs out of my eyes. “Why wouldn’t I help you, Emm?”
“Driving me to work?” I gave a short, harsh laugh and got to my feet. “That’s not helping me. That’s taking care of me.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
I turned to face him. “You barely know me.”
His mouth opened, but no words came out. He closed it again a moment later. He looked pained. “If you don’t let me drive you, I’m going to call 9-1-1 and tell them I found you unconscious. They’ll send someone, and you can try to lie about it, but with your medical history, don’t you think they’ll figure it out?”
“You wouldn’t.” Tears sparked in my eyes and my throat got tight.
Johnny looked at me seriously. “I would.”
“What a shitty thing to do!” I cried, though I knew he was right. This had gone too far; I’d be wrong to endanger myself and, worse, others.
“I know,” he said, and reached out a hand to grab my wrist and pull me a few steps closer to him. “I know. I’m sorry. But I have to.”
I let him pull me up against him, and though I tried not to cry, I did. His hands smoothed my hair, over and over, and his breath whispered over the top of my head. I closed my eyes and held on to him, tight.
“But you don’t even…” I let the protest trail away. I’d wanted this. Why was I fighting it so hard?
“I want to.”
That wasn’t what I’d been about to say, but I nodded. My cheek rubbed the front of his shirt. The buttons scratched. I pulled away and tipped my face to look up at him.
“Johnny?”
“Yeah, babe?”
I blinked at the endearment, which sounded so familiar. “Thanks.”
He smiled and traced my eyebrows with his fingertip. He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead. “You’re welcome. Hell, I’m home all day, what the hell do I have to do but play chauffeur, anyway, for a pretty girl?”
He’d called me “girl” again, and the “pretty” didn’t
help. I looked up at him again. “That’s really what you think about me, huh?”
He smoothed my hair again. “Isn’t it what you are?”
“I’m a woman.”
He laughed softly. “What’s the difference?”
I licked my mouth and tasted tears. “Come upstairs and let me show you.”
Something flickered in his gaze, swift and hot, and faded to be replaced by a strained smile. He didn’t say no, though. I took his hand and put it on my hip. Rubbed it up and down my thigh. Before I could slide it between my legs, Johnny took his hand away.
“Emm. Don’t.”
I frowned. “Why not? You didn’t seem to mind the other night in my kitchen.”
“That was…different.”
“How?” I challenged. “You came over to my house, you walked into my kitchen, and you got me off with your hand. The only thing that’s different between then and now is that now we’ve had a date.”
“Are you the sort of girl—sorry, woman—who fucks on the first date?” His accent got thicker when he was agitated.
It was too fucking sexy to be borne. “Only with you.”
His eyes flashed again. His tongue crept out, the tiniest hint of pink, to tease his lower lip. He was seriously eye-fucking me; heat had risen between us, and I swore I could feel his cock getting thicker against my thigh. But he shook his head.
“Maybe I’m old-fashioned,” Johnny said.
“Bullshit,” I breathed, never looking away from his gaze. “You’ve fucked women whose names you didn’t even know.”
“That was a long time ago. Things were different then. Doesn’t make it right, anyway.”
“Are you going to make me beg?” I asked him.
“Jesus, Emm. No.”
Everything about him had made me crazy. Unstrung. Undone. I’d never begged a man for anything, never wanted to. Never needed to.
I got on my knees, my cheek pressed to the inside of his knee. His hand came down to touch my hair. I nuzzled against him, the fabric of his trousers a little rough.
“I will,” I said in a low voice. “I’ll beg you to let me take that beautiful cock down the back of my throat.”
Johnny made a noise. A low, groaning fucknoise.
“I’ll beg you to fuck me, if that’s what it takes.” I whispered but had no doubts he heard me. I had my eyes closed, couldn’t see him. Didn’t have to. His fingers tightened in my hair, not yet pulling. “Please, Johnny. Fuck me.”
He pulled me to my feet, one hand still tangled in my hair, the other gripping my upper arm hard enough to bruise. I’ve never been into pain, but I relished how hard he held me. I wanted him to mark me. I wanted to have proof of this, later.
His eyes were a little wild, his mouth wet when he spoke. “Is that really what you want?”
“Yes!” I leaned toward him, but he held me at arm’s length. “It’s what I want. I wanted it from the first time I ever saw you.”
He groaned again. I knew that sound. His eyes never strayed from mine. He didn’t smile. He pulled me closer. Slid a hand between my legs, the heel of his palm pressing my cunt.
It was my turn to moan.
Johnny pulled his hand away, though he stayed close. “You should go to bed.”
“I’m trying to get you there.”
He shook his head a little. “No, I mean…really to bed. To sleep. You were just… You just had a…”
I knew what he meant, but didn’t move. “Sex has never triggered a fugue. If anything, the physical release helps keep them away.”
“You,” Johnny said, “are fucking with me.”
“I’d like to be.”
He looked at me with something like wonder, then looked stern. “I’m not doing anything until you’ve had a good night’s sleep and gone to the doctor.”
I blinked. “You’re holding your cock hostage until I go to the doctor?”
He laughed, low and surprised. “You have a fucking mouth, you know that?”
I smiled. “Only for you.”
He tilted his head a little in that familiar way, checking me out as though I’d reminded him of something. “Yeah.”
“Take me to bed,” I whispered, suddenly tired, my head aching, though no scent of oranges threatened me and I didn’t feel faint. Just tired the way I always was at past eleven o’clock at night. “Come with me. Just…be with me, okay?”
He looked past me toward the hall. “I should go.”
“What if I need you in the night?” I asked.
He looked back at me. “You think you might?”
I nodded. Johnny sighed, looking toward the hall again, then down to my face. He took it in both his hands, holding me still. His gaze burned into mine, and I tensed, waiting for him to kiss me.
“You want to stay,” I whispered. “Just as much as I want you to. No matter what else you think about this, you do. Don’t you?”
Johnny sighed. “Just to make sure you’re okay. That’s it.”
I put my hands over his and shifted them so I could kiss his palms before linking our fingers together and holding his hands in front of me as I backed up a step. I led him up the stairs and down the hallway to my bedroom, which wasn’t as clean as it should’ve been, but I hadn’t been expecting a guest. I let go of his hands and he stopped just inside the door.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” I said. “Make yourself at home.”
In the bathroom I was relieved to see that I didn’t look too bad. My hair was messy and my eyes slightly red-rimmed, but that was from the tears, not from going dark. I turned my face from side to side, trying to see myself as he must, but I could only see myself as me.
I washed quickly and tossed my clothes into the hamper, then pulled on my oversize T-shirt. The floor was cold beneath my bare feet and I skipped along the hall until I got to my bedroom. I paused just inside the door. Johnny turned, the copy of Cinema Americana open on my desk, one hand holding open the pages. Beside it, I remembered, was a thick folder of glossy shots I’d printed off the internet. Shots of him from his movies, modeling days. Some pictures of his art. The DVD of Night of a Hundred Moons was there, too.
“Um,” I said. “I’m really not a creepy stalker. I promise.”
He flipped the book closed. “You know all that was a long, long time ago.”
“I know.” I went to the bed and pulled back the covers, then slipped into the sheets with a grimace at the chill. They’d warm up soon, but for the moment I felt a little shivery. I thought of something. “I don’t have anything for you to wear. Sorry.”
His fingers were already on the buttons at his throat, and he paused. “I can sleep in my shorts. It’s okay.”
Watching him undress was surreal—like watching a movie and yet totally different. I’d seen him make these very moves in films and grainy clips on the internet. And inside my head when I was dark. Now I knew just how he’d twist his wrist to loosen the buttons before he did it.
Johnny took off his shirt and looked around before hanging it carefully on the back of my desk chair. His chest was still sleek and bare, no hair on it. Still toned—admittedly not quite as muscular as it had been when he was in his twenties, but hell, I was nearly drooling, anyway. Then he undid his belt. His button. His zipper. I realized I was leaning forward, staring, mouth open with anticipation, only when he stopped with his hands hooked into his waistband and didn’t push down his black dress trousers.
I closed my mouth. Sat back against the headboard. Surreptitiously, I wiped what I was sure would be drool from the corners of my mouth.
Johnny didn’t move. “How about you turn out the lights?”
“What?” I looked at the lamp on my nightstand, but didn’t touch it. “Why?”
“Why you need all this light in here?”
There was only the one small circle of light from the lamp, since he’d turned off the overhead light when I was in the bathroom. I studied him. “You know, for a guy who spent most of his career naked, you’re
charmingly modest.”
“Yeah, naked,” Johnny said. “I was a lot of fucking years younger back then. It was different.”
I was used to being the one who was shy about my body, worried about a little extra baggage here and there. Cellulite. The men I’d gone to bed with had never seemed to care about their back zits, hairy asses, love handles. Johnny’s hesitation charmed me, if it were possible to be further charmed.
“It’s cold.” I patted the covers. “Come to bed.”
With a frown, he shoved his pants down, stepped out of them and took off his socks. He might’ve been worried about time, but he made even that awkward dance graceful. In his dark boxer briefs, he didn’t have the body of a twenty-year-old. Nor a thirty-year-old. It didn’t matter, he was still Johnny. Gorgeous and luscious.
I held out my hand. “Come to bed.”
He did, sliding beneath the blankets and sitting against the headboard. He didn’t look at me. I looked at him, though. His chest rose and fell too fast. A muscle ticked in his cheek.
“Johnny, seriously…”
“It’s those fucking pictures,” he said.
Pitchahs. God, I loved the way he talked. “What about them?”
He looked at me. The dimmish light hid the crow’s-feet, the silver in his hair. He looked different, yes. Older, yes. But in a lot of ways it could’ve been Johnny-then in front of me. My heart skipped as another wave of surreality washed over me.
“I was so fucking young,” he said in a low voice.
I put my hand on his shoulder and ran my fingertips down his arm to take his hand. “You’re beautiful. You’re one of the most beautiful men on the planet.”
His mouth quirked a little at that. “Yeah, according to the art mags back in 1978.”
“According to a lot of people, even now.” I thought of all the fan sites.
“I don’t care about what they think.”
I circled my fingertip over his wrist and felt the pulse beat there. “According to me.”
We stared at each other in silence for a few moments before I twisted in the sheets to turn out the light. Darkness covered us, and I blinked against it. Slowly, silver moonlight filled the spaces, making shadows. Johnny inched down in the bed and pulled me close to him, on my side. He spooned me, and though it wasn’t at all the way I wanted to end up in bed with him, I wriggled as close as I could and fell asleep.