"I guess we might as well get down to business," he said.
Felicia couldn't take her eyes off Troy's hand, folding and pressing the corner of the napkin. Business, her mind thought. He was taking care of the wretched apology. Thank goodness.
Troy cleared his throat again. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was deliberately cruel to you at the tennis courts the other day. I, uh, expect there was a better way I could have told you about Dean's marriage — if I had to be the one to tell you at all."
Felicia raised her eyes from his hand at that. Oh, but you'd wanted to be the one to tell me. You were looking forward to it! Polite as Troy was being today, she knew he basically loathed her.
However. They were here to take care of a social duty. Felicia didn't want to start an argument or create any obstacle to concluding this obligation. So she retrieved her bright, well-mannered smile and claimed, "Really, there is no need to apologize. I — "
She nearly claimed she had no interest in whether or not Dean was married but — again — that would only provoke an argument, and a stupid one at that. Troy had, in fact, guessed Felicia's fantasies regarding Dean. Her smile twisted as she instead admitted, "I doubt there was any good way to do it."
Troy's dark eyes flicked her way. He was clearly surprised by her admission. "Maybe not a good way." His own words were careful. "But definitely a better one."
Felicia shrugged. "I never had a claim on Dean. Do you know I saw them, Dean and Kelly, at the opera?" She smiled at Troy, desperate to get the focus of attention off herself. "They seemed well-suited, and quite happy."
"You think?" Troy's brows curled. "Because actually that's another reason I should apologize. I'm not even sure this marriage is going to last."
Felicia's eyebrows jumped. She thought of the couple she'd seen at the opera, of the glow of excitement in Kelly's eyes, and the intense attention in Dean's. Felicia gave a little cough. "It's going to last."
There was more surprise, and some bewilderment in the look Troy threw her. "You sound pretty sure of that."
"Not sure." Felicia lifted her shoulders. "That's just how it looked to me."
The bewilderment in Troy's gaze hardened into disquiet. "Do I have this straight? You're going to sit back and simply accept this?"
Felicia laughed. "Is there something else I'm supposed to do?"
Troy looked dark. "Not be so all-fired cheerful about it, for one thing."
"Oh, why shouldn't I be cheerful?" He was clawing through her forbearance, turning the focus back on her. Worse, he was claiming she had to be fading away! She was not fading away, or if she was, he'd be the last person to whom she'd admit it. She waved a dismissive hand. "Life is full of little disappointments."
Troy's gaze was deriding. "I wouldn't call having the man you love marry somebody else a little disappointment."
Felicia's teeth crushed together. But she didn't lose her smile. She wouldn't. "I'm not in love with Dean."
Troy just looked at her.
"I'm not!" It was all Felicia could do not to hiss the words through her wretched smile. How dare Troy try to tell her how she felt!
But Troy not only dared, he started to smile. It was a slow, knowing...and somehow sexual, smile. "Not in love with him, huh? But your nose is getting red. How much do you want to bet that means you're lying?"
Felicia felt the blood rush to all parts of her body, her nose included. She wasn't lying. She was furious. How dare he? How dare he sit there and tease her! When she spoke, it was in a mere purr, with her lips curving into her own knowing smile. "Maybe you would like to hear what I would be willing to bet about you?"
Troy's smug smile faltered.
That made Felicia's smile grow. "I would bet there is a reason you are so morbidly interested in your cousin, Dean, and the women in his life. I would bet it's because you are jealous of him. In fact, you feel quite inadequate in comparison to him, all around."
Troy's big smile was fading faster than the sun before a thunderstorm.
Feeling a surge of satisfaction, Felicia went on. "That's why you wouldn't even consider taking the fundraising job I offered you. Why you won't take any job. You're afraid of paling next to Dean."
Pale was exactly what was happening to Troy's face. He looked so stricken that Felicia almost — almost — felt bad.
But the idea that she was actually getting the better of him spurred her on. "You've spent your entire life trying to make sure nobody would compare the two of you, but here's a news flash. I do compare you. And I know you're selling yourself short, Troy. I know you could do more and you could be more — if you weren't such a yellow-bellied coward."
Nothing moved in Troy's face except for his eyes. His eyes glittered dangerously at Felicia.
She felt a frisson of mixed excitement and fear. Immensely satisfying as that had been, she'd done the equivalent of cornering a big alley cat. Probably not her most intelligent move.
Very slowly, Troy straightened from his casual slouch. Slowly, he leaned over the little table. And slowly, oh so slowly, he smiled. His eyes glittered more dangerously than ever. "You," he said, very softly, "shouldn't throw stones...seeing as how you live in a glass house, yourself."
There was a sharp, sinking sensation in Felicia's stomach.
"Let's talk about being a coward." Troy's eyes held hers. "Let's talk about staying inside your safe, little shell. About never daring to set foot outside. I'll bet you would have a lot to say on that subject, wouldn't you?"
Felicia knew she was staring at him. Not only because he seemed to be speaking her most private, carefully hidden thoughts, but because his masculinity was pouring off of him in waves. She could practically smell it; the power, the drive...the near violence. Like a mouse before a cat, all she could do was sit there, barely able to breathe.
"Nicoise salad." The voice came from above the tension-shimmering air. A sleeve-clad arm descended in front of Felicia, bearing a china plate heaped with crisp vegetables. "And pasta bolognese," the waiter continued. A plate of angel hair noodles came to a landing in front of Troy. "Enjoy your meal," the waiter said brightly.
Felicia supposed the waiter walked away. She didn't know. She couldn't tear her gaze from Troy's. His eyes were like firebrands, searing through her. Who would have guessed dark brown eyes could be so piercing? She felt as if he was seeing right through her. Everything. She felt as if she couldn't continue to exist if she sat there one more minute impaled by those eyes.
She stood up, clutching the purse she'd laid in her lap. Whirling, she managed to wrench her gaze from his, and then she walked. She walked fast, desperately navigating the tight array of empty tables and chairs, making for the door out of the place.
One couldn't have asked for a more beautiful spring day. Felicia dimly registered that fact as she walked, straight and swift, out of the restaurant and down the sidewalk.
"Felicia!" It was Troy's voice, and not very far behind her. Felicia's eyes widened and she stepped up her pace, though she wasn't going to add to her humiliation by running.
Troy had no such compunction. He ran. She could hear his footsteps rushing up to her. And then her shoulder was roughly caught in his hand. She gritted her teeth as he stopped her and turned her around.
"Please, Felicia," he groaned. "I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what got into me — Okay, maybe I do, but I'm very, very sorry." And then he uttered a word that Felicia didn't think a man who truly had reparation on his mind would say to a woman. On top of that, his hand, so very strong on her shoulder, was making her tremble. All she could do was stand there and stare at the buttons of his Cashmere cardigan.
"Felicia." It sounded like a warning. And then as if things weren't bad enough, he grasped her other shoulder. "Look at me," he ground out.
Quaking, she looked up. Maybe that would make him let her go. But he only looked back at her with eyes that were almost black.
"You...do something to me," Troy claimed. "You get under my skin. T
he way you walk, the way you talk...how you look down your nose at me. It all makes me...crazy."
Every bone Felicia owned was still shaking, but she was staring at Troy now. What was he talking about? Her stomach began to curl in a very strange way.
Troy went on, his voice sounding like gravel rubbing together. "Your eyes say 'touch-me-not,' and that just makes me want to...touch you."
Felicia's curling stomach now dropped, abruptly. Had he just said that? That he wanted to...touch her. Like he was...attracted to her? No! Impossible. Troy wasn't attracted to her. He made fun of her. He thought she was comical.
Yes, yes, all of that was true. But it was also true that his eyes were blazing dark fire. It was true that he was leaning her up against the side of the building. She could feel his hard, taut muscles up and down the length of her abdomen and thighs. She could feel — Good God, was that his — ? Her eyes briefly lowered, then flashed back up to his. Her lips parted in shock.
"I know I treat you rotten," Troy growled. "I have to, because if I didn't treat you rotten I'd be doing...this." And his mouth came down on hers.
There was an instant of shock at the first touch of his lips to hers, and then it was like nothing Felicia could have predicted. She felt no revulsion, no squirming desire to wiggle away. She didn't have time. As Troy's mouth took firm possession of hers, a sensation of incredible heat swept through her. Her purse dropped to the ground. Felicia grabbed Troy's shoulders. Her knees melted into butter. This was — this was —
Good.
She held on and met his every move with one of her own, her heart pounding, her blood rushing. It was incredible, unbelievable, the sensations pouring through her. She felt like a potent narcotic had been injected straight into her veins. She felt like her skin was frizzling into steam and lifting off of her.
She felt like she would die if she couldn't eat this man up. Her fingers dug into the toughened muscles of his shoulders and a long, deep moan came out of her throat.
No wonder, a voice mused, as from far off. Now wonder you always avoided this.
Felicia stiffened.
"Good God, Felicia!" Troy wrenched his mouth from hers with a gasp. For a moment they stood pressed close together and staring into each other's eyes.
Good God, indeed! Felicia could feel Troy, every inch of him, including the erection pressed hard against her Christian Dior skirt. Even worse than that, she could feel a deep and powerful thrill inside herself as she recognized what it meant. Troy, Troy was aroused by her.
And she was excited by his arousal.
Heaven's above. Out. Immediately. She had to get out of there.
Fortunately, he didn't resist when she pushed him away. No, he parted his body from hers most willingly. Maybe he was as shocked and displeased with the turn of events as she was, though Felicia sincerely doubted it. Troy wasn't dealing with the emotional upheaval of a lifetime.
"I've — Good-bye," she told him, very firm. Then, not daring to look his way, not knowing what might happen if she looked into his amazing brown eyes, she remembered to scoop up her purse, then whirled and stalked off down the street. She tried to move as if there had been no interruption at all in her progress. Just as if he hadn't kissed her.
And she hadn't kissed him back.
Oh, my goodness gracious everything. Felicia ducked down into a subway stairway that opened fortuitously in front of her. Her lips still tingled. Damn, but her whole body still tingled.
With pleasure, with desire, with yearning. She wanted more!
Felicia paid the fare for a token and, with trembling fingers, slid it into the slot and pushed through. She struggled to control her erratic breathing as she waited for the next train — to anywhere.
She'd kissed Troy, kissed Troy, of all people.
And she'd liked it.
###
He'd just kissed the ice princess.
Troy walked back into the quiet restaurant, every inch of him shaking; with sexual reaction, with self disgust...with unfulfilled lust. God. Dear God, but that had been — He wiped his forehead with the back of one hand and walked over to the table they'd abandoned. He looked down at the two plates of untouched food.
No way was he going to be able to eat that pasta bolognese with Felicia's dainty Nicoise salad staring across the table at him. Troy pulled out his wallet, removed a generous number of bills, and slapped them onto the table. Then he turned and walked out of the place for the second time.
Could he have screwed up a simple apology any better, Troy wondered? He stood for a moment outside the restaurant, then deliberately turned in the opposite direction from the one Felicia had headed. As he walked, he tried to avoid groaning out loud.
Felicia was very wrong if she thought Troy could come anywhere close in a comparison with Dean. He was a screw-up through and through. Look at today. He hadn't managed to last half an hour in Felicia's company without insulting her yet further.
And then kissing her.
Troy swallowed and started shaking again. Now, that had to be the stupidest thing he had ever done. Even giving Dean his hypnotic suggestion couldn't compare.
Because kissing Felicia had been both stupid and — and fantastic. Troy's teeth gritted so they wouldn't start chattering as he continued to shake. Kissing Felicia had been shocking, exciting, excruciatingly pleasurable...and...and...
Something more.
It had made him feel...good. Somehow...right.
Walking fast, Troy frowned, and his shaking managed to get worse. Right? What the hell did that mean, 'right?' Felicia had to be the exact wrong woman for him to be kissing. Totally unright. She compared him to Dean, for crissake.
Troy didn't scan the road for a cab. He didn't walk down into any of the subway stations he passed. He just kept walking while he tried to stop shaking.
And telling himself there was absolutely nothing right about Felicia.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kelly and Dean made love again that Tuesday night, as promised. Dean came home late, after everyone else had gone to bed, and knocked on Kelly's door.
After thinking about it all afternoon, Kelly had formed an opinion about what was going on. It was an opinion strengthened by Dean skipping the family dinner that evening. Still, she was taken aback by the expression on his face when she opened her bedroom door. "Uh, hard day?" she asked.
"You could say that," Dean replied. Then he removed her nightgown. In two minutes they were both naked on Kelly's bed.
After a fine round of mutual orgasms, at around two in the morning, Kelly asked, "Making up for lost time?"
"Mm," Dean said. "I'll see you tomorrow at noon."
"Let me guess. We'll make love."
"Mm," Dean said. Then he kissed her, put his clothes back on, and left.
Kelly put up with this for the next three days. She couldn't say she wasn't enjoying herself. Dean was a superior lover, and whatever demons drove him made him more daring every time. They made love in the back seat of his car, in an old gardening shed, and behind a tree in Dean's forest. In one way, though, Dean was very careful.
He never gave them a chance to talk. Not a chance to talk, or do anything but make love.
On the morning of the fourth day, Kelly lay on her bed watching him leave her, once again, and knew this had to stop.
"Later," Dean said, with a smiling flash of his teeth.
"Sure," Kelly replied, though she felt a sinking inside.
He drew up the zipper of his fly, threw her one more smile, and went out the door.
As Kelly stared at the cream-colored panels of her closed bedroom door, the sinking sensation inside her grew. This had to stop. Dean couldn't hide behind their sex life forever. Not to mention she wasn't supposed to be sleeping with him at all, not according to her policy. Well, yes, they were married — technically. But they weren't married, really. They couldn't really be married until Dean declared his true love and respect.
He hadn't done that. He hadn't e
ven come close.
In fact, as he'd walked out her bedroom door just then he'd given her no more than a lascivious grin. Kelly rolled onto her stomach. She fought down a wave of self-disgust.
She wasn't doing a darn thing to protect herself, to keep herself safe from emotional harm. She was letting herself get drawn deeper and deeper into intimacy with a man who might never come to love her. True, he was tender at times, and always considerate, but that didn't add up to love.
On the bed, Kelly buried her face in her pillow. She knew her present actions were foolish, and she knew if she had any self-respect at all, any intelligence, she would do something about it.
If she had any self-respect, she would do something, and soon.
###
They'd made love in the back seat of Dean's Lexus, in Tom's old gardening shed, and behind the sugar maple tree by the south fence. They'd done it and had it in every conceivable style and position.
After three days of this, Dean was exhausted. But he was far from ready to give up. He was just going to have to try harder, he told himself, looking out the window of the limo as Jackson drove him into town on Saturday. He was going to have to exert himself yet further in order to run through this thing.
It was impossible to deny any longer that there was a lot more than passion going on here. Indeed, an astonishing, if not alarming, range of emotion was involved.
All the same, somehow, somewhere, there had to be an end to it.
In the car, Dean clasped his hands and tapped both index fingers against his lips. The problem was that Kelly was...different. She wasn't sharp or sophisticated or demanding. She was, well, innocent. Yes, innocent in her own crazy way. She was innocent and generous and uncomplaining. She was the most accepting woman Dean had ever met.
He released a deep sigh. Kelly was too different. Despite his certainty he would get tired of her, he wasn't. On the contrary, there were moments he simply wanted to hold her close; he wanted to hold her and never let her go. At those moments he quickly roused himself from the dangerous contentment into which he'd fallen and quickly brought the both of them to some incredible orgasm.