“I think any book about making love and learning to give and receive pleasure is great. But it’s only a guide. It gives some suggestions, some techniques and positions that might work. Try them out. But the most important thing is to talk to your partner. She’s the expert on her own body. She knows what she likes and she’ll help you become the best lover of her body that you can be. That’s all that matters in theend.”
“So, Lance,” Ginger said, “what’s the number-one tip for being a knock-your-socks-offlover?”
Luke sighed, and appeared vaguely uncomfortable with the question for the first time since the interview had begun. Shari waited, barely breathing, for his answer, certain he was about to share some detail about their love life that she’d thought wasprivate.
After a couple of seconds of silence, he said, “I know this sounds corny, but the very best, most mind-blowing sex happens when you’re in love with your partner. I guess I wasn’t much of an expert at all, because I just figured itout.”
“The best sex happens when you’re in love with your partner. What do you all think ofthat?”
More hooting andclapping.
“Lance,” said Ginger, “I think you might be on tosomething.”
A soggy tissue hit the TV screen in Shari’s living room and bounced off, hitting the floor in a limp, white heap. Love? Did the man have even the most basic inkling of theconcept?
Love was about sharing and honesty andsupport.
She blew her nose, turned off the television, turned her cell off and unplugged thelandline.
Love was about openness and trust. It wasn’t about deceit and lies andexperiments.
Luke was coming home tonight. The very last thing she intended was to seehim.
LUKE WHISTLEDas he approached the apartment building by cab from the airport. The scent of roses filled the air. He’d made the cabbie stop so he could buy the flowers from a street-sidevendor.
He smiled wryly at his own symbolism. Everything was coming up roses in hislife.
His agent was beside himself. The show had gone well, watched, Luke later found out, by two of the editors who were interested in his novel. Matthew had hinted at some competition among publishing houses interested in acquiringPrisons of theMind.
Roses might be old-fashioned, but they had “proposal on bended knee” written all overthem.
And he was feelingold-fashioned enough to drop at Shari’s feet to ask her to be his wife. For he’d finally realized that he wasn’t like his dad at all. If Luke had only loved once in twenty-eight years it seemed fair to assume his was the forever kind oflove.
He couldn’t wait to tellShari.
He had a feeling he’d been using his father as an excuse all these years to avoid long-term relationships and anything that smacked of permanence. Now he’d fallen in love with Shari and he wanted her forever. Maybe his father had never grown up, but Luke felt as though he’d finally become an adult and accepted his adultfeelings.
He’d sensed the truth of his emotions, then been manipulated into admitting them on television. Which should have freaked him. But the opposite had happened. Ever since he’d said the words on network TV he felt as if millions of viewers knew about his love before he’d told Shari, and that wasn’tright.
In fact, a lot of his recent behavior wasn’t right. He knew he had to explain it all to her. He didn’t want to wait anotherminute.
He called her again, for about the twentieth time, but still there was no answer. Had her battery died? Had she lost her phone? Dropped it onconcrete?
It had crossed his mind to spend some of the money his agent assured him would be coming his way between the imminent sale of his novel and the extra royalties from having his book promoted on television. He’d been tempted, after his stint on the show was finished, to wander into a fancy Hollywood jeweler’s and pick out an engagement ring. He shook his head at his foolishness. If he knew Shari, she’d want to pick out her ownring.
He was so excited, he didn’t even stop at his own apartment, but sprinted up the additional flight, his suit bag bouncing against his thigh, the roses clutched in his grip. He must look like the biggest idiot on two legs, but he didn’t care, he was filled with urgency to see her, to kiss her, to talk to her and to love her untilmorning.
Even though her phones didn’t seem to be working, she must be expecting him. They hadn’t spent a night apart, except last night, since they’d first made love two weeks ago. He wouldn’t have believed he could find love so quickly, but the truth was, he’d loved her before he even realizedit.
As he burst through the fire door onto her floor, he wondered if she’d be naked and surrounded by candlelight when he got there. He really hoped she would be. He wanted to show her he was capable of other responses when confronted by her naked, sexy body than passingout.
By the time he got to her door he was already hard, ardently anticipating their reunion after a full night’sabsence.
There was a note on her door, handwritten on hole-punched, lined paper. School paper, he thought with a grin. The note was in block letters, the lines wavy, as though she’d written them in a bighurry.
When he gotclose enough to read the words, the grin froze on hisface.
Dear LanceFlagstaff
She’d underlined the name three times. He could feel the fury in the way the pen had actually scratched right through the paper inplaces.
He felt as if he’d swallowed all twelve prickly rosestems.
Do not attemptto contact me everagain.
