Page 52 of The Best of Friends
It was all she could do not to snort. Amazing? At faking it, maybe.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like sex—she did. And Jonathan, while not the best in the world, was perfectly adequate. The problem was her. Or, more precisely, Nigel. Ever since he’d walked away, choosing Ariel over her, she hadn’t been interested in anything close to intimacy. Something else Nigel had to answer for.
She had a feeling that if she closed her eyes and pretended she was with him, she could get over the top. But thinking about him while doing it with someone else seemed too much like letting Nigel win.
Jonathan released her hand, but before she could get out of bed, he pulled her close and began stroking her arm like she was a cat.
“Where do you want to go out to dinner?” he asked. “Somewhere around here? Or we could go to your place and order in.”
“I’m not that hungry,” she said, forcing a smile. “You’ve exhausted me. I think I’m going to go home and make it an early night.”
He smiled at her, then bent down and sucked on her nipple. “I could change your mind.”
Not in a million years, she thought grimly. “You could,” she said instead. “But I am really tired.”
“Sure.” He stared into her eyes. “We should go away. Fiji’s great this time of year. Or Hong Kong. You’d love the shopping. I could buy you a new wardrobe.” He touched her throat. “Diamonds that sparkle like your eyes.”
Gag and double gag, she thought, sitting up. “While I appreciate the offer, travel isn’t on my agenda right now.” She angled away from him, ignoring the fact that he was hard again. “Jonathan, you know this is just for fun, right? You and I? There’s no relationship.”
His face registered shock, which he covered, but not quickly enough. “Sex and fun,” he said, the erection fading.
Her instinct was to run as hard and fast as she could, but she wasn’t ready to be done with him. Being with Jonathan made her mother crazy, and where was the bad in that? Unless he got to be too much of a pain in her ass, in which case it was over.
“I was involved before,” she said, thinking how strange it was that the truth was now her friend. “It ended badly, and I’m still dealing. This isn’t about you.”
He managed a smile. “I went through a divorce. I know about breakups.”
“Including the fact that they take time to get over.” She bent over and kissed him, putting as much passion into her thrusting tongue as possible. Then she nipped his lower lip and ran her hand over his penis. “I just need a little time.”
He got hard again. “Sure. I’ll be here. Waiting.”
A needy man. That was attractive. She stood and collected her clothes. He got up and pulled on his monogrammed robe, then followed her into the bathroom.
“If you need more than time, I’m here for you,” he said.
“Thanks.”
She dressed quickly and let herself out. Once she was in twilight, she inhaled deeply and wondered if Jonathan had been a mistake. Life always exacted a price. Dealing with him might become more trouble than annoying Elizabeth was worth. Which meant she would have to get the most out of ending things.
Interesting possibilities, she thought as she got into her car and started the engine. There were always interesting possibilities.
Three days later Jayne found herself crawling through traffic. The café was by the Beverly Center in a trendy, crowded, and expensive part of town. Parking was impossible, so Jayne pulled in front of the valet sign, then groaned when she saw the price—there went twenty dollars she would never see again.
She got out and made her way past the crowd of people waiting. Inside, the hostess eyed her with a combination of indifference and superiority.
“The wait for lunch is over an hour,” she said, looking over Jayne’s shoulder, as if hoping to see Jennifer Aniston or Madonna come strolling in.
“I’m meeting someone,” Jayne said, used to being dismissed in places like this. She didn’t have that air of polished wealth or cutting-edge fashion. She was a regular person. This was not a regular-person part of town. “Elizabeth Worden.”
The hostess immediately came to attention and smiled warmly. “Of course. She’s here and expecting you. Right this way.”
She led Jayne through a maze of tables, each covered with organic cotton tablecloths and matching napkins. The wallpaper was probably hemp or bamboo; the overhead light fixtures proudly displayed their low-energy lightbulbs. The scent of cinnamon and ginger hovered in the air.
Elizabeth’s table was in a quiet alcove. It was larger than most. There was no bread basket—the truly rich and thin didn’t do carbs—although a martini glass sat in front of the older woman.
Jayne hadn’t wanted to “do lunch.” She was still recovering from her last meeting with Elizabeth. But saying no was difficult, so she’d made a couple of feeble excuses and then had accepted. Plus, she needed to tell Elizabeth about her new job. Her only concession to self-preservation was a promise to herself that if Elizabeth started getting mean, she would walk away—avoiding a scene be damned.
“Jayne,” Elizabeth said with a welcoming smile. “Thank you so much for joining me. Please, sit. Timothy has already told me about the specials, and there’s a ravioli you are going to love.”
