A Kiss in the Dark Read online

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, cutting her off.

  But she did. She wanted to know if he was still in love with Tricia. Was that why he’d never married? Was that the real reason he didn’t want to talk about what had happened?

  Brittany knew she wouldn’t get anywhere by trying to force the issue. Ethan would have to want to talk about it himself. He would have to be the one to bring up any discussion, as it was apparently still an emotionally painful subject. For now, discussion of the fiancée who’d jilted him at the altar on the day of their wedding was forbidden.

  She made an effort to slip from his lap again. “I think maybe I should be going.”

  “I disagree. I think maybe you should be staying.” The sexy invitation in his voice brought back the romantic mood she had broken with the mention of Tricia’s name.

  “I don’t know…” What if what she suspected was true? What if he was still in love with Tricia? She’d be setting herself up for heartbreak. But then, if she passed up this opportunity to have Ethan make love to her and the chance never came again, she’d never forgive herself.

  Was it true, as she’d read, that it was better to regret the things you’d done, than to regret what you hadn’t done?

  “If you want to leave, I understand,” Ethan said, interrupting her thoughts, a note of resigned acceptance in his voice.

  “You do?”

  “You feel sorry for me and you enjoy flirting with me because you think of me as being safe. You won’t get involved with me.”

  “You’re wrong, Ethan.”

  “Am I?”

  Maybe it was something she’d always regret, but she would stay. “I’d like to stay.”

  “Do you know what you’re saying?”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “No more games, Brittany. I want you. I want you in my bed.”

  “How conventional of you. Sure you wouldn’t prefer the back of a pickup truck?”

  “Not in the middle of New York City,” he said, his wicked laugh acknowledging the fantasy.

  “This bed, where is it?” Brittany asked.

  Ethan stood, still holding her in his arms. “Why don’t I just show you,” he suggested, carrying her from the bathroom and down the hall, then up the stairs.

  The walls of the master bedroom were blue, the floors were bleached wood and the iron bed was curtained in Fortuny white silk, Brittany saw after Ethan had put her down and she’d turned on the light.

  Brittany let out a low whistle, and almost felt a bridelike blush.

  “What?” Ethan asked.

  “That’s some bed to be deflowered upon—”

  “Deflowered? You aren’t a—”

  “No. Not actually. But in a way. It’s been a long time…. My first time wasn’t…”

  “Wasn’t what?” he asked, concern etching his voice.

  What was she going to tell him? Certainly not the truth. The truth was that she’d made love to a man she hadn’t been in love with. A man whose only fault had been that he wasn’t Ethan. She couldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t tell him that she’d been celibate for years. He’d think she was a twit, wouldn’t he?

  “It wasn’t as special as I’d thought it would be,” she finally answered, giving him part, but not all of the truth.

  “Then I’d better get it right, hadn’t I?” He said it without a shade of doubt that he would… could. Maybe that was what this was all about for him—sex with her as a way for him to reassure himself he could still do some things as well as he always had.

  He sat down on the bed. “I’d like you to undress for me. Take your time, I want to listen.”

  A tiny shiver traversed her spine at the sensual candor he’d displayed with his request. First she stepped out of her shoes, kicking them aside to skitter on the hardwood floor. Then she unbuttoned her double-breasted coatdress. She smiled, realizing its navy color matched Ethan’s sweater. She didn’t know why it pleased her, it just did.

  She laid the dress across a nearby chair as it had suddenly occurred to her that she had to go to work in the morning. And even though the thought of wearing the same dress to work for two days running and its damning implications gave her pause, there was no way she would allow doubt to enter her mind. Like Scarlett, she’d think about that tomorrow.

  She removed her tights from beneath her slip, then crossed arms to raise the garment over her head with a fluid swish. Dropping it to the floor beside her discarded tights, she went to Ethan.

  She felt like a kid at Christmas.

  She could not quite believe her good fortune at finding herself alone with the object of her desire; a most special present to unwrap.

  The dream had become a reality.

  He pulled her down onto the bed beside him.

  “Let me help you with this,” she said, tugging his sweater over his head, yearning to feel the warmth of his skin on hers.

  His lazy grin should have told her that he was ready to accelerate the pace. He turned her onto her back beneath him so that they were stretched out crosswise on the plush bed. She’d meant to keep her eyes open to record every moment, but her eyelids grew heavy as she succumbed to his drugging kisses.

  His hands threaded through her hair to hold her captive while he feathered caresses down her cheek. Groaning, he kissed her chin openmouthed and sucking.

  “You smell like a warm summer rain, freckle face. Is that possible?”

  Brittany laughed softly. “Well, I wasn’t going to tell you, but since you noticed… I’m wearing a body talc called Spring Rain. Probably your fantasy wasn’t as out-of-the-blue as you imagined.”

  “So inspire me some more, freckle face.”

  “I just might if you call me Brittany,” she coaxed, nibbling his ear, then kissing the corners of his mouth. She sucked his bottom lip, biting it playfully.

  “Umm, I think I’ve forgotten my own name, freckle face,” he murmured sensually, as she continued her assault on his mouth.

  “Brittany,” she repeated. “My name is Brittany, not freckle face. Come on, put your lips together. You can say it.”

  “Umm… but I don’t want to put my lips together,” he replied, letting her tongue into his mouth.

  She made him cry uncle, her passion making up for any lack of expertise.

  “Brittany, love,” he breathed.

  “Good boy!”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before,” he said, chuckling.

  She began kissing his fingers, sucking them; then she licked his palm.

  “Bad girl!”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to see what we can do about corrupting you a bit then, won’t we?”

  “We? Is there a mouse in your pocket?” she asked, laughing.

  “Why don’t you check?”

  Picking up the bait, she slipped her hand between them. “Nope, no mouse.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe you haven’t searched hard enough. Maybe—”

  “I’ve searched as thoroughly as I can with you on top of me—”

  “Oh, is that a problem?” He levered himself off her and rolled onto his back. Folding his hands behind his head, he offered, “Have at it, freckle face.”

  “Brittany, it’s Brittany,” she muttered, accepting his challenge nonetheless.

  She ran her hands over the wide expanse of his muscular chest, flicking his small brown nipples with her tongue, and then moving lower, trailing baby kisses to his navel. Narrow-hipped as he was, his jeans had slipped to ride suggestively low. She continued her delicious torture, raking her teeth along his waistband.

  “Nice, very nice…” Brittany murmured a little while later.

  At that, Ethan maneuvered himself above Brittany again. “Time for you to show and tell.” He un-snapped the front closure of her satin bra, freeing her to his touch.

  Squeezing her bre
asts gently, he singsonged, “‘And these are a few of my favorite things ….’ Tell me, are they dusted with fairy dust, too?”

  “What?”

  “You know, freckles,” he answered, closing his mouth over one, alternately sucking and licking it.

  “No. No freckles anywhere on my body except my nose.” And for the first time she was almost sorry about that. It was his way of putting it—"fairy dust.” He could be quite lovely, but then she’d instinctively known that. He’d been very kind to her at her debut. He’d mumbled something about always liking to dance with the prettiest girl before he left. She’d assumed he said it to all the girls.

  She’d wistfully hoped that he hadn’t.

  “Describe your breasts to me,” he coaxed, taking them into his warm hands.

  “I’m not going—”

  “Come on, humor me, freckle face. I’m at a bit of a disadvantage here. After all, you’ve ‘met’ all of me now, haven’t you?”

  “Well…” When he put it like that, how could she possibly refuse him? She thought for a moment and then said hopefully, “They’re sort of pale and… pretty….”

  His hands cosseted them playfully. “And perky. You forgot perky.”

  What did a girl say to that? Not knowing at all, she just smiled. Happily.

  “I’ve got a deal for you,” he said, levering himself to his side. “If you help me take off my jeans, I’ll help you take off your panties.”

  “You’re too kind, sir.”

  As he lay back on his back, she tugged his jeans down his legs.

  “I know. It’s a failing of mine,” he agreed, lifting his hips to assist her in removing his jeans the rest of the way.

  He rubbed his hands together. “Now it’s my turn. What’s your pleasure? Shall I slip them off slowly with kisses? Or would you prefer I ravish you by ripping them from your body?”

  “Oh. Well, I think ravishment is out. I have to go to work in the morning.”

  “Oh, and I was so hoping for ravishing. Are you quite sure I can’t talk you into—” He began slipping his finger beneath her panties and his tongue in her ear.

  Two minutes later she voted for ravishment.

  It was a very popular vote.

  And a very rewarding one.

  “So introduce me,” he said wickedly, moving her hands to her sex.

  “I can’t—”

  “Gotcha, freckle face. You forgot I can’t see, didn’t you. Well, to tell you the truth I almost did, too. You’re making me see the most marvelous mind pictures.”

  Her eyes, which had drifted closed in shy embarrassment, flew open.

  “Which means you’re going to have to give me a hand, so to speak,” he said, waiting.

  She swallowed dryly, looking at his penis seemingly straining toward her as if it were magnetized.

  “Look, I don’t want to rush you, but I feel I ought to warn you I’m so hot, the party might be over before it starts, if it doesn’t start soon.”

  She didn’t think it was time to mention she’d sent out the party invitation years ago and he was the one who was late. But he was right—much as she’d like the night to last forever, she was also anxious to feel him inside her.

  He drew a sharp intake of breath when she took him in hand to guide him.

  “Careful…” he said, as if she were handling nitroglycerin.

  He slid into her as smooth as satin. Again and again.

  He’d lied to her.

  There wasn’t any way he was going to party without her. Each thrust was slow and sure… coaxing, demanding, until small tremors started up her thighs and soft moans escaped her lips.

  And then he was off, his thrust quicker as she clenched around him, exploding in passionate spasms.

  He relinquished the tight rein of control he’d held until she was satisfied.

  Her pleasure seemed to be the applause he needed. With one deep thrust he came, crying out her name… “Brittany.”

  BRITTANY SAT IN THE middle of her living room floor surrounded by her scrapbooks.

  She had left Ethan’s apartment at seven, planning on going in to work. But it had been impossible. It was bad enough that she would have shown up for work in the same dress for two days in a row—something her assistant would never let pass without comment. The deal breaker was the fact that she was wearing a pair of Ethan’s boxer shorts under it. She had “borrowed” them while he was still asleep.

  Her mood had shifted back and forth like a pendulum between joy, despair and hysteria during the cab ride to her office. When they’d arrived at her office building, she’d panicked and given the cabbie the address of her apartment, deciding she’d call in sick for the day.

  It had been an irresponsible thing to do.

  But so had making love with Ethan last night.

  Flipping the page of the scrapbook on her lap, she looked down at the newspaper clipping with Ethan’s photo. It had been taken during an exciting final match at Smith’s Lawn. Ethan’s team had narrowly beaten the opposing players. Ethan’s pony, Riley, had been voted best-playing pony, and a sweaty, jubilant Ethan held up the prize.

  As she looked at the picture she thought back over what had happened between them last night. She had been very foolish for a lot of reasons. Not using protection was inexcusable. So, too, was taking advantage of Ethan’s blindness. He was in an emotionally fragile state. If he had used her, at least he had an excuse.

  Hearing the key turn in the lock on the apartment door, Brittany looked up.

  “So you finally came home,” Francesca chastised with mock disfavor as she stepped into the room. “Wait a minute, aren’t you supposed to be at the office?”

  “Yes, mom. And where have you been? Are you just getting home from yesterday’s photo shoot?”

  “I was out getting a manicure, baby sister. And I was home all night last night.” She tossed down her purse and waited.

  “I spent the night with Ethan,” Brittany admitted in a breathy rush.

  “And…?” Francesca’s attention was rapt, her curiosity nearly palpable as she came closer in order to hear every delicious detail.

  “Francesca!” Brittany shook her head and turned the page of the scrapbook, studying a picture of Ethan dressed in a tuxedo on the opening night of a Broadway play he’d helped finance. He was standing beneath the marquee, smiling with the flush of a first-night success. The play had gone on to be a long-running hit.

  “It just sort of happened.”

  “Uh-huh…”

  “It did,” Brittany insisted. “Don’t make it sound so calculated. It wasn’t like that.”

  “So what was it like? Did it live up to your expectations after all these years of dreaming about Ethan? Was he as wonderful between the sheets as the gossip columns would have us believe?”

  “We, ah, didn’t actually make it between the sheets,” Brittany answered, finding herself actually blushing. “It was fine, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Francesca lifted the scrap-book from Brittany’s lap and set it on the coffee table. “Come sit here beside me and give me every sexy detail. I told you all about my beaus. You owe me. I even told you about what Lance Bergen did, senior year.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Brittany pulled up her socks, smiling. Ethan had certainly “rolled down her socks” last night. “I read about Lance in your diary.”

  “You always were a big reader, weren’t you? I suppose you were destined to be an editor even then.”

  Brittany joined her sister on the chintz sofa. Brittany had changed into a T-shirt and still wore Ethan’s boxers. She tucked her legs beneath her. “Okay, Francesca, I suppose I do owe you for reading your diary. Ethan was… I never knew it could be like that.”

  “That’s because you’re in love with him, baby sister. It makes all the difference in the world.”

  “But what if— Oh, I’m so afraid last night was a mistake,
” Brittany blurted out. “What if it was just Ethan proving to himself that he could still function in one area of his life?”

  “But I thought he was doing okay. Didn’t you tell me the two of you went out shopping and to see a Broadway show one night?”

  “That’s true,” Brittany admitted.

  “So maybe you’re worried about nothing. Maybe Ethan is as smitten with you, as you are with him.”

  “Oh, Francesca, wouldn’t that be wonderful? But what if… what if he finds out what I did? He’d never speak to me again.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to make sure he never finds out. That ought to be easy enough. The only ones who know about it are you and me—and I’m certainly not going to tell him about it.”

  Brittany didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think of anything that would spoil the fantasy that Ethan was smitten with her. So she changed the subject. “You haven’t said how your shoot for Rolling Stone went yesterday.”

  “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot to tell you!” Francesca said, her eyes bright with excitement. “You’ll never guess. Tucker and I got the cover. Can you believe it?”

  “That’s fantastic. When does it come out?”

  “I’m not sure. My agency is supposed to let me know. And I’ve got more news. The agency called this morning and they’re faxing my portfolio to the director of Tucker Gable’s new music video. Tucker requested me.”

  “So he liked you, huh?” Brittany teased.

  “Well, maybe I flirted just a little. He’s so hot in that black leather vest he wears. And he’s got those honed biceps to die for.”

  “So maybe I’ll be getting a rock star for a brother-in-law, then,” Brittany continued teasing.

  “Bite your tongue. I won’t be ‘the model and the rock star’—pu-leeze!”

  “I thought you said he was hot.”

  “I was hot—and it’s all your fault. You were the one who lent me that book you read to Ethan. Mercy.”

  “Let’s see,” Brittany said, pretending to write in the air. “Mrs. Francesca Gable …”

  “Mrs. Brittany Moss …” Francesca countered.

  And then they both collapsed in giggles against each other.

  ETHAN ROLLED OVER and reached for Brittany. His grasp came up empty. He felt around on the bed.