Quick Takes Page 13

  “Let’s move,” he said, drawing her body even closer to his. “Over there.”

  She couldn’t help but enjoy the excuse to get cuddly again. Even if she had to share him with three dozen half-naked twentyish-year-olds.

  He pulled her through the crush to a corner furthest from the bar and the DJ. Finally, she could move a little. She didn’t want to waltz, but a few steps to either side would be good.

  Holding hands, they danced in their dark little corner for the next two songs. At the start of the third one, Hugo leaned in and said, “Sorry about the music.”

  It was top-40 pop, familiar to her from sadistic exercise classes at the gym. “Don’t you like it?” she asked.

  He caught her up in his arms and began moving her in time with the beat. “I like anything that—” His dark eyes drifted away from hers. “That you can dance to.”

  She’d thought he was about to flirt with her again. By the end of the song, she realized how disappointed she was that he hadn’t. She wasn’t as young as that blond girl in the white leather dress with heart-shaped cutouts over each butt cheek, but she wasn’t dead yet. Hot red blood still flowed through her veins. The nerves in her skin were firing just fine, registering the trail of his touch on her arm, her shoulder, her hip.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she said.

  “What?”

  She cleared her throat. “I will have sex with you.”

  Fixing his gaze on hers, Hugo stilled his steps, seemingly unaware of the many heads that turned in their direction. Her declaration during a lull in the music might have been a little louder than necessary. But she hadn’t wanted to have to repeat herself.

  Still, he asked, “Excuse me?”

  “Let’s dance a little and then go back to the hotel.”

  “Trixie.”

  “Hugo.”

  “Let’s dance a little and then talk about it,” he said, stepping back and dropping his hands.

  “Dirty talk?”

  He ducked his head and massaged his forehead. She could see him smiling. “No. Regular talk.”

  “Do we have to?”

  He took her in his arms again. “Trixie.”

  “You said that already.”

  Taking her face in his hands, right there next to the girl in the white dress with the heart-shaped holes over her butt, he kissed her.

  5

  Long, deep, and soulful, it was a kiss that changed everything.

  Trixie was still reeling when Hugo finally stepped back, caught her hand in a fierce grip, and led her to the exit. Their departure took several minutes, stopped every few steps by a mass of people, which Hugo cleared with a deep, authoritative command that he and his lady were coming through.

  Out on the sidewalk, she watched in a daze as he hailed a cab. Sanity, what little she had, was reasserting itself. Her life was so good the way it was. Perfect. Complicating it now with this… sex stuff… it just didn’t make sense. And what would she do later when she needed to bring the dogs in for a checkup? She wasn’t the type to make a scene, but you never knew how men would react. He might refuse to treat them. Was she so selfish she would put her own needs ahead of her dependents? Dogs couldn’t even vote. Or talk. There was a lot they couldn’t do.

  Including sex. Snip snip. She still felt guilty about that, too, but when you ran a rescue operation, population control was a first step.

  Opening the door of the cab he’d acquired, Hugo waved her over from the curb. Speaking of population control, it was a shame he’d never had any children. Smart, decent, handsome guy like that. Good dancer. Talented with an anal thermometer. Rare skills.

  “Let’s play a few slots before we go on up,” she said.

  He patted her knee. “I understand. If that’s what you need to do, that’s what we’ll do.”

  “I don’t need to do it. I want to do it.”

  “I said I understand.”

  “You make me sound so neurotic. Like I’m avoiding having sex with a hot guy. Why would I do that?”

  “Nerves.”

  “I’m not nervous. I’m famously insensitive.”

  He chuckled. “You are not. You sense everything. You’re a savant.”

  “My kids would say I don’t feel nearly enough. I barge in and do whatever I want. The times I’ve embarrassed them…” She fluffed the hair at her temples and shrugged. “But I don’t feel it. I’m shameless.”

  “Nice,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I like the sound of that.”

  She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes. “Just a few slots.”

  “Of course. I understand.” He slid a hand up her thigh. “I’m feeling lucky too.”

  The slots weren’t giving anything up. Half of Trixie’s granddaughter’s college fund went down the drain while she leaned against Hugo’s side and pressed the buttons. The old machines had levers, but the new ones were easier. It would be the worst time to get a repetitive stress injury in her shoulder.

  Or would it?

  She took out her phone and started a text to Cleo. Great girl, Cleo. Had her head screwed on straight but wasn’t so tightly corked she’d—Trixie shook her head, confused by her own metaphors. Hugo was making her nervous, holding her shoulders, stroking her arms, kissing her ear.

  OK, she wasn’t nervous; she was seriously turned on.

  “What are you doing?” Hugo asked.

  “Reminding Cleo to use a condom.”

  He snatched the phone out of her hand, tapped the screen, handed it back. “Better if you didn’t, I think.”

  “You mean because if she gets pregnant then they’ll have to get married?” She nodded. “I thought of that, but it’s best to choose these things consciously.”

  “Sly has been consciously avoiding marriage for his entire adult life.”

  “But it’s time,” Trixie said. “I think he knows it.”

  Hugo drew her against him and pressed his lips into her hair. He didn’t say a word.

  Clutching her phone, she felt her pulse flutter as fast as the lights on the slot machine. What was the matter with her? She always believed in healthy behavior. Sex was healthy. This was an issue of well-being. He was even a doctor. If he wasn’t expecting—or wanting—anything serious, why not? The kids didn’t need to know.

  She shoved her phone into her purse. “All right, I’m ready.”

  “Sure?”

  “You want me to change my mind?”

  “No, not at all.” He held out his arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Fine. We will.” After retrieving her card with its paltry balance from the machine, she slid off the seat, hooked her arm through his, and strode around a wall of mirrors to the escalator. From there they’d walk through another casino floor to the elevator. “They don’t make it easy to get out of here.”

  “That’s the idea,” he said.

  “I feel like a bug in a Venus flytrap.”

  “Well, you look like an angel.”

  “Don’t say that. That’s the last thing I want to be right now.”

  He smiled and kissed her on the lips, right there at the top of the escalator. With the same grace he’d had on the dance floor, he swept her off the moving steps and off to the side, never breaking the suction.

  She closed her eyes and flung her arms around his neck. What the hell. Vegas, baby.

  After a long moment, he drew back and gazed down at her. Something raw and vulnerable flickered in his eyes, then vanished. He kissed her again quickly. “No more necking until we’re alone.” He grabbed her arm and continued walking.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He glanced over, raising an eyebrow.

  “You looked worried,” she said.

  Instead of answering, he walked faster. They reached the elevator, waited their turn, got on. A massive twinkling chandelier hung over their heads.

  How impractical. More than a dozen movies she’d seen over the years came to mind. How would the action hero break through the ceiling, haul
himself up on top of the car, and rescue them from the aliens with such a huge light fixture in the way?

  She thought about that instead of repeating her question to Hugo. She didn’t want to know if he was worried. She knew he was. This wasn’t so easy for him, either.

  When they reached the room, she thought of a way to distract him from his anxiety: she took out her phone and began a phony text to Sly about condoms. She typed really, really slowly, so Hugo would have time to see what she was doing and stop her again.

  But instead of interfering, he saw what she was doing, shook his head, and let out an enormous yawn. “I think you’re not really interested after all,” he said. “That’s OK. We’re both tired.”

  He walked over to the sleeper sofa and began removing the cushions. As if he were going to be spending the night there.

  With a start, she flung her cell phone aside and tackled him from behind. Running her hands over his chest, his shoulders, his other parts, she pulled him hard against her and reached up to kiss him.

  Slowly, he turned and caught her up in his arms, smiling. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, and took her into the bedroom.

  6

  “Your house or mine?” Hugo asked the next morning. He was propped on an elbow, looking down at her, tracing her cheek with a big thumb.

  She squinted up in confusion. A gap in the blackout curtains let in a narrow but bright beam of light that shone in her eyes, and she’d just been fast asleep. “I think we’re in a hotel.”

  Eyes crinkling, he kissed the tip of her nose. “I mean later. When we get home. Where are we going to live?”

  The last tendrils attaching her to dreamland snapped and fell away. Oh crap, she thought. What have I done?

  “My place is small but it’s worth a fortune,” he said, “and I own it outright. Maybe we could rent it out. The clinic’s right down the street. Wouldn’t be too hard to play landlord. And it would be a nice extra stream of income when I retire. It that’s too much of a hassle, we could sell—”

  “Hold on.” She shook her head and scrambled up to sitting. “You’re happy being single. You said that. Remember?”

  But he’d become distracted by her exposed chest. “I’ve never been so happy,” he said, dipping his head.

  She pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Hugo. This is just sex. Nobody’s moving, nobody’s selling, nobody’s anything.”

  “You’re something.” He nuzzled her collarbone, sighed against her skin. “Trixie.”

  She swatted the side of his head. “Stop that. You need to listen to me. This is very important.”

  He sighed again, this time more loudly, and looked up. His hair was tousled. Very adorable. She would have to ignore that.

  “All right,” he said finally. “You were saying?”

  “This is just sex.”

  He stared at her, said nothing.

  “It is,” she said.

  “Of course it isn’t.”

  “Yesterday,” she said. “You were right. It’s too late for us. We know better.”

  He ducked his head, rolled over, sat up next to her. The sheet bunched up at his waist, leaving his chest bare; her fingers itched to lift the sheet up to his chin so she wasn’t tempted to curl up around him, which would certainly undermine her argument.

  “Trixie,” he said. And then nothing else.

  Oh, he’d played her. And she’d let him. “You didn’t mean a word.”

  “I meant some of them.”

  She ticked off things he’d said yesterday: “Work fulfills you. It wouldn’t be practical to want more than sex. You’re old and wise.”

  “I am old,” he said.

  “Not wise.”

  “Not about you, sweetheart.” He rested his cheek on his shoulder and gazed at her. “I wouldn’t want to be.”

  Her heart began to race. “You bedded me under false pretenses.”

  He grinned. “You liked it.”

  “Oh!” Furious, she twisted away, got out of bed, and strode to the bathroom, where she slammed the door and locked it.

  She pressed her palm to the back of the door, waiting for her breath to return to normal. She hadn’t been this upset since… she couldn’t remember how long. Decades.

  You liked it.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed again, banging her hand against the door. The pain helped her regain enough control to spin around, get into the shower, and start scrubbing away every memory of him.

  They had plans to eat breakfast with Sly and Cleo at the casino’s buffet. She needed to see how they were progressing in their relationship, see what she could do to help it along. Packing her bag and flying home wasn’t an option. Once she began a project, she saw it through. Sly and Cleo were made for each other. They were just too afraid to see it. Or Cleo was. Sly knew he wanted her, just didn’t know how much.

  She lathered up her short hair with excessive amounts of shampoo.

  Why hadn’t she seen through Hugo’s lies? How had he manipulated her so easily? It wasn’t like her to be so blind. With other people, even her own children, she had romantic ESP. But with Hugo… she was a mere mortal.

  She let the shower spray blast her in the face.

  No need to panic. She could handle this. Of course he was feeling clingy. They’d just made love. Even with countless women throwing themselves at him over the years, he wasn’t used to the emotions washing over him right now. He lived alone, he didn’t have kids. Being with a woman, even just an old friend, brought up feelings that were too much to handle.

  It would wear off. He didn’t really mean it.

  She turned off the water and reached for a towel.

  As she dried off, she grew convinced that she was right. He was just caught up in the afterglow. He didn’t really want to move in with her. Live with her. Spend the rest of his life with her.

  Love her.

  She buried her face in the soft cotton, hoping it would muffle her groan of frustration.

  7

  Trixie had intended to eat breakfast with Cleo and Sly, but when she’d seen Hugo waiting at the buffet line, she just couldn’t face him. Not over a plate of waffles and lobster and chocolate cake—those buffets had everything—and not with all those people around. He looked so smug and happy, like it was all settled between them. Like he was imagining moving his clothes into her closet, replacing her TV, cuddling up to her every night with his arm around her and their dogs curled together at their feet.

  He shouldn’t be imagining that. He had to stop.

  And then Cleo had insisted she and Trixie get a drink together, just the two of them, and talk about whatever was bothering her. So they had, even though it was ten in the morning. Because Vegas.

  As it turned out, after a few Bloody Marys with the young, lovesick Cleo, Trixie felt much better. Her own life might be a mess, but Cleo and Sly were well on their way to figuring out their future together. Cleo was still fighting it, but barely. It was only a matter of time.

  Smiling as she took the escalator upstairs, chewing on the celery stick from her last drink, Trixie pushed her own dilemmas out of her mind and savored another job well done. She might be a moron in her own life, but she was a genius in other people’s.

  When she got to the suite, Hugo was sitting in a chair in front of the open balcony doors, reading the newspaper in the sunshine. He jumped to his feet but didn’t rush over and take her in his arms, as she’d kind of been imagining—in a guilty, hazy, feverish way—that he would do. Just in the elevator she’d imagined several ways he could’ve done it. But he just stood there, dropping the newspaper to his side, and stared.

  Smoldered.

  “Sorry I stood you up at breakfast,” she said. “How was Sly?”

  “Worried about me.”

  “Nice boy,” Trixie said.

  “And you,” he added.

  “That’s silly. I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” Gaze locked on hers, he walked over to her.

  “They’re about to
figure things out,” she said, a little breathless.

  “Really?”

  She nodded.

  “How can you tell?” he asked.

  “She’s decided to give in to temptation. After that, it’ll be a done deal. They’ve already got the love figured out.”

  He took her hand, caressed her forearm, pulling her close. “He should’ve told her how he felt a long time ago.”

  She slipped her tongue along her teeth, searching for celery strands, knowing what was coming next. “Why didn’t he?” The feel of his other hand coming around her waist made her shiver.

  “Waiting for the right time.” His lips brushed her temple.

  “They’re young,” she said, her voice tight. “They have plenty of time.”

  He kissed her, and she melted. Within a few minutes, she’d kicked off her lime-green Crocs and they were back in the bedroom.

  “There’s never enough time,” he said, lifting her Berkeley sweatshirt over her head, nibbling her shoulder. “You know that.”

  Trixie watched Hugo sleep. He was especially handsome when he smiled, which he was doing right now.

  Was he dreaming about her? During this single weekend, she’d seen him smile more than all of the past year.

  She curled up against his side and watched the uplifted corner of his mouth. A sliver of white teeth flashed. His left cheek dimpled, shadowed with early afternoon whiskers. Lowering her head, she let her eyelids fall and inhaled the scent of his cologne.

  He wasn’t a man who should be alone. He should’ve gotten married years ago. One bad choice of a life partner decades ago shouldn’t have sentenced him to eternal solitude. Given how serious and hardworking he was, he needed a woman to keep him in touch with humanity.

  But she’d never thought she would marry again. It was so unnecessary. She already had a family. She was already happy. How could she want anything more? It was tempting fate.

  His eyes fluttered open, widening when he saw she was hovering over him. Smile deepening, he lifted a hand to her face. “Hello.”