rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and when she tried to tug it from his grasp he held tight.
“I’ve no idea what you mean. Don’t do what? Have emotions, don’t care, or just swallow my dignity? Which would you prefer I not do?” She jerked free her hand. “Would you be so kind as to hand me that towel. And unless you wish to add more to your ‘do-not’ list, I suggest that you take this opportunity to leave.”
He stood, grabbed the towel that lay on the end of the bed, and held it out to her. For a moment he hesitated, and she saw an ornery glint flicker through his eyes. He pushed the towel toward her, and she snatched it from him. “For the life of me, I will never understand men.” She waited for him to leave, and when he didn’t, she released a frustrated sigh. “Fine, then turn around.” She twirled her fingers.
He cast his gaze to the ceiling, turned around, plopped down on the chair and folded his arms reluctantly across his chest. “This hardly seems necessary, does it?”
“Sorry, no more free shows. You think because I dress a certain way, or that because I run a parlor house, that I have no emotions, no feelings? Well, you are so wrong, buster. I do.” She jammed her finger into his shoulder causing him to lurch forward.
“Hey there—”
She ignored his warning. “First, just because a woman wears a cardigan and sensible shoes does not automatically mark her as a spinster, but for some apparent reason that turns men off.” She stepped from the tub and wrapped the towel around her.
Jake shifted to look at her. “What do you mean ‘turning a man off’? I don’t know what you’re so all-fired upset about.”
“Turn around!” Lil admonished pointing her finger at him.
“Well for cryin’ out loud, all this turning on and turning around , you have me confused as all get out.”
“Well now you know how I feel, buster!” She had something to say and by God she was going to get it off her chest. “You’re confused? On the other side of the coin, I can wear the most provocative attire as a sexy bordello Madam, and it has the same effect.” The warring complexity in her mind frustrated her.
“I’m afraid you’re not making much sense.” Jake rested his elbow on the back of the chair. Sure he looked confused, but dammit so was she. Someone else ought to share in that.
“All my life, I pretended to be the ultra-intellectual, deep, understanding, and even-keeled sort of woman in hopes that I would attract the same kind of man. I thought if I could find someone like me, I’d be deliriously happy.”
Jake nodded and then frowned. “You’re losing me here.”
She paced in front of him, clicking her fingernail between her teeth, a habit she did when she was deep in thought. How to explain to him the ideas racing in her head finally collided in a tangled heap. She faced him dead on. “What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve tried everything—being soft and demure, smart and independent, sultry and wanton—and still I can’t seem to land my Mr. Right. There must be something wrong with me. Just tell me what it is, won’t you? As my friend?”
Jake scratched his head. With a goofy grin on his face, he walked over and stood toe-to-toe with her. “If you wore that animal print number I first saw you in, I guarantee you’d have plenty of men tearing each other apart to get to you.”
“I’m being serious.” She faced toward the window, staring out at the barren desert. Heat radiated off the horizon, baking the ground until it cracked. Her soul felt just like that.
His gentle fingers touched her shoulder and she turned to him. She couldn’t look at him.
“Then again, I’m not sure that would make me very comfortable either.” “Don’t say such things when you don’t mean them.” She glanced at him.
He slid his fingertips under her chin. “Look at me.”
“You seem a bit confused about what you want.” She swallowed. A stinging sensation pricked the back
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham