CHAPTER ONE
Isabel’s eyes opened wide and she took Tray in from top to bottom, all six foot four of him, standing in the middle of her kitchen, and said a quick and silent prayer of thanks.
“You want me to be your Mrs. Robinson?”
“In a manner of speaking, Isabel,” said Tray, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “But frankly, I always found Anne Bancroft’s character more predator than sex object; she seemed like an old lady. You are not your mother’s Mrs. Robinson - you’re smokin’ hot.”
Isabel’s joy swept through her, a wave rising from her toes. This was too easy. It was exactly what she needed, exactly what she wanted, and she didn’t even have to ask for it. How great was that? She’d barely heard what he’d been saying earlier while she was trying to compose her own request in her head. Now, she didn’t have to do a thing. Tray was delivering what she needed. Better yet,Tray would think she was doing him a favor.
She had new admiration for Tray, having the courage to put his request on the table. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to get around to it. Still, it was almost too easy. Here was this beautiful boy - who had rocked her world last night - and he wanted more. Isabel felt the warmth start to pulse between her legs as she considered the possibilities.
Isabel in charge. How great would that be? With Chet, she had never been in charge. With Chet, it was missionary or nothing. Toward the end she had been bored to tears. The final insult, finding out he was having wild monkey sex with someone else, when she had longed to explore, had been too much for her. Her ego had been bruised, battered and left in shreds.
Now this young, beautiful man wanted her. Her! She could almost feel the healing effect on her damaged pride already.
Tray waited expectantly for her answer, the reservation clear in his eyes.
“How would you see this playing out?” she asked.
“I don’t know Isabel. I hoped we could find something that would work for both of us.”
“You’re just looking for sex?”
Tray squirmed under her gaze and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, yes. I just need more experience in the… ways of love.”
Isabel couldn’t believe that. This boy with more experience would be a total heart breaker. If he was new to lovemaking, he was a born natural. He’d known his way around her body like a coal miner knew the way out of a pit. Isabel’s shivered as she remembered Tray’s body pressed against hers.
“Tray, I want to be clear with you that I’m not looking for anything romantic. I was at The Shore for the evening, but I’m not interested in a relationship, or even an affair. I like my life. It’s perfect the way it is.” It’s simple is more like it, she chided herself. She was living a coward’s life, locked behind her protective facade. Pouring her life into her career. Her career - right now, that had to be her priority.
“Tray, I’m a sex therapist. I need to know that you won’t want more if we do get involved.”
“I won’t want more,” began Tray, leaning forward now and looking a little hopeful.
“The thing is, because of my practice, I know that people often get emotionally involved when they’re physically intimate with someone. They mistake the physical closeness for emotional intimacy.” Isabel couldn’t believe herself. Could she sound more clinical? And who was she kidding? Hadn’t she done the same thing herself this morning? One quick romp in the hay and she’d been mooning around the house dreaming of Tray and palm-fringed beaches.
“Isabel.” Tray reached for her hand across the table. “I’m a psychology student, remember? I do know a little bit about it. You’re a beautiful woman, and any man would be a fool not to fall in love with you, but I’m driven by a different goal here.”
As Isabel was driven by hers.
“We’re scientists,” Tray continued. “Let’s look at it as a teaching tool,
Isabel’s eyes opened wide and she took Tray in from top to bottom, all six foot four of him, standing in the middle of her kitchen, and said a quick and silent prayer of thanks.
“You want me to be your Mrs. Robinson?”
“In a manner of speaking, Isabel,” said Tray, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “But frankly, I always found Anne Bancroft’s character more predator than sex object; she seemed like an old lady. You are not your mother’s Mrs. Robinson - you’re smokin’ hot.”
Isabel’s joy swept through her, a wave rising from her toes. This was too easy. It was exactly what she needed, exactly what she wanted, and she didn’t even have to ask for it. How great was that? She’d barely heard what he’d been saying earlier while she was trying to compose her own request in her head. Now, she didn’t have to do a thing. Tray was delivering what she needed. Better yet,Tray would think she was doing him a favor.
She had new admiration for Tray, having the courage to put his request on the table. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to get around to it. Still, it was almost too easy. Here was this beautiful boy - who had rocked her world last night - and he wanted more. Isabel felt the warmth start to pulse between her legs as she considered the possibilities.
Isabel in charge. How great would that be? With Chet, she had never been in charge. With Chet, it was missionary or nothing. Toward the end she had been bored to tears. The final insult, finding out he was having wild monkey sex with someone else, when she had longed to explore, had been too much for her. Her ego had been bruised, battered and left in shreds.
Now this young, beautiful man wanted her. Her! She could almost feel the healing effect on her damaged pride already.
Tray waited expectantly for her answer, the reservation clear in his eyes.
“How would you see this playing out?” she asked.
“I don’t know Isabel. I hoped we could find something that would work for both of us.”
“You’re just looking for sex?”
Tray squirmed under her gaze and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, yes. I just need more experience in the… ways of love.”
Isabel couldn’t believe that. This boy with more experience would be a total heart breaker. If he was new to lovemaking, he was a born natural. He’d known his way around her body like a coal miner knew the way out of a pit. Isabel’s shivered as she remembered Tray’s body pressed against hers.
“Tray, I want to be clear with you that I’m not looking for anything romantic. I was at The Shore for the evening, but I’m not interested in a relationship, or even an affair. I like my life. It’s perfect the way it is.” It’s simple is more like it, she chided herself. She was living a coward’s life, locked behind her protective facade. Pouring her life into her career. Her career - right now, that had to be her priority.
“Tray, I’m a sex therapist. I need to know that you won’t want more if we do get involved.”
“I won’t want more,” began Tray, leaning forward now and looking a little hopeful.
“The thing is, because of my practice, I know that people often get emotionally involved when they’re physically intimate with someone. They mistake the physical closeness for emotional intimacy.” Isabel couldn’t believe herself. Could she sound more clinical? And who was she kidding? Hadn’t she done the same thing herself this morning? One quick romp in the hay and she’d been mooning around the house dreaming of Tray and palm-fringed beaches.
“Isabel.” Tray reached for her hand across the table. “I’m a psychology student, remember? I do know a little bit about it. You’re a beautiful woman, and any man would be a fool not to fall in love with you, but I’m driven by a different goal here.”
As Isabel was driven by hers.
“We’re scientists,” Tray continued. “Let’s look at it as a teaching tool,
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