“And these corrections . . . was that you?” she asked.
“Suggestions. Not corrections. But yeah, that was me.”
Nodding she laid the pages down on the table.
“So I, uh, wanted to thank you.” She drew in a shaky breath and continued, “For saving me.”
She’d surprised him with that. He didn’t hide that reaction and smiled. “I’m not sure I did. I have no doubt you could handle yourself in any situation, but you’re welcome.”
Marty watched him, as if evaluating him before she said, “You’re not what I thought you were, Mr. Greenwood.”
She’d used his last name but this time it sounded different. It definitely felt different.
“I’m glad to hear it, Ms. Vanderbilt,” he said, following her lead.
“Marty,” she corrected.
“Peter,” he said, a gentle reminder he’d only return what she delivered in kind.
Finally, she nodded. “Peter.”
A smile broke out across his face. It was a small thing but it was no doubt a victory.
“So, what have you got to drink in this place?” she asked, glancing around the kitchen.
His eyes widened. He was not prepared for entertaining. “I, um, I’m not sure. Let me look.”
He jumped to his feet just as the wall phone rang.
Diving for the receiver he wrestled with the tangled cord before saying, “Hello?”
“Pete,” his roommate’s voice was a welcome sound.
“Elijah, are you okay?”
“Yeah, man. I’m good. You?”
“Yes. Fine. Perfect.” Elated. Relieved. Peter could spew a thesaurus worth of adjectives to describe how he felt at the moment.
“Good. I’m still with the organizers trying to figure out what the hell happened and regroup. I’ll be leaving here shortly, but I wanted to let you know I was okay and make sure you were good.”
“Yeah. I’m good. Thank you for letting me know. I was worried.”
“No need to worry. Takes more than a couple of flaming bombs to hurt me.”
“Well, let’s not test that theory.”
Elijah chuckled. “Agreed. I’ll see you home in a few.”
“Okay. Bye.” Peter hung the receiver back in the cradle on the wall and looked toward Marty. “Elijah’s all right.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me too.”
She stood and moved around the table to stand next to him. “Now we have something to celebrate.”
He dipped his head. “We definitely do.”
Things had certainly changed since the bar when she’d barely finished her drink before storming out. That was definitely something to celebrate.
She took a step closer and then the most beautiful, fascinating, irresistible woman he’d ever had the pleasure of encountering, kissed him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Marty didn’t know what it was about Peter Greenwood, but the man made her crazy . . . in all sorts of ways.
His official political stance drove her insane, no doubt.
As a pacifist, her watching him break a man’s nose should have turned her stomach. Should have made her irate from the sheer violence of it. But for some reason she found the way he’d protected her, and then had cared for Clark’s injury, as well as his concern for his roommate, all undoubtably attractive.
More than attractive. Irresistible. Obviously, since she’d just parted her lips to give Peter access for a soul-deep tongue kiss.
A kiss wasn’t going to be enough. She knew that already.
This kiss would only end one way, with her in his bed. And she didn’t feel at all bad about that.
The women’s liberation movement of the last decade had given women the freedom to do what they wanted. The legalization of the birth control pill in this country gave them the tool to live life as they pleased.
Marty intended to do just that.
She reached between them intent on unfastening Peter’s pants. It was going to be an undertaking, getting this buttoned-up man out of his suit. Luckily, she wasn’t wearing a whole lot so they’d save time there.
When she reached for his zipper, he sucked in a breath through his nose. He pulled back from the kiss, meeting her gaze. “Marty.”
“Peter,” she parroted, her fingers now on the buckle of his belt and the challenge it presented.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “You, um, sure?”
“Yes. Are you?” she asked, her lips twitching with how adorably unsure he looked.
“Yes.” He nodded, looking as if he was facing a firing squad rather than the prospect of having sex with her.
“You sure about that?” She laughed.
“No. Yeah. Definitely. I’m sure. Yes.”
“Then you might want to kiss me. And help me get this suit off you. And show me where your bedroom is. Not necessarily in that order.”
His eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared and finally, finally, he looked like a man who wanted her, rather than a boy who feared the whole idea of their being together.
“Bedroom’s right behind you. I’ll go steal a condom from Elijah’s room.”
She smiled at him for being prepared, even if he didn’t have to be. She watched for his reaction as she said, “No need. I’m on the pill and I promise, I don’t have any diseases or anything. I just had my annual check-up at the gyno.”
His mouth dropped open. He nodded and sounded breathless as he said, “Okay. I, uh, don’t have anything either.”
“Good to know.” She smiled, enjoying his reaction.
Shocking Peter was fun. In fact, she had a feeling this whole encounter was going to be more fun than she’d had in a long time.
He laced his fingers with hers, holding her hand as he led her to the bedroom at a slower pace than she expected, although she should have expected it. Peter was proving to be a careful and deliberate man in all things.
That was reinforced when he undressed more slowly than she thought possible.
His gaze kept jumping to her. It was as if he wanted to make sure she was still sitting there on the edge of the bed as he divested himself of his jacket.
He went to the closet, took out a hanger and hung the garment before reaching for his tie.
His was a fascinating exercise in restraint. No man had ever made her wait for sex while he put away his clothes.
It was an interesting change from the usual and she discovered she didn’t hate it. A man who treated his clothes with such care and respect would have to show equal attention to the woman in his bed. Right?
If he ever got finished with his housekeeping and got to bed, she’d find out. She watched as he carried his two dirty socks to a hamper, lifted the lid, and dropped them inside.
Just when she feared he might actually take the time to shine his shoes before putting them on the floor of the tiny closet, he turned to her, his boxer shorts the only thing remaining.
He was in remarkably good shape for a man who sat at a desk all day, displaying what she’d classify as a swimmer’s body. Lean and firm, with clearly defined muscles but not overly bulky. Nothing like that hulking Arnold Schwartzen—something or other who was Mr. Olympia.
And maybe, if he’d finally get on the bed with her, she’d be able to run her hands down that washboard stomach, all the way to the hard length straining the fabric of his underwear, and touch what she could only admire from across the room now.