Jon-Michael felt her lips curl up in a smile against his chest and knew she was sliding into the sweet and mellow pliancy she got when she was sleepy. It was too soon, but even acknowledging that timing was everything and this likely wasn't even close to being the right time, he raised his head anyway and tucked his chin in to peer down into her face. "Hayley?"
"Hmmm?"
"I think you should move in here with me."
"Yeah, right," she agreed with lazy good humor.
"I'm not joking, darlin'. Now don't go getting all stiff on me," he commanded, tightening his arms around her when she did exactly that. "Just think about it for a minute. It's a good idea."
"It's a horrible idea!"
"It beats the hell out of going home alone every night to the old man's mansion. Does Kurstin even sleep there anymore?"
"Sometimes."
"Uh huh. And most nights she doesn't. You know and I know she is spending most of her nights with Holloway, and that’s fine and dandy—I'm not saying it's not. Except sooner or later the carrion eaters are bound to figure out you're alone out there on the lake, and then where will you be?"
She pushed herself up to look at him. "Same place I have always been. On my own."
"That's my point, though, you don't need to be. Listen, I know Kurst would be there for you in a minute if you needed her—she's just caught up right now in her new relationship. But I am right here all night, every night. I can give you whatever you need: another presence in a dark house, protection, a buffer between you and the media. Hell, we can even live like brother and sister if that's what you want, although it seems to me that pretty much dicks up my one real selling point."
"Which is?"
"Sex on demand, darlin’. Think about it. I am yours to command, whenever, wherever you say, anyway you want it."
Hayley struggled to a sitting position, staring at him with such interest that her nakedness beneath the blanket slithering to pool around her hips apparently didn't register. He admired her breasts in the diffused light that came through the windows. "Any way?" she demanded.
"Sure." Her expression was so arrested that it was all he could do not to laugh. "Well, within reason."
"No, you did not say within reason. You said any way."
"And never let it be said Jon-Michael Olivet is not a man of his word. Any way you want it," he agreed and studied her intently. "Just what did you have in mind? You planning on tying me up? Whipping me?"
"I could do that?"
"Sure. I guess. If you really wanted to."
"Wow, that is so cool. Dennis was strictly a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy when it came to sex. I had a more adventurous streak but he never let me exercise it. There must be a million ways of doing it I never got to do."
"So, do we have a deal then?"
"Any time, any way, right?"
"Right. You agree to move in here and I agree to become your sex toy."
"Oh, man." She gave him a big, sleepy smile. "You so have yourself a deal."
Seriously, Prescott? Have you finally lost what little is left of your mind? For two days now she had been asking the same question, but it did not stop her from doing so yet again as she drove out to the Olivet's mansion Tuesday afternoon to meet Patsy. Sweet Merciful Mother Mary, what had she gotten herself into?
It was the damn sex-on-demand thing that sealed her fate. If that made her a total sucker, well, c’mon, her old sex life had been so mundane. Sex with Jon-Michael was anything but, so how was she supposed to say no to the opportunity for more? Then he had proposed putting her in the catbird seat. One offer to control the when, the where and the how of it, and she was a goner.
That part of her life was great, too. They had made love in places and positions she had only ever fantasized about. It was the other stuff she was having a difficult time getting a handle on.
"He’s subversive," she had complained to Kurstin just yesterday. "How am I supposed to fight all his sneaky, underhanded tactics?"
"What does he do that's so underhanded?"
"He makes me laugh. He tells me I'm beautiful, that I have the softest skin in the world. He tells me he loves me!"
"The lowdown rat!"
"No, you don't understand, Kurstie. How am I supposed to stay aloof when he is spouting stuff like that all the time? It's not fair." She gave her friend a hard stare. "And do not think I don't know exactly what he is doing."
"Expressing himself, maybe?"
"Yeah, right,” she scoffed and shook her head. “No, ma’am. He is setting me up for a fall…that’s what he is doing."
"Oh, get a grip!" Kirsten stared her down. "For God’s sake, Hayley, are you even listening to yourself? He loves you. You love him. Frankly, I don't see the problem."
"No, he says he loves me. Trust me on this, that is not what he really means."
"But you love him, right? And that is the problem in a nutshell."
"No! Yes! Well, maybe. Someday."
"Okay, so perhaps you love him—we are not going out on a limb and committing ourselves here. But—and I am thinking this is the biggie—you have heard Jon-Michael say the words before and–“ She whirled her hand encouragingly.
"And it all blew up in my face! That's what I'm waiting to happen now, for it to all blow up in my face."
"I am going to be a good, sensitive friend and say I empathize with your concern. Only, what if this time he is all grown up and a sober, responsible man who really does know how love is supposed to behave? What if he actually, truly means it?"
"Stop it, Kurstin. You're scaring me."
"Think about it, chickie."
She snorted now. Like she had been able to think about anything else. Because she wanted that. More than anything in the world, she wanted that.
And trying to convince herself she didn't was wearing thin. She could tell herself they had not spent enough time together as adults to really know each other any more. But she did know him, and not just the good. She knew the bad and the ugly as well. Plus, what had she said to someone not that long ago, that she counseled teenagers to get in touch with their own truths, to learn to never lie to themselves no matter how many lies they felt compelled to tell others to get through their days? It was sound advice.
But there was always a flip side, and God knew experience had kicked her in the teeth often enough to make her a realist. So how realistic was it to blindly believe Jon-Michael had changed so dramatically from the boy she had once known? Because she had been up close and personal with the bad and the ugly and, face it, he still seemed to have a problem sticking when the going got tough. And if there was an issue that needed resolving? Fuggidaboudit. Things had not gone the way he wanted in his family business, so he had turned his back on it and walked away. It was clear Olivet Manufacturing was his first love, but instead of fighting for his vision of what he believed the business could be, he was playing his sax in a blues bar.
She swore softly and it was with relief that she turned into the drive to the Olivet estate. Just for this one afternoon it would be a relief to put the problem aside–hell, to put all her problems aside—and concentrate on something else.