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Everything that KC did just pushed me more firmly in his direction.
For the first time in years I really hungered for a man—hungered of the power and the forcefulness, the demands and the bliss of sexual thirst. I would have rejected any man in a business suit—a colleague, friend, and especially a professor. KC was an acceptable package. With him, my mind roved free taking lust outside the lines where my favorite fantasies began and ended. KC wasn’t Rossi. He wasn’t even clos
e. And that’s exactly what I needed.
Regardless of my determined resolve to see him, my poor bones were once again rattling with fear by the time I pulled in front of the theatre. Dread kept me in my car for several minutes as the startling reality of my last three weeks suddenly smacked me in the face as though I’d run into the warehouse wall. I wasn’t drunk anymore, or in some mindless, sober stupor, acting out of obsession—at least not now. I was conscious, realizing how crazy I must look trying to play in KC Gable’s unfamiliar world.
What the hell was I doing? This wasn’t me. Not Gail Henry? I didn’t play with fire—not anymore—I never stepped over the lines of decency—except maybe in the comfort of my own tiny loft where I could nurse my misery by myself. I didn’t spend my time in squalid neighborhoods, consorting with the fringes of society. I didn’t talk to strangers about the weather, let alone have them spank my ass and fuck my wasted cunt.
Most importantly, I didn’t allow myself to be ruled by my cunt the way men are ruled by their erections. My rules were fixed and certain. At least that’s what I thought.
I didn’t recognize myself, not the woman I’d been since meeting KC. But that didn’t seem to matter now. I went ahead—opened the door of the Mercedes and casually waltzed to the door of the theatre trying to forget the weird debacle of the previous night.
My excitement swelled and my cunt began to panic, clenching and tightening anticipating KC inside it again—even though I had no assurance that would happen—and probably more assurance that it would not given his frame of mind and past experience.
Anxious and excited, I tried the door, surprised to find it locked. I panicked. Flustered, I was unsure what to do. A back door perhaps? He just failed to unlock the front? Seized by fear, I tried to figure out what to do, when in the middle of my fearful musings, I finally spotted a note slipped in the crack of the door. At first glance, I assumed it was just a scrap of paper, on second glance, as it conveniently flapped in the breeze, I realized that it bore my name clearly printed on the outside. With a gentle tug, I had it free.
“I’m sorry, Gail. This was an avoidable emergency. I tried calling, but you’d already left. Come tomorrow.” KC
What?!
Was this real? After all the passion of the night before, he was leaving me with this… this scrap of paper! The bottom dropped out of my newly manufactured world ten seconds later as I determined that KC, his theatre, and running back to my old fantasies had been a horrible mistake. I left. I knew right then I wouldn’t be coming back.
Chapter Five
My schedule was filled with appointments, a long list of meetings, and at least three hours blocked into work on blueprints for a tiny industrial complex that was taking up half of the firm’s resources. I buried my head in my drawings, coming up for air only to sit back and stare at my work from a different angle—and to take a bite of my tuna sandwich. A few times, I caught myself staring out the window at the grand hotel across the street. Sometimes I looked inside the rooms behind the glass and timber, wonderingly. If only I could peer inside their private spaces and see what went on inside. Every room was a little world, another drama. Was that what KC thought about so much?
As soon as I realized what I was doing, I immediately stopped. Thankfully, these indulgent reveries were becoming less frequent—especially since I was expending so much energy on cutting them out of my mind. KC Gable was just a passing fancy, nothing more. Three weeks, it had been a good rush. And I’d even turned the corner on my malaise, as he had called it; feeling freshly inspired to do the work that Ripley & Wingardt had hired me to do. This was one of my more lucid moments.
Hearing a sudden knock on the door, I absently said, “Come in,” thinking it was my secretary with more specs from my boss. I swiveled on my drafting stool doing an immediate double take seeing KC Gable standing in the center of my office. He looked as reasonable there as Banquo’s ghost. I even pressed my fingers to my mouth as if to squelch a cry.
“Did you get my note?” he asked.
“Yes, yes I did,” I said. My voice must have sounded much too haughty considering his reply.
“So, when did you start with the rich-bitch airs?” he sneered and responded tersely.
“I didn’t know that I had,” I answered.
“Listen to yourself, Gail.”
Any wall I’d erected to keep him out was no more than paper-thin. He was rattling around inside me already.
“So you got my note. What happened next?”
“I decided not to see you.”
“And why’s that?”
I shrugged having no immediate answer.
“If that’s your decision, why didn’t you call and say so? I think we’ve gone too far for this shabby kind of ending.”
“I’m sorry. It was just easier,” I paused, seeing his penetrating stare unchanged, “and now you’re pissed, aren’t you?” I could read his anger as well.
“In a manner of speaking.” He moved further forward until he was standing right in front of me. Nervously, I blew a lock of red hair off my face and when it didn’t stay, KC took his hand and gently pushed it back. “I want the truth, Gail.” He almost looked worried about my answer. “Are you serious about what you wanted, or was that just my imagination? Has this three weeks and our talk in the theatre been about nothing?”
“No, it wasn’t your imagination…” I admitted. “It’s not about nothing—it’s very real.” Yes, he was inside me and more pervasive than ever.
