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Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 114 из 205Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you offer to let me out of my promise?”
I shrugged and rubbed my hands over my arms. “Because … because you seem to be in some kind of pain. Because you're a junkie trying to kick the habit, sort of, and I don't want to screw that up for you.”
“That's a very … decent thing to offer.” He said decent like he wasn't used to the word.
“Do you want to leave?”
“Yes,” he said, “but we can't.”
“You said that before. Why can't we?”
“I can't, Anita, I can't.”
“Yes, you can. Who are you taking orders from, Phillip? Tell me. What is going on?” I was standing nearly touching him, spitting each word into his chest, looking up at his face. It is always hard to be tough when you have to look up to see someone's eyes.
But I've been short all my life, and practice makes perfect.
His hand slid around my shoulders. I pushed away from him, and his hands locked behind my back. “Phillip, stop it.”
I had my hands flat on his chest to keep our bodies from pressing together. His shirt was wet and cold. His heart was hammering in his chest. I swallowed hard and said, “Your shirt's wet.”
He released me so suddenly, I stumbled back from him. He drew the shirt over his head in one fluid motion. Of course, he had a lot of practice in undressing himself. It would have been such a nice chest without the scars.
He took one step towards me. “Stop, right where you are,” I said. “What is this sudden change of mood?”
“I like you; isn't that enough?”
I shook my head. “No, it isn't.”
He dropped the shirt to the floor. I watched it fall like it was important. Two steps and he was beside me. Bathrooms are so small. I did the only thing I could think of-I stepped into the bathtub. Not very dignified in high heels, but I wasn't pressed up against Phillip's chest. Anything was an improvement.
“Somebody is watching us,” he said.
I turned, slowly, like a bad horror movie. Twilight hung against the sheer drapes, and a face peered out of the coming dark. It was Harvey, Mr. Leather. The windows were too high for him to be standing on the ground. Was he standing on a box? Or maybe they had little platforms at all the windows, so you could watch the show.
I let Phillip help me out of the bathtub. I whispered, “Could he hear us?”
Phillip shook his head. His arms slid around my back again. “We are supposed to be lovers. Do you want Harvey to stop believing that?”
“This is blackmail.
“Why what?”
“Why would you offer to let me out of my promise?”
I shrugged and rubbed my hands over my arms. “Because … because you seem to be in some kind of pain. Because you're a junkie trying to kick the habit, sort of, and I don't want to screw that up for you.”
“That's a very … decent thing to offer.” He said decent like he wasn't used to the word.
“Do you want to leave?”
“Yes,” he said, “but we can't.”
“You said that before. Why can't we?”
“I can't, Anita, I can't.”
“Yes, you can. Who are you taking orders from, Phillip? Tell me. What is going on?” I was standing nearly touching him, spitting each word into his chest, looking up at his face. It is always hard to be tough when you have to look up to see someone's eyes.
But I've been short all my life, and practice makes perfect.
His hand slid around my shoulders. I pushed away from him, and his hands locked behind my back. “Phillip, stop it.”
I had my hands flat on his chest to keep our bodies from pressing together. His shirt was wet and cold. His heart was hammering in his chest. I swallowed hard and said, “Your shirt's wet.”
He released me so suddenly, I stumbled back from him. He drew the shirt over his head in one fluid motion. Of course, he had a lot of practice in undressing himself. It would have been such a nice chest without the scars.
He took one step towards me. “Stop, right where you are,” I said. “What is this sudden change of mood?”
“I like you; isn't that enough?”
I shook my head. “No, it isn't.”
He dropped the shirt to the floor. I watched it fall like it was important. Two steps and he was beside me. Bathrooms are so small. I did the only thing I could think of-I stepped into the bathtub. Not very dignified in high heels, but I wasn't pressed up against Phillip's chest. Anything was an improvement.
“Somebody is watching us,” he said.
I turned, slowly, like a bad horror movie. Twilight hung against the sheer drapes, and a face peered out of the coming dark. It was Harvey, Mr. Leather. The windows were too high for him to be standing on the ground. Was he standing on a box? Or maybe they had little platforms at all the windows, so you could watch the show.
I let Phillip help me out of the bathtub. I whispered, “Could he hear us?”
Phillip shook his head. His arms slid around my back again. “We are supposed to be lovers. Do you want Harvey to stop believing that?”
“This is blackmail.