“If you’re asking if I’m no longer interested in you…romantically, then the answer is don’t be ridiculous. Just give me the word and I’ll throw you over my shoulder and take you to my place right now and make love to you all night long.” His sensual perusal made her blush.
She demurely lowered her eyes and gave a contented sigh. So, he still wanted her. That was good to know. Now, what was she going to do about it? She raised her eyes to his. “Have you ever considered the idea of our being friends with benefits?”
Because she most certainly had—many, many times!
The bartender walked up and placed her chilled white wine in front of her, then promptly departed. She took a fortifying sip as she awaited Erik’s answer. What was wrong with her tonight, she wondered. Was the fact that she had made one big decision psychologically urging her to make an even bigger one? She had been dragging her feet about their relationship because she was so content with Erik in her life. Why mess with perfection? Her last relationship had ended after she’d become intimate with the guy. It was as if getting her into bed was the ultimate goal and once that was accomplished she wasn’t desirable to him anymore. And the guy before him had dropped her because she’d wanted to wait until she knew him better before going to bed with him. He had been conceited enough to tell her a requirement to being with him was sex, and lots of it. He’d called her a freak of nature! She was sure she was probably complicating her problem with men too much. She’d simply made bad choices in men. She was twenty-five and had had only one lover, and he’d turned out to be a bastard. Intellectually, she knew this. However, telling that to her broken heart was another thing, entirely.
Erik was so different from the others. He was solid and reliable. A brilliant businessman, he had taken his family’s company to new heights. Of course, his father, John Whitaker, had given him a wonderful foundation to build upon but Erik was continuing the tradition of making the family name an honorable one in big business. Known for buying failing companies and turning them around, thereby saving the jobs of many Americans, Erik found satisfaction in a job well done.
His cognac-colored eyes held an amused expression when he answered her question, his tone seductive, “About twice a day, maybe four times a day on weekends.”
Ana fanned her face. She’d flushed upon hearing him admit that. So, she wasn’t the only one who had sex on the brain. “I’ve thought of it just as often,” she admitted.
“But I’d never actually do it,” said Erik, his expression turning serious. He sighed and sat up straighter on the barstool. Looking deep into her eyes, he said, “Ana, being friends with benefits means that you will somehow be able to detach yourself from your feelings while you’re making love. I could never do that with you. When we make love it’s going to be seriously emotional. I’m not going to hold anything back. Everything I’ve wanted to express to you in a physical way over the last two years will be in every touch. So, if you want me, you’ll have to take all of me, not just a part of me.”
Ana was trying to calm her racing heart. The man was hot as hell. What would happen if she just let go and told him, “yes, let’s go back to your place right now? It’s time.” Actually it was way past time to do something about the sexual tension building between them.
She was glad when the hostess approached and said their table was ready. Erik handed the bartender a tip and with it, the woman’s card. “Would you mind disposing of that for me?”
He then escorted Ana to their table and helped her into her chair.
“Your waiter will be with you shortly,” said the hostess, and left.
“You were saying?” Erik said, looking at Ana expectantly.
“You’re right,” Ana said a bit breathlessly. “We’re well past the friends-with-benefits stage. I couldn’t make love to you, and then return to being just friends the next day. I’m not made that way.”
Erik grasped her hand. “I have to say I’m a little surprised by the suggestion. What brought this on?”
Suddenly Ana knew exactly why she hadn’t given in to Erik until now. It wasn’t just that she was afraid of messing up a good thing. The epiphany was a relief to her. But it also made her a little sad. Looking him straight in the eyes, Ana said, her voice awe filled, “I kept putting you off because…I didn’t feel worthy of you.”
“How could you have felt that way?” Erik asked. Surprise was evident in his tone.
Ana cut him off with, “I know it never crossed your mind. But listen, please. I grew up in a family of overachievers. My mother was a world-renowned singer. My father has run the family business for decades with great success, and my sister is following in his footsteps. Do I need to mention how beloved my brother, the maestro, is?” She paused to breathe. “Growing up, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I loved to draw but in a country like Italy where so many of the great artists were born I felt more than a little intimidated. I hid my work for years, not wanting anyone to see what I’d created. Then, when I was a teenager and I just kept growing, five-ten at fifteen, someone told me I should be a model and I thought to myself, ‘That’s something I could be good at,’ and to my utter surprise I was signed to an agency right away. But I never felt as if it were an accomplishment. After all, beauty is something you inherit from your parents. It’s not something you earn.”
“I think a lot of people who work hard on their physical appearance would disagree with you,” Erik pointed out.
“Yes, of course I have to eat right and exercise, but this face was a gift from God,” Ana countered.
“Are you feeling guilty again because your image is used to make women feel insecure?” he asked softly. “So insecure that they’ll buy the products your face helps to sell in order to aim for an impossibly high standard of beauty?”
“No, it isn’t, Dr. Freud. It’s about leaving behind something lasting when I’m dead,” Ana insisted, smiling at his instant psychoanalysis. Although, she did, like several other models she knew, feel guilty about propagating an image of perfection that was, frankly, a lie. She had been honest in several interviews about the hours spent being made-up and then, if the subsequent photographs weren’t up to par, being airbrushed to make them perfect.
“You’re a man of substance, a man whose life means much more than the pursuit of self-gratification. To me, what you do is inspiring, saving peoples’ jobs, keeping families together. Being a model doesn’t compare to that.”
“You have helped raise millions of dollars for New York City’s homeless,” Erik reminded her.
“Yes, as a result of modeling I’ve been able to help others. That’s a plus. In my opinion, the only true benefit. It’s not enough, though. You need a woman who is equal to you in every way.”
Erik laughed softly. “You’re already my equal in every way.”
Ana took a sip of her wine and swallowed. “There’s always room for improvement.”
Erik raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “You do realize that this is your personal little quirk, and I wholeheartedly disagree with your assessment?”
“If that’s business talk for you think I’m a little nuts to think this way, then, yeah, I do,” Ana said, smiling.
Their waiter approached at that instance, and they ordered dinner. After the waiter left them alone, Ana changed the subject with, “So, are we going running in the park tomorrow morning?” They had a standing date on Saturday mornings to run in Central Park if both of them were in the city.
“No, I’m sorry, but tomorrow I’ll be driving to Bridgeport for the weekend.” Erik sighed. Some of the people he’d had to negotiate with over the years had made some strange stipulations before signing on the dotted