A Matter of Trust Page 9

  "Hello, Diane," Sloan said calmly, her face revealing nothing. Diane Carson was the woman with whom she had planned to attend the benefit. She had broken the engagement when it became very apparent to her that Diane was beginning to think of them as a couple. They had last had dinner two weeks previously, and Sloan had just barely managed to extract herself from an awkward situation before both of them were embarrassed. Diane had assumed Sloan would be staying the night, an assumption that in retrospect Sloan could hardly blame her for. Diane was a very attractive, intelligent woman, and they got along well. They had also slept together just a week before.

  But, at the end of the evening, Sloan realized she didn't want to stay the night, a fact that surprised even her. Diane, however, was under a different impression. As soon as they were inside her apartment, Diane had begun to kiss her passionately, her hands tugging at the belt on Sloan's trousers, her breasts crushed to Sloan's chest. Diane’s nipples were hard points rubbing against her shirt that drew fire to Sloan's skin. It felt good, there was no way Sloan could deny that, but even as her limbs grew heavy with lust, and her hands swept up Diane's sides to cup her breasts, her mind had protested.

  "Wait," she had gasped, attempting to step away.

  "Why," Diane had murmured, her fingers slipping under Sloan's waistband. Her voice was throaty with desire; her eyes dim with need. "Baby, you are so hot and I am so ready."

  Sloan tried to ignore the throbbing just below Diane's fingertips. If she moved an inch, Diane would be stroking her, and no amount of good sense would make her stop then. She had grasped Diane's hand, stilling her explorations.

  "I can't do this, I'm sorry."

  The look on Diane's face had gone from brief disappointment and hurt to anger. She had stepped back so swiftly that Sloan had nearly stumbled.

  "Get out," was all that Diane had managed. Sloan had been happy to oblige, because for an instant, she thought Diane was going to slap her. That was the last time they had spoken until just this moment.

  Diane hadn't slapped her then, because she had been stone cold sober. She wasn't at the moment, however. "You bastard," she said quite clearly as her hand whipped across Sloan's cheek.

  Sloan absorbed most of the blow with a turn of her head, but still it stung, and she tasted the salty tang of blood on the inside of her lip. She kept both hands firmly at her sides. She motioned 'no' to Sarah when she saw her about to rise out of the corner of her eye.

  "Where is your table, Diane?" Sloan asked, aware that Diane was swaying and that her face was slack with too much alcohol.

  "I came alone," Diane said sharply. "My date preferred to plow fresher fields for the evening." She looked in Michael's direction as she spoke.

  Sloan stepped closer, slipping her hand under her elbow, steadying her. "Why don't you sit down for a minute."

  Diane tried to fling off her hold, but only succeeded in nearly losing her balance. She ended up clutching at Sloan's shirtfront instead. Sloan realized that Diane was much more intoxicated than she had first thought, and that there was no way she could send her home alone in a cab.

  Sloan guided an unresisting Diane closer to the table, and said quietly to Michael, "I'm sorry, but I need to take Ms. Carson home. Would you mind if Sarah drives you back to your hotel?"

  Michael looked into Sloan's cool eyes and could read nothing. They might have been the eyes of a stranger. She answered quietly, "Of course not. Please go ahead."

  Sloan nodded goodnight to the others, slipped her arm around Diane Carson's waist and turned to leave. Most of the eyes in the crowd followed their departure as voices speculated on the latest romantic escapades of the somewhat notorious JT Sloan.

  Michael Lassiter watched them also. She didn't say a word, but she too wondered just what hold the lovely Ms Carson had on Sloan.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FOR A MOMENT no one said anything, then Jasmine, in a rare show of restraint, said softly, "Well, Sloan handled that nicely."

  Both Sarah and Michael looked at her questioningly.

  "Diane Carson was about to fall down drunk and make a spectacle of herself. She would have been humiliated in front of some of the most influential people in the community, and I don't just mean the gay and lesbian community either. There are a lot of political movers and shakers here tonight. Sloan just saved her a lot of embarrassment."

  "Who is she?" Michael asked before she could stop herself.

  Sarah raised an inquiring eyebrow in Jasmine's direction. She had been wondering the same thing herself. She hadn't seen Sloan with a lover in a lot of years, but there hadn't been anything in Sloan's face that looked like love to her. "An ex?"

  Jasmine shrugged delicately. "I suppose you could say that. Diane seems to think she is more of an ex than is probably warranted, but Sloan has that affect on her dates. One night and they want to marry her." She pushed back from the table and stood with a sigh. The festive atmosphere had definitely dissipated. "I think it's time for me to toddle off. I'll send Jason out in a while."

  Sarah watched her go, then looked at Michael. "Are you all right?"

  "Of course," Michael said a little too quickly. "Just curious."

  "Mmm," Sarah agreed. "Sloan does have a tendency to make one wonder." She studied Michael quietly for a moment, then said seriously. "You know, Michael, Sloan is not nearly the lothario people would make her out to be. It's true that I haven't been close to her these last few years, but I knew her very well when she was younger, and people don't change all that much. She may avoid commitments, but she has a good reason for it."

  Michael wondered what Sarah was trying to tell her, and why. What JT Sloan did with the women in her life was no concern of hers. Despite the fact that she enjoyed Sloan's company, and thought that the feeling was mutual, she was under no illusions that there was anything else possible between them. She had a company to save, and a marriage to dissolve. The last thing she needed was a sexual identity crisis and an involvement with a woman who obviously didn't care to be involved with anyone.

  She sighed and began to gather her things. "I'm sure you're right. I'm going to get a cab. Say goodni—"

  Sarah grasped her wrist. "Absolutely not! We'll drive you. I'm sure Jason will be here soon."

  "I don't think you need me along on your first date with him, Sarah!" Michael laughed. "I'll be fine."

  "Really!" Sarah protested. "It's no trouble. And I have a feeling we'll be calling it an evening, too. Things went pretty well tonight, considering both of them were here. Jason and Jasmine, I mean. But I don't think I'm going to push my luck. Jason's clearly not ready for anything else – and frankly, neither am I."

  Michael stopped what she doing, her eyes concerned. "Are you okay?"

  Sarah grinned a little shakily. "It's not as simple as I thought it would be. While I was watching Jasmine and Sloan dancing, I pretty much forgot about Jason. Jasmine is so real, you know? I'm not sure how I'd feel alone with her."

  "My guess is you won't find that out until you've been with Jason first. That is probably the way he'll feel most comfortable," Michael commented thoughtfully. Watching Sloan and Jasmine together had fascinated her too, but her thoughts had all been of Sloan. How she held Jasmine, so sure, so certain. Their bodies had fit together so well, and for an instant she imagined herself in Sloan's arms. Instead of being strange, that notion seemed somehow completely natural.

  She stood abruptly, dispelling the image. "Say good night for me, please. I really need to go."

  And then she was gone, leaving Sarah to wonder about the odd expression on Michael's face. She had looked bewildered, and a little sad.

  * * *

  "Diane. Hey – Diane," Sloan called softly, shaking the sleeping woman's shoulder lightly. "Time to wake up."

  Diane Carson muttered, snuggled a little deeper into the warm leather seat, and tried to curl up on her side.

  Sloan got out, walked around the front of the car and opened the passenger side door. She leaned down and sli
pped an arm behind Diane's back. The other she slid under the smaller woman's knees and swiveled her feet out onto the sidewalk. "Okay, here we go," Sloan said, pulling Diane upright into her arms. "A few steps, a few stairs, and then an elevator – thank god. Piece of cake."

  Diane managed to follow Sloan's lead, becoming more alert as she moved. "Where are we?" she asked groggily.

  "Your place," Sloan informed her as she pushed the Up button on the elevator. She guided Diane into the elevator and removed her arm from around Diane's waist. When Diane promptly tilted left and looked about to fall, Sloan grabbed her and held on. She didn't try releasing her again until they were inside Diane's bedroom, where Sloan eased her down onto the side of the bed.

  "You okay?" Sloan asked, stepping back a foot.

  Diane pushed both hands through her hair, blinked up at Sloan and grimaced. "More or less. I really conked out in the car and I'm still fuzzy. What time is it?"

  Sloan glanced at the bedside clock. "Just after midnight."

  "Thanks for bringing me home," Diane said tiredly. She tried standing and wavered with a sudden surge of dizziness. "Shit."

  Sloan reached for her automatically, and the next instant Diane was firmly in her arms, her hands on the back of Sloan's neck, and her lips searching for Sloan's. The kiss caught Sloan by surprise and by the time it registered, Diane's hand had dropped to her thigh and was moving dangerously close to her crotch.

  "Mmph," Sloan muttered, pulling her head back and grabbing for Diane's wrist at the same time. "Cut it out."

  Diane bit the side of Sloan's neck, harder than she might have if she had been totally aware of what she was doing. "You know damn well it feels good," she breathed against Sloan's neck, pushing her hand a little higher.

  It did feel good, but that was hardly the point. She wasn't in the habit of having sex with intoxicated women even when she did want to sleep with them. And despite the fact that the insistently stroking fingers between her legs were doing an excellent job of making her throb, she did not want to sleep with Diane Carson.

  "Okay. You're obviously capable of getting yourself to bed," Sloan gasped, pushing Diane gently but firmly back down on the bed. "I'm out of here." She turned on somewhat shaky legs and started for the bedroom door. Her body was in a state of rebellion that she valiantly ignored.

  "You don't actually think that that blonde is going to give you what you need, do you?" Diane called angrily.

  Sloan didn't reply. They both knew the answer to that question. She let herself quietly out of the apartment, rode the elevator down, and walked slowly across the street to her car. She slid behind the wheel, leaned back, and shut her eyes. When her head stopped pounding and the ache in her belly began to subside, she reached for her cellular phone.

  * * *

  Michael tied the pale gray robe around her waist as she hurried toward the door. She peered through the peephole, stared for a second, then pulled the door wide, a question in her eyes.

  "I'm sorry it's so late," Sloan began, shrugging slightly as if she weren't certain herself why she was there. She wasn't, exactly. All she knew was that she couldn't go home without seeing her. "I called Sarah, and she said you hadn't left with them –"

  "I took a cab," Michael interrupted.

  Sloan sighed. "I'm sorry-"

  "You said that," Michael said, a soft smile on her face. She reached out and tugged on Sloan's sleeve. "Come in out of the hall."

  Sloan followed, then stood in the elegant, impersonal hotel suite, looking around like she had no idea where she was. She pushed a hand through her hair, leaving the dark waves tousled. "Hell, I don't even know why I came." She looked at Michael, who was watching her with quiet patience. "Are you angry?"

  Michael was surprised by the question. Should she be? Did she even have any right to be? She turned and walked toward the sofa, one of two that faced a large glass coffee table centered on a plush oriental rug, while she considered the question. She sat at one end, drawing her legs up under her, pulling the hem of the robe down to mid-calf, and motioned for Sloan to join her.

  Sloan slumped into the deep cushions, leaned her head against the back, and turned to face Michael. She hadn't known she was going to ask that, but now the answer seemed to matter a great deal.

  "No," Michael replied at length, choosing her words carefully as she sorted through the odd assortment of emotions the night had inspired. "I was disappointed at first. I was enjoying the evening so much, and I missed you when you left."

  As she spoke the words, she realized how true they were. When Sloan had walked away, the enchanted became ordinary again. The sparkling lights lost their shimmer and the hint of magic in the air grew faint. She laughed shakily at her foolishness. "That wasn't your fault."

  Sloan disagreed. "It was my fault, but I needed to take her home. She was a little too impaired to maneuver safely."

  "Really?" Michael said dryly, arching a brow. "She couldn't have been too impaired. She managed to bite your neck."

  Sloan sat bolt upright, a hand to her neck where she felt a slight sting. "Christ." She looked at Michael, whose face was absolutely expressionless. "Would you believe there is a totally innocent explanation?"

  "No explanation is required," Michael said, standing and smoothing the robe about her hips. She fidgeted with the sash for a moment, then looked into Sloan's eyes, who had also stood. Michael thought she looked impossibly attractive standing there, waiting for Michael to damn her, or absolve her. Michael shook her head in frustration. "And no apology is necessary either. I got home fine. I wasn't your date, or your responsibility. Please don't worry about it."

  It was suddenly very important to Sloan that Michael understand nothing had happened between her and Diane. She took a step nearer, her voice dark and intense. "I know I don't have to explain. I want to." She rested her hands on Michael's arms, bending just a bit to catch her glance, very aware of the slight tremor in Michael's body. Michael's blue eyes answered hers with a faint expression of uncertainty, and something that might have been desire.

  "Oh, hell," Sloan muttered, leaning closer still, her vision tunneling down to pale skin and full moist lips. Those lips parted in surprise, or was it welcome, and then Sloan was kissing her. It was amazing how something so familiar could be so new. Michael's lips were without a doubt the softest she had ever touched, and the warmest, and the sweetest, and – Ohjesusgod

  Sloan was lost, senses on overload. She could smell her, fresh from a shower and misted with spring promises. Michael's body, covered only by the technicality of the supple thin silk, was molten under Sloan's hands, flowing hot to her touch. Somebody groaned. Sloan thought dimly it might have been herself. There were fingers in her hair, pulling lightly, sending showers of current directly between her legs. She wavered a bit on her feet, and edged Michael back toward the sofa.

  And then what? an irritated voice said from somewhere deep, deep in her unconsciousness. You gonna lay her down on the couch in some hotel room and lift her skirt? Nice, Sloan. Very nice.

  Sloan raised her lips from Michael's, a task so difficult it left her weak. Michael's eyes were nearly closed, her mouth swollen with kisses, her breasts rising and falling rapidly against Sloan's chest. Their legs were entwined, and Sloan felt the heat against her thigh. She felt the material of her trousers chaffing against her own damp crotch. Her palms smoothed rhythmically over the round fullness of Michael's buttocks, aching to pull her hard against her leg. She was fully aroused and pulsating painfully and ready to burst and she – could – not - do – this.

  "Michael," Sloan gasped, willing her fingers not to stray inside the partially opened robe. The crescent of exposed breast nearly shredded the last remnants of her control.

  "Shhh," Michael crooned, leaning into Sloan until there was nothing between them but old fears and secret desires. She wanted Sloan to kiss her again. What a remarkable, glorious kiss that had been. It was the only time in her life when she had been totally without thought. She had kno
wn absolutely nothing but the incredible freedom and utter certainty of being in Sloan's embrace. It was a place she never wanted to leave. "Just do that again," she whispered.

  Sloan continued to hold her, but she did not lower her head for the kiss. She looked at Michael, saw her undisguised hunger, and understood in that instant how completely without pretense or guile Michael was. If innocence existed anywhere, it was in Michael's simple request. She didn't deserve that trust, didn't even want it.

  "We'll both regret this in the morning," Sloan said as lightly as she could manage through a throat tight with need. She sensed Michael stiffen in her arms.

  "Do you think so?" Michael asked softly, a cold ache beginning in her chest. "Would you?"

  Sloan took a step back, released her hold on the other woman. Steeled herself. "Yes, and so would you when you had a chance to think about it. I apologize for putting you in an awkward position. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

  Michael laughed thinly. "Well, I know I certainly wasn't. I should thank you for maintaining some sense." She pulled her robe tightly around herself, shivering suddenly. "Will you excuse me? It's late and I'm more than a little embarrassed."

  Sloan wanted to comfort her so badly. She had hurt her, but it was a small hurt compared to the disaster it might have been. She forced her hands into her pockets, afraid she would touch her again otherwise. "I'll let myself out. I'm sorry, Michael."

  Michael watched her cross the room, watched the door close soundlessly behind her. She listened for her footsteps in the hall, but heard only silence. The room was very still as she moved about turning off the lights. In the darkness she made her way to the bedroom, where once under the covers, alone, she allowed herself to cry.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE PHONE RANG in Michael's office at 6:45 Monday morning. She glanced at it distractedly, a prospectus in one hand, barely taking her eyes off the columns of figures. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have answered her own phone, but it was too early for Angela to be in.