The Importance of Being Alice Page 14

  “Now it’s my turn be annoyed and flattered at the same time,” I said, wanting to lean into him, but feeling too unsure of myself to do so. “It’s nice to think that he was having regrets, but . . .”

  “But you’ve moved on,” Elliott said, nodding his head. He said it so matter-of-factly that it didn’t occur to me that it might have been more a question than not. I was too busy wondering why Elliott was so bent out of shape over the pictures I’d posted.

  “I defriended him after we broke up, but I guess he’s using a mutual friend to spy on my posts and pictures.” I gnawed my lower lip. It wasn’t as if I’d posted anything risqué, I told the judgmental side of my mind. There was one shirtless picture that had all my girlfriends swooning, but the rest of them were perfectly decent. Well, perhaps the one where he was naked on the bed, sound asleep, with the pirate hat over his naughty bits might have pushed the limits of the word “decent,” but that picture was grainy and slightly out of focus, so I didn’t feel it provided too much of an invasion of Elliott’s privacy.

  Guilt hit me even harder. I was in the wrong, and I knew it. While an ordinary man might not mind his lover posting pictures of him online, someone who was involved with a covert activity certainly wouldn’t want his image plastered all over the Internet.

  If I needed more proof that Elliott was involved in something secretive, I just had it. And what had I done? Only blown his cover, that’s all. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about . . . er . . .” Should I mention that I knew he had a secret life? His expression was grim—maybe now wasn’t the best time to let him know I was on to the truth about his covert activities. “I just didn’t think. That’s my biggest failing if you hadn’t figured it out by now. My friends are always telling me that I don’t think before I do stuff, and boy, are they right this time.”

  I grabbed my phone and stabbed at the screen, deleting all of the pictures of Elliott that I’d so happily posted. I wanted badly to tell him that I’d do whatever I needed to do to fix his cover, but I had a feeling he’d had enough of my interference.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said slowly, looking as if a boa constrictor had a hold of his testicles. “I thought you understood . . . I thought we were clear about it all, but I gather I was mistaken.”

  Clear about what, the fact that he was a spy, or at least involved in something very covert? Did he know that I knew? Was I supposed to acknowledge that, or were we pretending that I didn’t know? I was so confused, I just sat there in a big, unhappy lump. “I’m sorry,” I said again, at a loss. I didn’t know what I should say out loud, and what he wanted to remain unsaid.

  He patted me on the leg, and I flinched when his freezing fingers touched my bare skin. We both looked down at his hand, me to chastise myself for having ruined the moment (his sad, deflated penis made it quite clear that happy fun time wasn’t going to be happening any time soon), and him to think whatever thoughts he had about women who didn’t respect a man’s covert activities.

  He snatched his hand back and rose, gathering up some clothing with a muttered explanation that he would take his shower. I continued damning myself while I got dressed, and later, when I sat in one of the deck chairs, my gaze turned too far inward to watch the small towns and villages of the Rhine as they flowed past.

  An hour later, a shadow fell over me.

  “Where’s lover boy?”

  I squinted up at Deidre before making an annoyed tch and returned to contemplating my misery. “He’s busy. And by that, I mean he doesn’t want to be disturbed. If you ignore me, which I fully expect you will, and go ahead and interrupt him, then you will find out for yourself that he takes his privacy very seriously.” My conscience twinged at that, but I continued on in a tired tone, “Do what you want. I’m not your mother, or his.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of disturbing him if he desires some time away from annoyances,” she said with particular emphasis on the last word. I knew that she classed me as such, but at that moment, I didn’t really care what she thought.

  Another two hours went by. Castles, cute towns, the occasional famous statue, and lots of greenery melted past as we spent the day on the Rhine sailing to the next stop, which we’d reach about midnight.

  I didn’t enjoy any of it.

  “Would you mind if I sat here?”

  I stopped staring at my toes long enough to smile at Laura. “Not at all.”

  She settled next to me with a bottle of suntan lotion, a big floppy hat, and a paperback. “I didn’t want to disturb you earlier. You looked like you were thinking deep thoughts, and I know how annoying it is to be bothered when you’re doing that.” She slid me a sidelong look, hesitated, and went on slowly, “It’s absolutely none of my business, to be sure, but I can’t help but ask you if something is wrong? You’re normally so full of joie de vivre, and now . . .”

  “I’m a big fat wart on an equally big fat toad, yes,” I said glumly. It struck me that I was enjoying my wallow in self-pity a bit too much.

  “Not in the least. I ask because if Deidre has been causing problems between you and Elliott—”

  “No, it’s not her.” I looked out blindly at the scenery passing, wanting badly to unburden myself, but not knowing if that would make my earlier breach of Elliott security worse. I didn’t see how it could—Laura already knew that there was more to him than appeared. “Not that she hasn’t tried, mind you, but I can’t honestly blame this on her. I did something stupid, Laura.”

  She donned an attentive expression. “I’m sure it wasn’t intentional, if you did.”

  “Kind of. I mean, I didn’t intend on putting Elliott in danger, but I did think it would be fun to put up some pictures of him so my friends could see. Online, you know.”

  She looked confused for a moment; then her eyes widened. “Oh! You mean he wouldn’t want people knowing he was in Germany?”

  I nodded. “That or he just doesn’t want people to know where he is at all. For all I know, he could be pretending he’s back home, and there I go blasting pictures everywhere of him standing outside the cathedral in Cologne. I took the pictures down as soon as I realized what I’d done, but . . . well, he’s not very happy with me. And due to the nature of this problem, I can’t ask him how bad it is.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Elliott’s never actually come right out and admitted that he’s doing something . . . covert,” I explained. “He kind of referred to it circularly, but he’s not actually ever said anything out loud about it.”

  “And that makes it hard for you to do the same,” she said, nodding. “I see the problem. Alice . . .” Laura fidgeted with her book for a minute. “I don’t want you thinking I’m casting aspersions on Elliott, but are you sure that what he’s doing isn’t . . . illegal?”

  I stared at her.

  “That came out so bald,” she said with a distressed gesture. “I don’t quite know how to say it without being offensive, but I was thinking about the situation yesterday, and while he could have been passing along some sort of a message, or microdot, or any number of things that spies pass on to other spies, I wondered if maybe it wasn’t possible that he was doing something a little less dashing.”

  “Drugs, you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Or money laundering. Or something of that ilk.”

  I shook my head. “With anyone else, I’d stop to consider that, but not Elliott. He’s a nice guy. I mean, really decent, the sort of man you’d happily take home to meet your family. He takes care of his own family, and he thinks of others, and he’s got honor and stuff like that. I was going to marry one of his friends, but we broke up, and when Elliott and I got together, he was all, ‘Are you sure you’re over Patrick, and this isn’t rebound sex?’ and things like that, and a lot of guys wouldn’t even be concerned about that. So no, I don’t think Elliott’s doing anything nefarious.”

  “You know
him best,” she said, clearly relieved. I didn’t tell her that I knew him about as long as she did. “As for your problem . . . well, I’ve always believed that the best way to avoid misunderstandings is to talk about the situation. Is there any way you can do that without mentioning his . . . occupation?”

  “I don’t know.” I was back to feeling miserable again. “The truth is, I feel like I’ve ruined the relationship. I don’t know if he wants it fixed.”

  “That is certainly difficult.” She flipped through her book until she found a spot she liked. “I won’t pry any more, I promise.”

  “You weren’t prying at all. I offered to talk about it, and to be honest, I’m glad I did. I’ve been wallowing in a big ole vat of self-pity for the whole day, trying to decide if I messed things up beyond repair, or not, and whether I should try to fix it. But talking to you has helped.” I didn’t tell her that despite my bold statements to Elliott, I was trying to figure out if he really was someone I wanted to know a whole lot better, or if he was just a fun vacation fling, one that massaged my hurting ego while entertaining my mind and body.

  Shallow, shallow, shallow, my inner critic said disgustedly.

  Hey, I’m being honest here, I pointed out. I need to know this stuff, because if I lie to myself and go forward with a relationship, then it’ll all end badly, and likely will hurt Elliott in the process. Not to mention bash you, my fair little ego, around, as well.

  And what did you decide? it asked.

  I watched a line of colorful houses perched high above the river, looking like they were superglued onto a sheer rock face, as they drifted past. Could I imagine spending the rest of my life in one of those houses with Elliott? Day after day, putting up with his fussy ways, and general crankiness when he wanted to work, and the fact that he had a secret life that he obviously didn’t want to share with me?

  I just don’t know, I finally acknowledged. But one thing I did know for sure—I wasn’t interested in him simply to make myself feel better about Patrick. I liked Elliott because he was fussy, and cranky, and mysterious. And that had to be a good start, right?

  My inner self shook her head, but stopped nagging me, which was a relief because I’d spent almost the whole day in introspection, and that was just too much self-knowledge for my tastes.

  “Right,” I said a short time later when I entered our cabin. Elliott looked up from the computer. “Time for sex.”

  He blinked at me. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me.” I pulled off my tank top and lacy shrug, and kicked off my espadrilles. “If you want me to apologize again, I will, because I’m truly sorry that I messed up and put your pictures online without first asking you. But after that, it’s sexy fun time.”

  He just stared at me for a moment before pinching the top of his nose, like he had a headache coming on. “I . . . I’m not . . . Alice, I’m working right now.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” I shucked my shorts and tried to strike a pose that made a woman clad only in her undergarments attractive. “But surely you can take a break?”

  “A sex break?”

  “Call it what you like. You’ve been in here for five hours, Elliott. You didn’t come out for lunch, and judging by the way you’re stretching your back, I bet you haven’t gotten out of that chair except to use the bathroom. So you’re due a break, and what’s more fun than a nooner held a few hours late?” I gave him my most winsome smile, hiding the uncertainty and worry that I had, truly, ruined our budding relationship.

  He gestured to the laptop. “I can’t just stop writing to have sex, Alice.”

  “Why not? Your boy parts stop working?”

  “No, of course not, but there’s such a thing as keeping to a schedule. I’ve told you how important it is that I keep to that, and I’ve already lost yesterday’s time, so I can’t just run off and make love to you the way I’d certainly like to.” He was frowning now, not a good sign. “Besides, there’s the other issue.”

  Fear clutched at my stomach. He was still angry at me. I had screwed things up beyond repair.

  “I don’t know what else I can do about that other than apologize yet again. I’ve contacted all my friends, and asked them to delete any copies they have, but beyond that . . .” I suddenly felt very naked despite my underwear and bra.

  “What are you talking about?” He shook his head. “I think we’re talking at cross-purposes. I don’t care about you sending pictures of me to your friends, assuming they don’t include me naked with a pirate hat.”

  Guilt dug into me with sharp, stabby edges. I tried to smile, but it came out pretty horrid. “Uh . . .”

  “What I was referring to was Patrick.”

  It was my turn to stare at him in utter confusion. “What does he have to do with the price of tea in China?”

  “I told you he called me earlier today. He was upset that you and I had been intimate, and told me in no uncertain terms that I was to cease continuing. He didn’t say it in as many words, but I suspect he means to fly out from Paris to confront you.”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed, and clutched the parrot to my chest. “Why on earth would he do that?”

  “I have no idea.” Elliott’s gaze seemed to crawl over my exposed flesh, making me feel very warm. Hot, even. Downright feverish. “I can only gather that he wants you back.”

  “Well, he can’t have me. I don’t want him.”

  “Are you sure? Earlier this morning, you seemed to think otherwise.”

  “Me? You’re nuts. I’ve washed that man right out of my hair. The only thing I want from Patrick is an apology for how he treated me, and destroyed my dreams, and stole my home from me. But since I doubt I’ll ever get that from him, I’m not going to hold my breath.”

  Elliott looked adorably doubtful. “You don’t want to be with him? You aren’t sorry that we engaged in lovemaking?”

  “Of course I’m not sorry. Sex with you is awesome.” I searched his face. He really had thought I would leap when Patrick snapped his fingers for me! What a silly man. What a sexy, endearingly, wonderfully silly man. “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’ll just spell it out. I don’t want Patrick. I want you.”

  “Alice . . .” Elliott hit the save button, and stood up to face me. “We’ve fallen rather headlong into a relationship of sorts.”

  Of sorts? What the hell?

  His hands were on his hips, as if he was lecturing me. Or speaking to an unusually obtuse person. “I am not normally so heedless about women, and I assume you are likewise with men, although you do seem to live your life rather . . .”

  “Enthusiastically?” I asked, getting annoyed at his high-handed manner.

  “I’m trying to think of a nice term for ‘without due consideration of consequences,’ but am having little luck. I realize that you embrace spontaneity, and even allow that in certain circumstances it can be beneficial and enjoyable, but this demand to engage in sexy fun time, as you insist on calling it, is a good example of how disruptive it can be.”

  “You are such a stick-in-the-mud sometimes, you know that?” My annoyance faded. Elliott, poor man, truly believed what he was saying. He thought life was better when it was organized and structured until all the fun had been squeezed out of it. “Look, one of the things I’ve learned from life is that you have to grab what you can take, because you never know if it’ll be there later. I’m here right now. So are you. And I just bet you if I stick my hands down your pants, you’ll be ready for a little fun in no time.”

  His nostrils flared, and his voice took on that haughty lord-of-the-manor tone that made me want to giggle. “I assure you, madam, that I am in full control of my libido. If I did not wish to become aroused by you, I wouldn’t.”

  I put my hand on his fly. Just that, no caressing, no stroking, just my palm on his zipper. I could feel him getting hard within seconds. I cocked an eye
brow at him.

  “As it happens, I want to be aroused,” he said with an attempt at dignity. “I have decided that I will, just this once, bend my inviolable rule about not stopping until I am done with my daily quota of writing.”

  “If you bend it, it’s not inviolable.” I let my fingers do a little walking, which had him moaning at the same time he reached behind me to unhook my bra.

  “Now you’re being pedantic,” he murmured against my neck, pausing when I tugged his shirt off over his head.

  “Gloriosky, man, that’s going to melt my knees.” I clutched at him when he nibbled a spot behind my ear that seemed to be seriously erogenous.

  “We wouldn’t want that. I like your knees.” He started to bend down, no doubt to pick me up in true he-man style, but mindful of his back, I scooted backward onto the bed, patting it.

  “We don’t need to stress your back. Come and lie down, and I will work my womanly wiles upon you as I intended to do last night.”

  “Did I apologize about that?” he asked, doing as I requested.

  I looked at the seemingly vast smorgasbord of Elliott before me, and tried to decide where to start. “Yes, you did. Hey! No hands. This was my turn to have my way with you, remember? You got to be all ‘I’m giving and you’re receiving’ yesterday. Now it’s my turn.”

  “You had your turn while I was in the stocks.” He slid his hands around my breasts, rubbing his thumb across nipples that were suddenly extremely demanding.

  “That was not a full turn. I was just barely getting started—oh dear god, yes, I love your manly stubble! It’s so soft and yet seriously makes my boobs tingle—and didn’t have a full turn, so I’m still in charge. All right, one little nibble, but that’s it. I’m taking over after that.”

  He took each nipple by turn into his mouth, making me want to rub all of myself on every last inch of him, but when his fingers slid down my belly and headed south to my party zone, I came to my senses.