Summer Desserts

tomorrow, we’ll get back to business.”
    She might have spoken then, but his mouth touched hers. Tomorrow was hours away.

Chapter Eight
    D amn, it was frustrating. Blake had heard men complain about women, calling them incomprehensible, contradictory, baffling. Because he’d always found it possible to deal with women on a sensible level, he’d never put much credence in any of it, until Summer. Now, he found himself searching for more adjectives. Rising from his desk, Blake paced to the window and frowned out at his view of the city.
    When they’d made love the first time, he realized that he’d never known that a woman could be that soft, that giving. Strong—still strong, yes, but with a fragility that had a man lying in velvet. Had it been his imagination, or had she been totally his in every way one person could belong to another? He’d have sworn that for that space of time she’d thought of nothing but him, wanted nothing but him. And yet, before their bodies had cooled, she’d been so practical, so…unemotional.
    Damn, wasn’t a man supposed to be grateful for that—a man who wanted the pleasure and companionship of a woman without all the complications? He could remember other relationships where a neat set of rules had proven invaluable, but now…
    Below, a couple walked along the sidewalk, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. As he watched he imagined them laughing at something no one else would understand. And as he watched, Blake thought of his own statement of the degrees of intimacy. Instinct told him that he and Summer had shared an intimacy as deep as any two people could experience. Not just a merging of bodies, but a touching, a twining, of thoughts and needs and wants that was absolute. But if his instincts had told him one thing, she had told him another. Which was he to believe?
    Frustrating, he thought again and turned away from the window. He couldn’t deny that he’d gone to her apartment the night before with the idea of seducing her, and putting an end to the tension between them. But he couldn’t deny that he’d been seduced after five minutes alone with her. He couldn’t see her and not want to touch her. He couldn’t hear her laugh without wanting to taste the curve of her lips. Now that he’d made love with her, he wasn’t certain a night would pass without his wanting her again.
    There must be a term for what he was experiencing. Blake was always more comfortable when he could label something and therefore file it properly. The most efficient heading, the most logical category. What was it called when you thought of a woman when you should be thinking about something else? What name did you give to this constant edgy feeling?
    Love… The word crept up on him, not entirely pleasantly. Good God. Uneasy, Blake sat again and stared at the far wall. He was in love with her. It was just as simple—and just as terrifying—as that. He wanted to be with her, to make her laugh, to make her tremble with desire. He wanted to see her eyes glow with temper, and with passion. He wanted to spend quiet evenings, and wild nights, with her. And he was deadly sure he’d want the same thing twenty years down the road.
    Since the first time he’d walked down those four flights of stairs from her apartment, he hadn’t thought of another woman. Love, if it could ever be considered logical, was the logical conclusion. And he was stuck with it. Taking out a cigarette, Blake ran his fingers down the length of it. He didn’t light it, but continued to stare at the wall.
    Now what? he asked himself. He was in love with a woman who’d made herself crystal clear on her feelings about commitments and relationships. She wanted no part of either. He, on the other hand, believed in the permanency, and even the romance, of marriage—though he’d never considered it specifically applying to himself.
    Things were different now. He was a man too well ordered, both outwardly and mentally, not to see marriage as the direct result of love. With love, you wanted stability, vows, endurance. He wanted Summer. Blake leaned back in his chair. And he firmly believed there was always a way to get what you wanted.
    If he even mentioned the word love, she’d be gone in a flash. Even he wasn’t completely comfortable with it as yet. Strategy, he told himself. It was all a matter of strategy—or so he hoped.He simply had to convince her that he was essential to her life, that theirs was