Free The Arrangement by Suzanne Forster Page A

ignoring his mock indignation. “The tie bar is straight. Now, let me see the whole look.”
    She twirled her finger, and he turned around, his smile sardonic. “Do I look fat?”
    His sand-colored blazer and slacks looked fabulous, as always. He was a meticulous dresser no matter what he wore, but the dark shimmer of intrigue that resided in his eyes, and his windblown hair, banished any notion of fussiness. He could have been a blood-and-guts hooligan on a soccer field, except that his sport was sailing. Instead of scars, he had a year-round tan and a certain unkempt elegance.
    She straightened her bare shoulders, trying to hold the dress in place. The halter ties had loosened, and the back of the dress was gaping open.
    “Let me help you with that.”
    “No, I’m fine.”
    “Don’t be silly,” he said, a stern note to his voice. “Turn around.”
    She did, and felt his fingers purling down her spine as he fastened the buttons. She steeled herself against any desire she might have to shiver—and prayed the splotches wouldn’t return. But the featherlight contact was wildly stimulating, and no amount of control could stop her pulse from becoming fast and thready.
    Was this why he’d chosen the dress? So he could help her with it? If so, it must be part of the happily married couple act—and he was damn convincing. No one watching them would have known that before this trip he couldn’t stand to look at her, much less touch her.
    The buttons went down to the small of her back. When he’d done them all, she turned and saw that he’d taken the gold mesh belt off the hanger.
    She was still vibrating as she reached for it.
    He didn’t release it. “You didn’t buy the tie, but I did buy this dress,” he said. “And I insist.”
    “You bought the dress?” She knew nothing about that. He must be talking about before the accident. “I really am able to dress myself,” she said. “I can handle the belt and the rest of it, thanks.”
    He touched her hair, and she froze. “Don’t.”
    “Don’t what?” he said.
    “Don’t kiss me, don’t even think about it. It’s not happening.”
    The look of disbelief on his face gradually transformed into a faint smile. “Actually, I was thinking about it.”
    “Well, think about my knee kissing your balls. Think about that.”
    The belt hit the floor. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
    She touched the sink to steady herself. For a moment it was hard to breathe. What was wrong with her? She just couldn’t do this. She couldn’t casually play this lover’s game, and she hated that he could. None of this was affecting him the way it was affecting her. He wasn’t vulnerable, wasn’t shaking inside the way she was.
    “I came here with you,” she said. “I agreed to that, but I never agreed to make out with you.”
    He nodded slowly, as if he was just coming to understand some things about her. “You don’t even want me close to you, do you?”
    “I guess it must be hard for you to grasp that a woman exists who wouldn’t want you close.”
    “Jesus, Alison, I’m just trying to get clear on what you want.”
    “Don’t take it personally,” she said. “Let’s do what we came to do and leave this place. I don’t want to be here.”
    There was a moment when she thought he was going to say something, do something besides pick up the belt and drop it on the counter.
    “You’re calling the shots,” he said as he left the room.
    She shut the door behind him, wondering why she couldn’t have talked to him in civil terms, why she’d had to be so cutting. And why she was so angry still. The solution was simple. If they had to act like lovers in public, that was one thing, but there was no reason to keep up the pretense in private. She didn’t want sham intimacy from a man who was pretending not to be repulsed by her.
     
    It was five after seven when Alison and Andrew walked out onto the terrace off the living room. The slate deck swept out over the