Dear Diary - Habeas Corpus

"I told you, and I... well... nothing."

"And you... what?"

For the first time he looked unsure of himself. "It's not important."

I looked at him, my expression clearly telling him I didn't appreciate his games. "You what?" I repeated.

"It's not important. I don't want you to think I'm hitting on you or something."

"Are you?"

"Hitting on you?" This time it was my turn to nod. "No."

"Then what were you going to say?"

He held my gaze and I could see the debate going on in his eyes. "I wanted to tell you that I admired your class, but since you already think I'm feeding you a line of B.S..."

"My class?"

He nodded. "Mr. Slatterly is..."

"Is?" I prompted when he didn't continue.

His lips thinned. "Pardon me for saying so, but I think you deserved better, and could have done better."

"Why do you say that?"

"Really?" he asked, his right eyebrow trying to crawl into his hair. His tone made it clear that not only did he know the reason, it also made clear that he knew I knew he knew the reason.

I returned my gaze to my glass. "What do you know about our marriage?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged. "Most of it. I think he was afraid you were going to try to take him to the cleaners, or go after Ms. Rankin for alienation of affection, so he was pretty open. He had three affairs while you were married, offered as proof the marriage was over before he met Ms. Rankin. He said you'd drifted apart, you rarely had sex, and he wanted out. He tried to make it sound like it was your fault that he had his affairs. Even though Mr. Slatterly was a total douche, you seemed to shrug it off, like he was beneath your notice. I thought you were a class act."

"And Bob was an idiot?"

He raised his glass in silent agreement and took a sip.

For half our marriage, more than ten years, our marriage had been running on autopilot. Five years ago, Bob started having trouble in the bedroom. He couldn't always get it up, and even when he could, he often wasn't able to keep it up, and our sex life had withered and died. We'd gone from having sex three or four times a week when we were first married, to once a week as our marriage began to coast, then to once every couple of weeks, to finally, in the last few years, to less than once a month. Then it had stopped entirely.

The irony was, I hadn't really cared the sex was dying. Not at first, but when he asked for a divorce, that was when it became clear why he couldn't keep it up. That's what'd hurt. Bob was still a good-looking guy, and I'd worked hard not to let myself go. There was nothing I could do about time and gravity, but I was still trim and active for a woman in her early fifties, but it hadn't been enough. He'd said it wasn't me. After a year of contemplation, I'd decided he was telling the truth. It wasn't me. It was him, and his fucking inability to keep his pants zipped.

"Did he tell you the reason we never had sex was because he couldn't get it up?" I asked as I stared into my glass.

"No," he said softly.

I nodded. "For the last couple of years. Turns out, it wasn't that he couldn't get it up, it was that he couldn't get up with me because was getting it up for someone else."

"I'm sorry," he said just as softly.

I looked up and met his gaze. "Like I said, it happens all the time." I drained the last swallow of my wine. "Thank you for the wine," I said as I began to slide out of the booth.

"You're welcome," he replied, sliding out with me. He tossed a five on the table, perhaps as a tip, and I wondered if he thought he was leaving with me. "Enjoy your evening."

I forced a smile, my mood soured by memories. "Thank you."

"Ms. Slatterly, one more thing," he said as I started to step around him. He was taller than I realized, standing at least ten or eleven inches taller than my five foot two, and a couple of inches taller than Bob.

"It's Burkes, and what is it?"

He held my gaze for a moment. "Some guys would have appreciated what he had."

"Like you?"

"I don't know you, but maybe. I can say I wouldn't have cheated on you. At the very least I would have manned up and given you that much respect."

"That's what Bob said, too."

He stepped aside. "So your ex-husband's a douche, an idiot, and now I know he's a liar too."

I forced another smile, but there was no humor in it. "Another thing we agree on," I murmured as I stepped past him.

I made it three steps before I slowed to a stop. I turned back to him, and I was secretly pleased he was watching me. "Walk me to my car?"

What are we doing? my angel cried.

Shut the hell up! my devil snarled in return.

I had no idea what possessed me to ask him to escort me, the words out of my mouth before I could stop them, but it felt good to have a man, a handsome man, paying attention to me, and yes, flattering me.

He broke into his largest smile yet as he placed his glass on the table. He said nothing, and didn't touch me as he passed, walking a half-step in front of me before pausing to open the door for me.

"Where's your car?"

"On the side." He followed me around the corner. "The silver Mercedes." He escorted me to my car.

"Nice car," he murmured as we approached.

I paused at the door but didn't open it. I turned to face him. He still hadn't touched me, but he was standing close, as lovers would, though I didn't feel threatened. He was giving me some space yet seemingly wanting to be close to me. I looked up and held his gaze.

"What's your game?"

"No game."

"You expect me to believe that a twenty-seven-year-old is interested in me?"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm more than twenty years older than you?"

"You seem to be the only one concerned with the age difference." I continued to watch his eyes, looking for a lie. "Why is this so hard for you?" he asked softly.

"Because," I murmured, dropping my gaze.

"Because you don't think your beautiful? Because you can't imagine a man might find you attractive and interesting? You don't have to be twenty to be beautiful, and I already know you're much more interesting than a lot of women."

"Maybe..." I mumbled.

"Do you think Salma Hydek and Cathern Zeta Jones are beautiful?"

I didn't recognize the first name, but I did the second. I'd seen Cathern in the movie Zorro years ago, and while I didn't know her age, I knew she wasn't a twenty-something. I also knew Cathern was stunning, so I assumed Salma was as well. "Yes, but I'm not them, am I?"

He held my gaze. "No," he replied softly. "You don't have the benefit of professional makeup and airbrushed photographs. They're not real. You are."

I was starting to sweat, and I wasn't sure it was all from the weather. "What? Are you living out some kind of mommy fantasy?"

His eyes narrowed and hardened slightly. "If that's what you think," he said, reaching for and pulling on the door handle of my car. As I was standing close, the car had sensed my key and it opened.

"I'm sorry," I said, looking down in shame. He said nothing, still holding the door open, and I felt even worse. "I should go," I whispered as I turned away from him.

"You've been hurt," he said before I could settle into my car. "I get that. I'm not promising you anything except to be honest with you." He paused as my heart hammered in my chest. "Let me take you home. Let me show you I'm not playing mind games."

Do it! my devil cried.

No! We don't know anything about him! my angel countered.

We haven't had a man between our legs in more than three years!

It could be dangerous!

Live a little!

He could hurt us!

We're already hurting! At least maybe he'll give us a good fucking!

What will people think?

Yeah, we wouldn't want anyone thinking we're a sexy MILF for pulling a young stud like him!

"Where do you live?" I whispered.

He broke into a broad smile. "Not far from here."

I licked my lips. "I..."

"I won't hurt you...?" he said, his voice trailing away when I paused.

"Michelle," I murmured.

"I won't hurt you, Michelle."

I swallowed hard. "I've never done anything like this before."

A slight gust of wind swirled, blowing my shoulder length brown hair into my eyes. I started to push it back, but he was already reaching for me, softly brushing the strands out of my face with the lightest of touches.

"Let me show you how it feels to be wanted."

I almost shivered, despite the warmth of the late summer day, and my mouth was suddenly dry. I swallowed hard. "Yes. Please."

"I'm going to kiss you."

It wasn't a question, but he gave me plenty of time to object. When I didn't, he leaned in slowly, bringing his lips close to mine, stopping with our lips millimeters apart. When I didn't pull back, he closed the remaining distance. The kiss was amazing, soft and warm, with just a hint of desire and heat. He slowly pulled back, his gaze soft, but I could see the desire burning in his beautiful eyes.

"My car is—"

"I'd like to drive myself, if that's okay?" I interrupted, but then I was suddenly unsure, afraid of ruining the moment.

"If it makes you feel safer. If you're not ready for this, you—"

"No. No... I am."

He leaned in again. "I want you," he whispered as his lips closed over mine.

His second kiss was even better than the first. Like the first kiss, it was slow and soft, but this time it spoke more clearly of his desire as he pulled me against his chest. I thrilled with his touch as I flooded with wetness, flooded in a way I hadn't in many years. I wanted him. I wanted him as I'd never wanted a man before.

I slowly pushed him back, my head tipping forward as our lips parted. I looked at my shoes, my heart pounding so hard I was certain he'd felt it slamming against my ribs before he released me. I felt unsteady and euphoric and terrified in equal measure. I wanted to take him right there in the parking lot and to fall into my car and drive away as fast as I could. I forced my eyes up, forced myself to meet his gaze. He touched my face, his strokes gossamer light as he caressed my cheek, his eyes steady as he held my gaze, not pushing me and allowing me to decide for myself if I could trust him.

I swallowed hard. "I'll follow you."

He beamed as he cupped my face and slowly pulled my lips to his for another kiss, this one fleeting, yet somehow still warm and inviting. He was still smiling as he slowly stepped back, his fingers caressing my face as he slowly drew his hands away. I was all but shaking as I watched him walk away, heading toward a compact sedan who's taillamps flashed twice as he approached. He didn't look back to see if I was watching until he stopped beside the small car. He smiled at me as he opened the driver's door.

After identifying his car I fell into my own and noticed the tremor in my hands. I was shaking, but I didn't know if it was the result of excitement, fear, or both. I started my car and began backing out of my parking space, the strident blare of a horn causing me to brake suddenly. A car passed behind me, a car I hadn't seen. I gripped the steering wheel firmly as I closed my eyes and blew out a cleansing breath.

Get control of yourself! I carefully checked for additional cars and backed out. Ryan's Hyundai was waiting at the entrance, his right turn signal flashing. As I pulled to a stop behind him, he pulled into the road. I followed.

He led me on a twisting path through town before pulling into the parking lot of a well-maintained apartment complex. I considered driving past and forgetting the whole thing, but I followed him until he pulled into a reserved space. I stopped, glanced around, but saw no spaces except those marked as reserved. I coasted to the end of the row and turned, pulling into the first empty space I found that wasn't marked as reserved. I switched my car off, but I didn't immediately exit.

It's not too late to change our mind, my angel whispered.

Oh, yes it is! my devil cooed.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped out of my car. Ryan was approaching and I waited for him to arrive.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he gently took my arm.

"Yes."

"Nervous?"

A smile tickled my lips. "A little."

An echo of my smile danced over his lips. "Good. So am I."

His words surprised me. I would have described his demeanor as relaxed and in charge. "You? Why are you nervous?" I asked as he led me to the building directly in front of his car.

He smiled down at me. "I don't want to disappoint."

I flashed hot. I blamed it on my simmering excitement, but his response caused me to I giggle like a schoolgirl, and I had to resist the temptation to look behind me to see if I was dripping on the pavement.

The complex was composed of eight units in a building, four on the first floor forming the square of the building, and four more directly above, each apartment with two exterior walls and plenty of windows. He led me to the second of the two floors and paused in front of the deep red door of apartment 72A.

My mind was buzzing, and I puzzled over the number as he unlocked the door. There was no way there were seventy apartments in the complex, then I realized it was building seven, second floor, apartment 'A.' The deadbolt snapped and my whirling thoughts refocused. He swung the door open and led me inside.

His apartment suited him. Clean, simple, and masculine without being a cave. The front of the apartment was one large room that comprised the living room, dining area, and kitchen. Immediately beyond that, in the center of the long wall, was a short hall, with four doors, two facing me, the short one over the air conditioning return vent obviously a linen closet, and one on each side. The two doors facing me and the one on the right were closed, but the door on the left was opened, and I assumed it was his bedroom.

The apartment was painted, carpeted, and tiled in neutral colors, as most apartments were, but the living room had some tasteful furnishings and art. The most notable piece was a cartoon rendering of a young Sean Connery dressed as 007, holding his fingers like a gun in a typical Bond pose. The large print was a vibrant splash of red and yellow that added color, but more interesting was the cartoony text that read, Your mind is a weapon. Keep it loaded. The other print I found interesting was a picture of a statue, perhaps David, shot from behind while a naked man with the same general shape and hair, in a matching pose, his skin and hair so pale it resembled the marble of the statue, stood to the side. The print stopped just before I could see the man's ass, but it was an interesting piece. I also noticed there was no television, nor a cabinet that could hide one, which I found curious.

"Not much, I know," he said as he closed the door behind me.

"Better than what I started out in," I replied as I took in the room.

"Can I get you anything? I'm sorry, but I don't have any wine."

I shook my head. "No, nothing."

He gestured to the living area. "Make yourself comfortable," he said as he began removing his tie.

I shrugged out of my coat and laid it across the heavy chair that was a matched set with the couch as he disappeared into the room I assumed was his bedroom. He appeared a moment later without his jacket or tie. I was still standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do or what was expected.

"Want to sit down?" he offered, waving to the large, deep brown, leather sofa. I did and he settled close, placing his hand on my leg, but not too high up. "Are you okay with this?"

He didn't have to define what 'this' was. I nodded. "I think," I whispered.

He smiled as he touched my face. "I won't hurt you," he rumbled softly. "I'm not going to try to force you, and I'll stop anytime you say."

I nodded. "But this is what you wanted..."

A tiny smile touched his lips. "What I wanted. Not what I expected."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "When I met you, I thought you were both beautiful and interesting. But honestly, I never thought I'd see you again after we thrashed out the separation agreement. Then tonight, when you came into De Jure, I was surprised to see you there, and I wanted to take the opportunity to tell you... well... you know."

"You weren't trying to pick me up?"

"No. This is a... gift."

"A gift?"

He nodded once. "A gift. Something that surprises and delights but wasn't necessarily expected."

I placed my hand on his leg and leaned in slightly. It was all the invitation he needed. He gently placed his hand on the back of my head, slowly pulled my lips to his, and kissed me, really kissed me. I expected him to slide his hand up my thigh, an act I would have welcomed, but instead he removed the hand and cupped my face.

He slowly pulled back from my lips, though he kept his hand on the back of my head, and drew the fingers of his other hand along my jaw with almost imperceptible lightness. "Regardless of what you might believe, you are beautiful," he whispered. "You have the most amazing eyes."

I couldn't remember the last time a man said I was beautiful, and I was melting as his words touched me. I couldn't prevent the smile from teasing my lips. "If you're not careful, you're going to give me an inflated opinion of myself."

His lips mirrored my own. "No. I want you to believe in yourself."

I placed my hand behind his head. "You know what I believe?" I murmured.

"What?" he whispered, his lips so close to mine I could feel his breath.

"I believe I want you to kiss me again," I breathed as I pulled his lips to mine.

Kiss me he did, an electrifying, toe curling kiss. He inhaled deep as I opened my mouth to him, an invitation he eagerly accepted as he leaned back, falling into the seat of the couch while pulling me down with him, his hand still in my hair as his free arm wrapped around my back. I could feel his hardness between us and I ached to feel it inside of me. He left my lips and ravaged my neck as I pillaged his in return. His breath on the side of my neck was hot as flame, and the feel of his lips and tongue as he licked and kissed, coupled with the soft sounds of lips on flesh and our heavy breathing, was winding, winding, winding me tighter until I thought I would burst with need.

I fought my way out of his embrace to take his lips again, needing to taste them, and then fighting the urge to moan in pleasure with their flavor. I was out of control in a way I'd never been before, my need a living thing that was consuming me from the inside. Again his lips left mine to erotically attack the other side of my neck, his hands sliding down my back before grabbing my ass and pulling my hips tightly against him.

I kissed and licked his neck, tasting his skin, my hands wadded in his hair, holding myself to him as if afraid he'd suddenly disappear. He groaned softly as he pressed up with his hips to drive his hardness more firmly into me, his sound of desire the sexiest I'd ever heard. I wanted him, and I thrilled with his wanting of me.

He released my ass, grabbed my hair with one hand, and gently forced my head back before again pulling my lips to his. His kiss was torrid and I drank it in like a parched desert soaked up life giving rain. Before I had my fill, he pulled my hair again and forced my lips from his. His face was twisted with desire as he stared at me with hard eyes. My heart pounding, I held his erotic glare. He released my hair, but before I could return to the well of his lips, he shoved me back as he sat up. I started to swing a leg over his hips, wanting more, wanting so much more, but he rose before I could execute my plan.

A shiver of fear passed through me. Had I come on too strong? Had I done something to cause him to change his mind? Had he decided I was too old? I looked up as he stood, afraid and uncertain as he loomed above me. His face was softening and he slowly extended his hand. Swallowing, unsure of what was happening, I placed my hand in his, and he gently pulled me to my feet.