Lovers' Reunion (Silhouette Treasury 90s)

by Anne Marie Winston

  He wandered to the window over the sink and pulled aside the lacy curtain, idly scanning the block of quiet, well-tended backyards. All the neighborhood kids had grown up and moved away—the once-lively street was now a sedate community of grandparents who talked incessantly about selling their little brick or locally mined lannenstone homes and moving to sunny Florida.

  As far as he knew, not one house had changed hands in well over twenty years.

  A movement in the next yard caught his eye.

  My, oh, my. His male instincts snapped to attention. A slender girl with shoulderlength dark curls was standing on the little patio, her back to him, face raised to the early spring sun, while a black and white cocker spaniel ran mad circles around the perimeters of the yard. The woman had a gorgeous figure, petite and full, long-legged and curving in all the right places. She must be one of the Domenico boys’ wives. Though why a gorgeous package like that would tie herself to Stef, Tommie, Vincente or Geordie was beyond him. Grinning at his own wit, he treated himself to another leisurely perusal of the woman as more memories from his childhood swam through his head.

  The Domenicos had lived next door his whole life. Their parents had bought the houses in the same year, and the next, each family had their first baby. He and the Domenico boys had been an unbeatable informal basketball team when they’d played pickup games with other guys on the block. He and his sisters had played and fought with the seven young Domenicos like one big family.

  But they hadn’t been one big family. And there hadn’t been anything the least bit sisterly about his feelings for the youngest member of the Domenico clan.

  Sophie.

  Exhaling heavily, he leaned against the sink as pleasure faded. He still felt bad about the way he’d ended things with Sophie. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing her at the surprise anniversary party his sisters were planning for his folks in two weeks. It was bound to be awkward.

  Part of him hoped she’d married and had babies with some guy who loved her like she deserved. The other part...well, it didn’t matter. If he’d dreamed of Sophie more times than he cared to admit over the past six years, it was nobody’s fault but his own. He never should have allowed things to get so hot and heavy between them, and he never should have let her harbor any silly dreams about marriage. He’d known even then that the world’s seductive call was stronger than any woman’s allure. He was a traveler, loved nothing better than—

  Sophie! He stood straight up and all but pressed his nose to the glass above the sink. The woman on the patio had lowered her face and turned his way, and he’d seen what he’d missed before. It was Sophie!

  Blood rushed to his head, and his pulse sped up. God, she looked wonderful. She’d been a plump little dove as a teen and young woman, pretty enough but hardly a stunner like this. He’d always wondered at the irresistible attraction she held for him, the strong reaction of his body to her nearness, to even the thought of her. She was nothing like most of the girls he had dated before her, the homecoming queens and cheerleaders who’d been happy to be on his arm.

  Sophie, shy and quiet, was not like them.

  But he’d discovered he rather liked his sweet little secret. Sophie, with her silky skin, little love handles and the abundance of soft curves she’d possessed, turned into a shameless wildcat in his arms. After he’d discovered her charms, the other women might as well not even have existed.

  He stared through the window at her again. She had stuck her hands in the back pockets of the slim jeans she wore, and her body thrust forward in a way that outlined the plane of slender hips and flat belly and breasts that still looked lush and full. She was thin, much thinner than he remembered, but thank God she still had those beautiful—

  Hey, buddy. What’s it to you?

  Sophie called to the cocker spaniel, who came bounding up the steps. As she turned and opened the door, the little dog disappeared into the house. A moment later Sophie followed.

  His whole body sagged. He’d told her flat-out that marriage wasn’t in his plans, had hurt her deeply and left her to deal with her hurt alone. He’d be the last person she’d welcome home with open arms.

  A sound behind him alerted him to his mother’s entry into the kitchen.

  “Marco. Sit. I’ll feed you.” She paused, taking in his proximity to the window. “See something out there you like?” Her tone was sly, and her eyebrows arched.

  “Very funny, Ma.” He limped to the little table and parked himself in one of her cushioned chairs. “I’m thirty-six years old, not eighteen. I doubt there are too many teenage girls around for me to drool over these days.”

  “So who said anything about teenagers?” His mother’s tone was all innocence. “A man needs a woman, not a teenager. You should settle down, Marco. Especially now that you—”

  “Ma.” His tone was flat enough to stop her in mid-ramble. “We’ve had variations on this chat too many times already.”

  She smiled, coming over to pinch his cheek as she set the table. “All right, all right. I just want to see my boy happy, is all.”

  “Hah. You just want to have more grandchildren than any other woman on the block.” He gave her a narrow-eyed stare. “No matchmaking. Promise?”

  Dora heaved an exaggerated sigh and sketched the sign of the cross. “Promise.”

  But as he dipped into the minestrone soup that no one else could make as well as his mother, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying next door. He hadn’t seen a man, and besides, his mother surely would have told him if Sophie had married. He wondered if she worked, if she had a steady beau, if she’d still melt in his arms the way she always had. No doubt about it, Miss Sophie Domenico was just what he needed to keep his mind off the inescapable fact that his days of exploring and roughing it in some of the earth’s most inaccessible spots were over.

  Sophie Morrell started when the telephone rang. Darn it, she’d just gotten comfortable after returning from her folks’ home. Rising from the couch in her little condo where she had settled in to read a romance novel by one of her favorite authors, Sophie switched on the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Hey, kid sister, whatcha doin’?”

  “Hi, Vee.” Sophie’s tone reflected her delight. At thirty, her sister, Violetta, was only two years older than Sophie, and she had been Sophie’s best friend since their childhood growing up in Elmwood Park. “I’m doing nothing, if you want the truth. I spent the afternoon with Mama and Daddy, then I decided to come home and prop up my feet and read the evening away.”

  “Did you eat?”

  “Of course I ate.” She laughed. “You worry too much.”

  “As your big sister, it’s the job I take most seriously,” Violetta said. Then the flippancy left her voice. “I don’t mean to bug you, Soph. It’s just a habit, I guess.”

  “It’s okay.” Sophie knew exactly what her sister meant During her husband’s illness, she’d spent all her time attending to him, pushing aside her own grief. Many days, she’d simply forgotten to eat, or been too tired to worry about food. By the time he died, she’d lost twenty pounds. She’d lost more weight after Kirk’s death and only slowly had gained back enough that she didn’t look like a walking skeleton.

  While the method of weight loss wasn’t one she’d recommend to anyone, she rather liked the end result. In the two years since she’d been widowed, she’d acquired eating and exercising habits that had kept her trim. She was proud that she hadn’t strayed more than three pounds from her desired weight in those years.

  Actually, it wasn’t much of an effort. The clinic where she worked, in a poor Hispanic neighborhood down in the city, kept her so busy that she often didn’t get home until six or seven. And half the time, the workday ended before she remembered that she hadn’t eaten lunch.

  She liked the busy-ness of the clinic, though. Her work teaching young mothers how to care for their babies and be successful in the job market gave her many moments of joy. There was little she loved more than handli
ng wide-eyed babies with mops of black curls.

  And if she occasionally shed tears of anger at the unfairness of the life that had left her a widow with no babies of her own, she never, ever let anyone see them.

  Of course, her work had its sad moments, too. But she’d lived through sorrows of her own, and, though she still missed Kirk, she felt that her life was richer for the experiences she’d had. She knew grief and rage and despair intimately, so she could offer the comfort of a kindred soul to others when those emotions came knocking at their doors.

  “I have big news,” Violetta said, breaking into her silent thoughts.

  “What?”

  “You have to guess.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes, though Vee couldn’t see her. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “I’ll give you a hint. Whose anniversary party is coming up?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Esposito’s. But what—”

  “And what handsome family black sheep has come home to help them celebrate?”

  Marco was home. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and before she thought, she automatically defended him. “He isn’t exactly a black sheep. He just travels a lot.” Sophie wished she could call the words back the minute they hit the air, but too late. The realization that he was already in Chicago was more unsettling than she wanted to admit, even to herself.

  “Sophia Elenora, don’t you dare defend that man.” Violetta’s tone was heated. “He led you on and then dumped you for his silly little research trips, remember? You haven’t seen him in close to five years—”

  “Almost six.”

  “Okay, six, but my point is—”

  “I get your point, Vee.” Sophie sighed and raked her long hair away from her face. “I did manage to marry someone else, remember? You don’t have to worry—my feelings for Marco were just a juvenile crush. They disappeared ages ago.” She made herself continue in a light tone. “But it will be nice to see him again. He’s been away a long time. Do you realize that this party might actually get all the Esposito and Domenico kids back together?”

  “It’s going to be wonderful.” Violetta’s tone had softened and she accepted the change of topic. “I talked to Camilla yesterday. She asked if we could spare a few hours that Saturday afternoon to help decorate the church hall.”

  “Tell her I’ll put it on my calendar.” Camilla was Marco’s older sister, the one who’d done most of the arrangements for the upcoming party.

  Violetta changed the subject then, and they chatted for a few more minutes before saying goodbye.

  But as Sophie hung up the phone, she knew her peaceful evening was at an end. Most of the time, she deliberately refused to think of Marco. It was the safest way. But knowing that he was home, here in the very same city, had every nerve cell in her body dancing a kick line, and the memories came flooding back fast and hard through the gates that Vee’s words had opened.

  Marco.

  Her stomach fluttered. She could picture his face as if he were standing before her, dark eyes gleaming with goodnatured amusement at the world, well-sculpted lips and classic Roman nose, his black curls cropped ruthlessly short and dimples winking in his lean cheeks. His sisters had teased him about being a “chick-magnet” years ago—did he still project that same irresistible aura? Did those eyes still promise a woman secret pleasures beyond all imagining? He’d curled her toes every time she so much as looked at him.

  And look she had.

  She’d longed for him ever since she’d started to notice boys. Marco was seven years older than she was, and at eighteen, he’d already had girls lined up around the block. If he thought of little.Sophie Domenico at all, it was only as the neighbor guys’ kid sister.

  But that hadn’t mattered to her adolescent heart. He’d bestowed a casual kiss on her cheek at the party they’d thrown him before he left for college, and at the ripe old age of eleven, she’d been his forever. No teen idol’s face had ever adorned her bedroom walls; Marco was the only man she’d fantasized about. At her Sweet Sixteen party, she’d been on cloud nine all evening simply because Marco had been home. He’d already finished his undergraduate work and had his first assignment as a research assistant under his belt.

  That time, he’d kissed her lips before he left. Just a friendly, brotherly peck, to be sure, but to her it had been as good as a proposal of marriage. Though she’d dated through high school, she’d never gotten serious with anyone. Compared to Marco, all the boys she’d gone out with seemed like . . . well, like boys. Marco was all man, and her breath grew short and her heart beat faster every time she thought about him.

  It had been the silliest thing, she thought, looking back. He’d gotten home maybe four times a year and most of the time, he’d barely noticed her. If he had, it was to tug on her hair and tease her. She’d watched through her curtains jealously when he brought girls home to family picnics, and she’d cried after she saw him kissing stupid Ella Pescke at the Espositos’ annual New Year’s party, a rowdy neighborhood event complete with dancing and enough wine to float a boat.

  Then she’d turned nineteen. Her birthday was July nineteenth, right in the middle of the summer. Her parents had taken the family out to eat to celebrate. Everyone came, even her second oldest sister Arabella, Vincente’s twin, who was overdue with her first baby. Some of the Espositos had come along as well, and Sophie had nearly melted into a little puddle on the floor when Marco walked in with Stefano and Tomaso, her big brothers. He’d just gotten into town and was leaving again in the morning, he said.

  He’d winked at her and wished her a happy birthday, and her evening had been complete. She could have sat and looked at him all night. But right in the middle of the meal, Arabella’s water had broken. While Belle’s husband Lionel ran for the car, the rest of the family had gotten their food in doggie bags to take to the hospital and once there, they’d simply taken over the waiting room.

  Marco had come along. “So I can give Ma a personal report in the morning,” he’d said, white teeth flashing in a grin.

  Sophie could still remember the stunned look on the nurse’s face when she’d opened the door to tell them Arabella had had a girl. “You can’t all be family,” she’d said, falling back a pace.

  And then, her prayers had been answered....

  It was nearly dawn, and everyone headed home for some sleep. To Sophie’s delight, Marco slung a friendly arm across her shoulders as they all trooped down the corridor. “You can ride with me,” he said. “Keep me company so I don’t fall asleep on the way home.”

  She was too breathless, too thrilled, to reply. Marco had parked in the lot at the opposite end of the hospital and they left the others at the doors. He talked, drew her out until she relaxed, and they spoke of little things during the drive home: her college plans, his recent work with environmental geophysics in western Australia, their various siblings, most of whom were in the early years of marriage and parenting. They’d stopped at an all-night grocery and gotten sodas and talked some more. The sky was growing light and everyone else had beaten them home, from the look of all the parked cars on the street when they pulled up in front of their side-by-side homes.

  He got out of the car and came around to open her door.

  “Thanks for riding with me,” Marco said “Happy birthday.” Then he put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his, pressing his lips lightly to hers.

  It had been intended only as a familiar, brotherly caress, she thought, with the wisdom of hindsight.

  But at the first touch of his mouth on hers, she lifted her arms to his wide shoulders and gave herself to the kiss, making a small whimpering sound of delight deep in her throat. Marco froze for an instant, and a part of her registered his shock. Then his arms came around her and he pulled her hard against him, fusing their bodies together in a breath-stealing fit that made her moan again.

  He caught the sound with his mouth, tracing her lips with his tongue, then opening them for the masterful invasion of
his tongue. Kissing her deeply, repeatedly, he stroked his palms over the soft flesh of her back down to the upper swell of her buttocks and back up to her shoulders until she was hanging limp in his arms, surrender a foregone conclusion.

  When he finally lifted his head, there was a look of utter bemusement on his face. “Whoa,” he’d said, breathing hard, and she thrilled to the feel of his hard body against hers. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  She blushed to the roots of her hair as she realized how forward she’d been, and struggled to free herself from his arms. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It wasn’t—”

  But he shut her up in mid-sentence simply by kissing her again, and as before, every cell in her body had recognized him, and she responded with everything in her. When he lifted his head the second time, he said, “I didn’t say I didn’t like it, I just wasn’t expecting it. ”

  He paused, and an odd look crossed his face. She got the impression he was weighing something in his mind, and then he said, “Tomorrow night. Dinner? And a movie?”

  Sophie put down her book and paced to the window of her apartment, looking out into the night as if she might see him there. Altogether he’d taken her out less than two dozen times, flying in for a quick visit in between assignments.

  In between times, she’d waited impatiently. He never called, never wrote. She never knew when he was coming until she heard one of her siblings mention that he’d arrived, or until she answered the door to find him standing on the other side.

  It had been an unsatisfactory arrangement at best, and she’d longed for the day when he’d be ready to settle down.

  But that day had never come. One evening during her senior year of college, Marco had come home. He’d taken her out and told her gently that he wouldn’t be coming to see her again, that he was too old for her, that she needed to forget him and get on with her own life.

  She’d cried.

  He’d comforted her.

  And when he left the next day, she knew what it meant to be a woman. He’d been a wonderful lover, and she’d hoped to change his mind with the passion they shared, but in the end he’d gone just as he’d said he would.