by Kathryn Shay
oOo
So much heat. It burst into rolling flames the minute Alex touched her, dousing all the repartee that had been between them. Every previous touch was a spark, leading to this particular explosion. Francey reveled in it. Let the passion consume her.
He held her so tightly her ribs hurt. “Francesca,” he said into her hair, then her neck, as his busy hands scorched her. They roamed down her sides to her hips and clutched her bottom. Abruptly he set her away from him, ripped off the shirt she’d unbuttoned and pulled down her bra. His palms closed over her, singeing her skin. “I’m trying to be gentle with you,” he got out, “but I want you so badly I’m losing control.”
“I don’t need gentleness. And I want you weak for me.” She tore his shirt from his jeans and dragged it over his head, made a quick survey of his chest with her fingers before he got in her way. Lifting her with his arms around her bottom, he ducked his head and took one taut nipple into his mouth.
“Alex, oh…” Her senses scattered into a thousand places with the feel of his mouth on her breast, the scent of his aftershave and his sweat, his groan of appreciation as he suckled vigorously.
“It’s not enough,” he murmured as he set her on her feet, braced her against the wall and reached for her zipper. Pulling it down, he slipped the jeans and panties over her hips, then off of her, he pressed his palm between her thighs. Pleasure skyrocketed through her, setting off tiny blasts of dynamite in every nerve ending.
“Babe,” he murmured, “I’ve never seen you this needy.”
“I’ve never felt this way.” She gasped as he plunged his fingers into her, the heel of his hand grinding against her. She was riding it before she realized what she was doing, what he was telling her. “For me, Francesca. Come for me, just for me. Here.”
She wanted to say no, that it should be them both, but she couldn’t get the words out before the eruption was upon her, flashes of pleasure so strong they eclipsed awareness. But he didn’t stop. Another climax came on the heels of the first, and nothing on earth could have precluded its volcanic force—hotter and more fiery than she believed possible.
Whimpering into his shoulder in the aftermath, she clung to him, vaguely aware that she’d never whimpered in her life. That he could do this to her sent a tremor of fear through her. But she squelched it. “Please, take me upstairs.” She wanted more, she wanted to feel him inside her, she wanted to send him off the Richter scale where he’d sent her.
Clumsily, he swung her up into his arms. “I’m too heavy to carry,” she said, her head lolling onto his shoulder. Somehow he made it up the steps. She directed him to her room with almost incoherent phrases.
He set her on the bed. “You’re limp as a rag doll.” Even in her near-mindless state, she could hear the male satisfaction in his tone. The Templeton cockiness.
Falling back on the mattress, her feet touching the floor, she flung her arms out to the sides. “Your fault.” She opened one eye. “You like it, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah.” His smug response came out a little breathless. Kneeling, he buried his face in her stomach and bit her gently. Giving her damp curls one quick nuzzle, he stood and kicked off his shoes, dragged off his jeans and briefs, and then he was on her. “I’ve got about ten more seconds of sanity left,” he said, his weight pressing into her. “Tell me you’ve got condoms.”
“I bought some last week.” Her words were slurred by his mouth. “They’re in the drawer next to the bed.”
He growled, then slid her to the pillows, fully onto the bed. She heard him fumble in the nightstand while he kissed her, suckled her, delved his fingers into her again. She arched up to him hungrily.
But Francey needed to touch him, too. When he moved to his side, struggling to open the condom, she grabbed his wrist. “I want to do it.”
“No. I’ll never last if you touch me now.”
Despite his protest, she took the packet from him and pressed him down into the mattress. Deliberately she grasped his hard length. His hand went to her hair as she stroked him. A shudder rippled through his whole body. He let go of her and swore, violently writhing on the bed.
“I want to be inside you!” But now that she was more sane, she wanted him as desperate as he’d made her. She kept up the urgent massage, increasing the pressure. “Now, Francesca,” he said, his voice a harsh bark.
As quickly as she could, she sheathed him. Before she could blink, he had her on her back. He spread her legs and poised above her. “Look at me.” She met his gaze as he plunged into her, filling her completely, becoming more a part of her than anyone ever had before. In some dim recess of her mind, she realized that was his intent—but she didn’t care. The spirals began just as he stiffened. He pushed once more, and she felt him grow even harder. On the next hot thrust, she flared out of control. Before consciousness completely eluded her, she heard him cry her name, over and over, as he erupted inside her.
oOo
The skies opened up just as Ben Cordaro left Sean O’Roarke’s house, the downpour making his vile mood worse. His navy windbreaker got soaked as he made his way to the Cherokee, and his head was dripping wet. He spat out every obscenity he’d ever learned, which vented some of his anger.
He started the truck, let it idle and sank back against the seat. What a week. First Nicky got hurt. Then Diana intruded into their lives once again. And tonight Francey brought Templeton to Dylan’s party. At least she’d had the good sense to warn him, if not ask his permission. She’s thirty years old. She doesn’t need parenting now.
Damn her. Damn Diana Erickson Cordaro Hathaway. She was turning him inside out just like she’d done years ago, and he felt as helpless now to stop it as he had then.
Furious with himself, he jammed the car in gear and headed out. The roads would be bad, but he was only four blocks from home.
Home. God, he didn’t want to go to that empty house. His parents were out of town, and he dreaded being alone. Yet he had no inclination to stay at the party, either. Soon after Francey and Templeton left, he’d made the excuse that he’d told Nicky he’d stop by the hospital tonight. Hell, why not? Nothing could cheer him up right now, but seeing his son might help.
The memory popped into his mind, almost coldcocking him. He’d quit smoking and had been a bear. I’ll cheer you up, darling, Diana had said, prancing into the bedroom from their tiny bathroom, wearing nothing but a black garter belt, stockings and some Chanel Number 5. He’d practically swallowed his tongue and told her he’d stop breathing if it meant she’d come to him like that again.
The hospital was quiet as he hurried inside, shaking off the rain. Though visiting hours were over, the staff didn’t make a fuss about patients with private rooms circumventing the rules. They were particularly lenient with the police and fire departments.
Nicky was on the fourth floor. The door was open. Ben was about to go in when he heard a sleepy voice mutter, “I’m sorry, I can’t help it sometimes.” Nicky’s words were slurred, as they doped him up pretty good at night.
Intrigued, Ben went further inside and saw Diana sitting on the side of his son’s bed. Nicky’s bandaged hand was cradled in her lap, and she was stroking the uninjured part of his arm in a tender maternal caress. “I know you can’t, Nicky. You’re just like your father. Striking out at me makes you feel better.”
“Not really. It’s self-protection. So you won’t hurt us anymore.”
Diana gasped, and Ben held his breath. His son’s words hit him like a bucket of cold water. Were they true?
“I won’t hurt either of you again, Nicky. I promise.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Give me another chance.”
His head moved back and forth on the bed.
“Just think about it.”
As his eyes closed, Nicky said, “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
Diana sat where she was for several seconds. Then she stood, leaned over and kissed his forehead. When she straightened and turne
d, her face was wet.
It poleaxed Ben. Diana halted when her gaze fell on him. Surprise turned to embarrassment, and she wiped her face. “Ben, I didn’t hear you.”
“I know.”
Turning half away from him, she glanced at the bed, trying to wipe away the rest of the tears surreptitiously. “Nicky’s out for the count, I’m afraid.”
“Yeah, so I see.”
Quickly she gathered her purse and raincoat. “I’ll be on my way.” She crossed to the door. He stood blocking her way. Moisture sparkled in her huge violet eyes. “Excuse me.”
After a minute he stepped aside but followed her out. “I’ll ride down with you.”
She bit her lip. The purple tunic she wore over white pants accentuated her pallor. “All right.”
Keeping her hands clasped in front of her, she rode the elevator with him. As the car hummed, they made small talk about Nicky and Dylan’s party until they reached the lobby. He was irked that she treated him like a casual acquaintance. At the front door, Ben found that the rain hadn’t let up.
Diana sighed. “It’s raining.”
He frowned. “You always loved the rain.”
“Remember how we used to lie in bed and listen to the drops patter on the roof? From the attic it sounded like a hundred tiny drums. We’d hold hands and plan our future.” Her voice, only a silky whisper, caught. “Everything looked so good then.”
Because the memory socked him in the gut, he said unkindly, “It was smoke and mirrors, Diana.”
Swallowing hard, she averted her gaze. “Good night, Ben.”
She’d just stepped outside, under the overhang of the sidewalk, when he grasped her arm. “You’re not driving home in this.” His tone was a general’s commanding troops. He was used to that kind of power. And obedience.
“Why?”
“I heard on the radio the roads were flooding.”
“I’m perfectly capable of driving in rain.”
Now a scowl. “You didn’t used to be. You hated the roads in bad weather.”
She pointed that little chin. “I’ve changed.”
He said gruffly, “Well, I haven’t. Wait here.”
When she opened her mouth to protest again, he barked, “I mean it, Diana.”
In minutes he’d retrieved his car and had her tucked inside, seat belt fastened. She’d fussed about his foolishness, but he didn’t listen. When she realized he wouldn’t budge, she clammed up for most of the drive, sitting far across from him on the bench seat, staring out the window.
“You need directions,” she finally said as they neared her exit off the expressway. He didn’t answer her. Instead, he chose the right exit, found her street and pulled up to her house while she was still frowning. “How do you know where I live?”
“Francey told me.”
“Oh. Then, thanks.” She reached for her door. Tugging her coat over her head, she exited the Cherokee and dashed to her front porch. She didn’t seem to realize he’d followed her until she stood under the sloping roof and removed the coat from her head. Covering up had been a useless gesture, for she was soaked through. “Ben, what are you doing?”
“Seeing you inside.”
She rolled her eyes. “Were you always this…forceful?”
He felt his pulse speed up at the images her comment engendered. “You used to love it.”
Without a word she turned from him, let herself into the house. He was right behind her and closed the door.
“All right I’m in. You can leave.”
Instead of answering her, he surveyed the condo. From the foyer, he could see a huge living room to the right, a hallway off that and another one just ahead. “I don’t want to leave yet. I want to wait until the rain lets up outside.”
“What’s this all about?”
Her hair was plastered against her head. It reminded him of the long and lazy showers they’d taken together. He reached out and smoothed down the strands. “Invite me for coffee.” His voice was husky.
She stared at him a minute. “Only if you promise not to yell at me.”
“Yell at you?”
“Yes, that’s all you do anymore.”
He scraped his knuckles over rose-petal soft skin. “We had our best times in bed, after a fight.”
She closed her eyes, swallowed hard. “I hated fighting with you.” As if the words brought pain, she looked at him and stepped back. “I’m going to change. I’ll fix coffee afterward.”
Leaving him in the foyer, she disappeared into a hallway, then returned with a towel. “Here, dry your hair and face and get out of that wet coat.”
When she was gone again, he shrugged out of his jacket, hooked it over a doorknob so it would drip on the tile in the foyer and dried himself as best he could. He kicked off his shoes and sauntered into the living room. Things were mostly white—walls, carpet, furniture. Scattered around were colorful pillows, afghans, paintings on the wall. There were even two white cats, spotted with caramel, lazing by a chair. Ben froze when his gaze landed on a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. The thing was full of pictures of his family—Francey, Nicky and Tony at all ages, him, Grace, Gus. Shocked, he moved to study the collection.
“The kitchen’s this way.” The words came from behind him.
Ben faced her. She’d put on a lilac sweat suit that didn’t hide her curves. He noticed them as he followed her silently.
Again there was white—cupboards, appliances, the floor. “Doesn’t all this white get on your nerves? I feel like I’m in the hospital.”
“It’s very chic, Ben.”
“It’s damn boring.”
She smiled. “Probably.”
He stood near the phone. “You still have a landline?”
“I’m old fashioned that way.”
“Your answering machine’s blinking.”
“Would the hospital call?” she asked.
“We just left so I don’t think so, but we should check.” While she got the coffee on, he pressed the button, then sat at the table. The first message was a long, whiny one from Elise. It reminded Ben of what Diana had done with her life. The second was from Francey, leaving Diana the details about lunch with her and Alex. That one made him mad. But the third message caused his blood to boil.
“Hello, Diana. This is Jeremy Smith. I enjoyed having coffee with you this afternoon. I wondered if you’d like to go to dinner with me this weekend. The Rio is one of my favorite restaurants. I’ll call back.”
Ben’s reaction to the message startled him. She’d freakin’ married another man, slept with Nathan Hathaway for almost twenty years. Why the hell should a date with Nicky’s doctor bother him?
But it did. A lot.
His fists curled as he watched the pot finish dripping.
“Here’s your coffee.” Diana set a huge mug in front of him.
Roughly he grabbed her wrist, his fingers easily encircling the small bones. “Are you seeing Smith?” His voice was a growl.
“No.” She peered at him haughtily. He was embarrassed by his jealousy. But not enough to drop the subject. “Not yet, anyway,” she finished.
He yanked her onto his lap.
He noticed she didn’t resist. Instead, she curled familiarly into him, her hands flat against his chest, her head on his shoulder, her bottom nestled in his lap.
“The thought of another man touching you almost killed me.”
Diana’s eyes turned liquid when she looked at him. “No man ever touched me like you, Ben.”
He snatched her hand from his chest. “You wore someone else’s ring.” Rubbing the base of her fourth finger, he brought it to his mouth for a gentle kiss.
“I still have yours,” she whispered.
His hands went to her waist and clenched. He bent his head to meet hers. “Don’t tell me things like that, Dee.”
“I know you don’t want to hear them.”
“Oh, God,” he admitted, “I want to hear them more than I want to take my next breath.”
“Don’t.”
“I’ve always loved you, more than life itself.”
His breath came in heavy pants. Not because of her physical closeness, but because of words he’d waited to hear again for more than twenty-five years.
Ben struggled to remember that she’d left him. That she’d abandoned their kids. He searched for the gut-sick feeling of loneliness she’d permanently bequeathed him.
But he couldn’t summon any of the negative feelings. Instead, he was swamped by the musical sound of the only words he’d ever needed to hear.
She stared at him with violet eyes that made him want to get on his knees and beg her to be his again.
He said simply, “Where’s the bedroom?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Get the lead out of your ass, Cordaro. You’ve only been out eight weeks, not eight months.”
Her arms soapy up to their elbows, Francey turned to Duke Russo and flipped some of the suds at him. He sputtered and stepped back. “Can it, Duke. You in a hurry to go somewhere?”
Duke smiled. A twenty-year veteran in the department, he was a gruff, dyed-in-the-wool male chauvinist who was as big—and as strong—as a bear. Since Duke been against women entering the fire service, Francey had learned early on she had to prove herself to him. But once she’d showed her stuff, she stopped being afraid of him. But she still listened to him and paid attention to what he said. She remembered her father’s words, “Respect Russo, Francey. He can bench-press a Coke machine.”
For a moment Duke eyed her, his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows forming a vee. They contrasted to his silver brush cut and gave his face character. “What’s different about you?”
Striving to keep back a blush, she stared at the sink. “I been outta here for a month and a half. You aren’t used to having a woman around again.”
“Nah, it’s somethin’ else.” He picked up a huge metal pan and dried it with hands the size of baseball mitts. “You sure that arm’s all right?” His tone told her he wasn’t teasing or challenging her fitness.
