“You’ve saved our lives, Mrs. Costello.” He was still wary enough not to call her Mamma or Rosa to her face. “We were about to go out to eat and then call in at the supermarket.”
Her mother had followed them into the kitchen, taken some casserole dishes and tinfoil trays from Maria’s sister, Giovanna, and her two sisters-in-law, Sarah and Carol, and then shooed them back into the sitting room. A room that had shrunk from the large open space he’d always considered it to be. But between children running round his black leather lounge suite, and men sprawling at their ease on top of the soft-cushioned seats, he could tell he needed twice as much room to house all the Costellos comfortably.
Strangely, it didn’t bother him as it might have a few days ago, and that laid-back, take-life-as-it-comes attitude should have given him something else to worry about.
He was a planner, and the situation with Maria and her family had never been part of any plan he’d concocted. Not even a glimmer of light on his laptop where he’d once had the foresight to list all his goals. And until he’d met Maria, he’d never veered from that set path.
Never considered it, until Maria.
The woman in question was busying herself switching on the oven and pushing a deep dish of pasta into the microwave. She wasn’t quite as laid-back. “How did you know where Franc lives, Mamma?”
Maria peeled back tinfoil from a tray, looked inside, took a deep satisfied sniff and covered a huge dish of what looked like lasagna back up again.
“It’s listed in the phone directory. You’d given me Franc’s number, so it was easy to check.”
The lasagna went into the oven. Maria closed the door on the foil tray. “I wonder you didn’t think to give us some warning.”
“It was a surprise.” Rosa turned to him, her dark, wide-eyed stare asking for confirmation that she’d done the right thing. Over the top of her mother’s head, Maria’s almost identical eyes rolled as if to say her mother was full of surprises lately.
“Doesn’t matter to me, I’m easy.”
Maria’s eyes spoke volumes, and the glint in them confirmed what he’d told her earlier. He’d created a monster, one that wasn’t above sharing a laugh with him over his discomfort at the double entendre. But it was true; where Maria was concerned he was easy.
“At least you brought plenty of food, Mamma. Franc has a large appetite.” She qualified the words by saying, “You know, he eats enough for two men.”
“Good, I like that in a man. Maria, I noticed Franc has a large dining table. Why don’t you show your sister where he keeps the tablecloths and silverware, while Franc shows me round his apartment.”
Tablecloths were something they hadn’t bothered with before. When on his own, he either ate in the kitchen or on the run, and the night he’d ordered dinner for them both, the Point restaurant that had catered the meal had supplied everything.
“Toprawer, left-hand side of the black-lacquer credenza, take whatever you can find,” he said. And when they both appeared puzzled, he explained, “The tablecloths. I inherited them along with the vacuum cleaner, so they don’t come with guarantees.”
“If they were your grandmother’s, as well, I’m sure they’ll be perfect.” Maria poked him in the ribs as she went past. “Don’t let the food burn while I’m gone.”
“Here, before you go, take the men some beer.” That was one thing he hadn’t run out of.
With Maria gone, that left just him and Rosa in the kitchen, as she’d no doubt intended. He’d yet to experience having the hard word put on him by the mother of someone he was dating. But he was sure the unenviable task was uppermost in Rosa’s mind.
“She really likes you, my Maria.”
“I hope so.”
“No, she really does. I’ve never seen her so relaxed, except with family. Yes, she likes you.”
He was feeling his way here, not exactly sure what was coming next but determined to run with it. “Well, I really like her.” Flattening his palm against the second door in the kitchen that would take him through to the hallway, he said, “If you follow me, I’ll show you the rest of the apartment.”
Rosa followed. But he had to wonder why she thought it necessary to bring her purse along.
There was a certain amount of relief in the knowledge that they’d tidied up earlier and there were no messed-up beds or nightdresses hanging off the chair in his bedroom. Maria had given up wearing one. “What was the point,” she’d said, “when you’re going to take it off anyway.”
“The main bathroom is in here.” He flung open the door. “It’s just your basic white. I haven’t done much more to the place yet than move my stuff in. I bought it mostly furnished, apart from the beds.”
Maria’s toiletries were arranged on the counter of the vanity, a splash of color in a sea of white. He didn’t know why the sameness bothered him now, when at the time he’d bought the apartment he’d simply agreed with the Realtor that all the rooms with hard surfaces looked clean.
“My office is on the south side, as well, since it doesn’t need much sun, and this is Maria’s room facing north.”
Her mother looked in the door and nodded. Sunshine dazzled on the blue quilt and pillow set Jo had given him as a housewarming gift. The bed looked as though it had never been slept in, and it hadn’t. During his short stay in the apartment, less than four months, Maria was the first woman—first anybody—he hadn’t been pleased to see the back of, as they left him to get on with his work in peace. Hell, he’d hardly thought of work from the moment he and Maria met. He knew that would change though, it always had in the past.
She was the only woman to sleep, actually sleep, in his bed. He’d bought the king-size bed a few years ago when he got sick of his feet dangling over the end of a normal mattress, and she was the only one of maybe three women he’d taken to it that he hadn’t wanted to send away when the sex was
Sleeping together as opposed to making love had seemed to carry a ring of permanence and needed to be avoided at all cost.
“So, Maria hasn’t moved in with you?”
“She’s only living in the apartment until after the holiday break. When the women she shares with come back to the villa, Maria will go home, too.”
“It’s not permanent then.”
Franc pulled the door closed. “No, it’s not a permanent arrangement. Down here at the end is my bedroom. It runs the full width of the building and has its own terrace and en suite.”
She followed him into the bedroom and walked across the carpet Maria had raced around with the vacuum cleaner. “Nice view.”
View? He hoped she couldn’t see what he did when he looked in the room. Couldn’t remember the smell of Maria on his skin.
“That’s Chelsea Sugar Works where the boat is docked. Behind it, covered in native bush, is Kauri Point reserve. It was the most expensive extra in the apartment.” He said the words as he had many times before, but this time he didn’t laugh when he mentioned the cost of the view.
He had a feeling in his bones that the most expensive extra was now the one he kept catching flashes of in his mind’s eye. Of Maria, her head on his shoulder, her reflection boneless and pliant, succumbing to the pleasure of his hands as he brought her to completion.
Of her sitting astride him the first time she’d demanded to be on top, and the fearless way she’d ridden him, how her being much smaller made it easy to clasp her breasts as she slid up and down on his shaft.
Oh, yeah. No doubt about it, the little fling he’d embarked on so readily was bound to cost him dearly, one way or another.
“I brought you something.”
Franc blinked into the moment, shook the erotic images from his mind as Rosa handed him a small parcel, saying “Open it here, now, while we’re alone.”
He could feel the smooth ridge of a frame under the plain gold paper as he slid his finger beneath the tape holding it closed. He forced himself to say, “I hope this isn’t some sort of gag present that’s going explod
e.”
The upward flash of her eyes said, “As if I would.”
It was the photo of Maria at seventeen, a smaller version. He stared down at it, his throat working, wondering how her mother had been able to bring herself to parcel up the picture and frame after it had upset her so badly, when he’d unearthed a similar one from the box in Maria’s closet.
“My daughter, my Maria’s told you, hasn’t she?”
“About what happened, just after this? Yeah, she told me.”
“You’re a good man, Franc Jellic. You should keep the photo. I don’t think it can hurt any of us anymore.”
The urge to tell Rosa why Maria was really staying with him tangled with both the relief and dismay that she trusted him with her daughter. Befthe words could bubble to the surface and he betrayed Maria, her mother abandoned the emotion she’d showed earlier and asked briskly, “What’s through here?”
He showed her. “It’s nothing fancy.”
It seemed she agreed. Nodding, she said, “More white.”
“I was thinking of buying a few ferns.”
“That might help,” she agreed, but without enthusiasm. Then she spied the bath. “Oh, is this a spa bath?”
“I don’t use it much.”
Her expression was innocent, but her words caught him on the hop, as she picked up a pair of white lace panties drying on the heated towel rail. “Maybe you’ll make more use of it when you marry my daughter.”
“Oh, Mamma! How could you?”
Maria had gone looking for Franc and her mother to tell them lunch was ready. She heard the voices and followed them to the en suite. The last thing she’d expected to overhear was Mamma’s blatant coercion. And for once in her life Maria intended setting her mother straight. “This is the twenty-first century, Mamma. Just because a couple sleep together, it doesn’t necessarily lead to marriage.”
Two more steps into the crowded en suite aligned Maria with Franc. She laid her hand on his arm, wanting to emphasize the two-against-one odds on her mother winning this round. His skin was warm under her palm, but though she’d expected his muscles to be tense, his arm felt quite relaxed.
“Don’t get upset, hon. I don’t blame your mother for doing her job. I expect it comes with the territory.” He reached for the panties her mother was holding. “These feel dry now, better put them away.”
Suddenly, Franc was in control, taking charge of the situation. He ushered her out of the en suite. “Take a look at what your mother gave me.”
Mamma, who had been remarkably silent up till now, followed them into the bedroom as Franc placed her old school picture in her hands. “You don’t mind, do you, darling? I’m sorry about the fuss I made over the photo when you were home at Christmas.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” To show her mother all was forgiven, Maria went over and pulled her mother into an exuberant hug. She couldn’t help looking at the photo she still held. Had she really ever looked that angelic? She swung round but kept one arm about her mother’s shoulders. “Take a look, Franc.” She held the photo next to her face. “What do think? Doesn’t look much like me now, does it?”
“You’ve grown up,” he said. His voice was rough. It skittered over her nerve endings like a runaway train jumping the track, and though he was more than two yards away and her arm was still round her mother, she wanted him.
Franc was right, she had grown up, but it had only happened in the last week when he had treated her like a woman. A sensual being with wants and needs that only he could fill.
It was a shame their relationship had a stopwatch counting down the days, the minutes, the seconds. Theve had something good together, but it hurt too much to put a name to it yet. A shame that the answering glow, the smolder she recognized in his eyes, would never really be fulfilled.
Ambition and success didn’t come without sacrifices.
“Let me take another look at that picture,” her mother said, holding out her hand, impatient as always.
She passed it over, and her mother stared down at it for long seconds, as if she’d never seen it until that moment. “He was a brilliant photographer, he caught everything that was good and decent about you, except for your sense of humor. He forgot your smile.”
“Let me see?”
“Oh, don’t you start, too, Franc. The photo’s a fraud. I was every bit as mischievous as anyone else in my class.” She poked her mother in the ribs. “We got up to pranks even you never knew about, Mamma. Do you want to know what we did with Sister Constance’s bloomers? Now, there was a big lady.”
“I don’t want to know, so don’t soil my ears with such nonsense. Besides, I thought your man was hungry and needed to be fed?”
“That’s what I came to tell you. Lunch is ready.”
Her mother went first and Maria followed her to the door as Franc put the frame down on the black marble table, among the candles he’d lit the night he’d really treated her like the goddess he kept comparing her to. When she thought about it, they had probably been Mamma’s first clue.
“Oh, don’t put it there, big guy. It makes the table look like an altar.”
His hand was on her shoulder, ready to leave the bedroom, when he looked back at the photograph then down at her. “Your mamma was right, he was a brilliant photographer, an artist. The photograph is perfect, but it’s a still life and doesn’t capture what I see when I look at you.”
She leaned up against him, careless of whether her mother saw them in the doorway or not. After the panties, nothing was going to shock her mother. “Just for that,” she whispered, stretching up to his ear as if she was going to say something sexy she didn’t want anyone else to hear, “you can have two helpings of lasagna.”
“Uh-uh, my choice…” His voice tailed away and she wasn’t absolutely positive she’d heard correctly, but she thought he said, “I choose you.”
Chapter 13
Hands linked and arms swinging as they walked, Franc escorted Maria across Takapuna esplanade on Sunday after lunch. He carted an old cabin bag stuffed with towels and drinks and lotion
s, while Maria carried an old plaid car rug he’d had forever.
Brilliant sunshine slanted up off the golden sands, almost blinding him, yet he kept his sunglasses pushed on top of his hair as he glanced down at Maria hurrying beside him with two steps to his one.
It was stupid, he knew that, but someho shrank from darkening her image through his Polaroid lenses. She’d started it with this fancy she had about someone’s shadow coming over her and the thought had become contagious. From the moment he’d slipped on his shades to leave the apartment, he’d sensed a shift in perspective that dissolved the promise of a brilliant summer’s day into something darker that hid beyond his peripheral vision.
Maria caught his glance, her eyes reflecting the tinge of apprehension his gaze held. “What’s wrong, big guy, too much sunblock on my nose?”
“Nothing like that. I can’t remember the last time I spent a day at the beach, and here we are all togged out like a couple of teenagers about to hit the sands.” His family had taken an aversion to the North Shore beaches after his father’s car, with him in it, had done a nosedive onto the rocks at Torbay about fifteen kilometers up the coast.
She flung back her head and laughed so that her hair kissed the tops of her shoulders. “A teenager? God, don’t remind me, it was Agonyville. My days at the beach were over before I had a chance to enjoy that age. But being with you makes me feel I could cope with anything.”
He looked down at the one-piece swimsuit she had on. “Not confident enough to buy that bikini I liked.”
“I should hope not, but don’t you like knowing that I keep some things labeled for your eyes only.”
“Now, that I can go along with.” He scanned the strip of beach bordering the Pacific for a less crowded spot than the area next to Takapuna boat ramp. He should have figured on the last Sunday of the year bringing the local sun worshipers out in droves.
&
nbsp; “You weren’t saying that when I couldn’t make up my mind which one to buy. And now I see why. One-thirty in the afternoon and everyone got here before us. We should have bought a take-away lunch to eat on the beach.”
He untwisted his fingers from hers and changed the subject as they reached the steps to the beach. “Lift up the hem of your sarong, hon. I wouldn’t want you to trip.”
Her sarong, thin opaque cotton in a mix of oranges and yellows over red, had come in a set with the red one-piece, and tied around the waist. They’d bought the outfit in a Takapuna store less than an hour ago. “And don’t worry about being a little late, what man is going to say no to his own personal swimsuit parade? To go in and grab one off the rack wouldn’t have been as much fun, just faster. And as for eating lunch, I hate sand between my teeth.”
His fingers petted the satiny skin above her waist as she walked with him down the steps. Maria was beautifully shaped, graceful; he loved to watch her move around his apartment, loved the way her hips swung when she walked, loved everything about her. Especially the way she’d laughed when he complimented her figure, saying, “It’s all the pasta Mamma fed me.”
On the sands, Maria leaned into his side, their arms crossing as he felt her thumb hook over the waistband of his cargo shorts. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with mischief as she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
That was all it took, a look, a lick. Blood flooded his groin. And to complicate matters, she said, “And we both know you don’t fast.”
Her voice had a compelling huskiness that usually signaled she wanted to make love.
“I do thorough, and take pride in my work as you well know.”
She rubbed her hip against the top of his thigh, reminding him of how much shorter she was. Over the last few days he’d learned she was his equal in all the ways that counted. But if he wanted to be able to walk across the sand without everyone knowing how horny she made him, he had to keep his mind off sex.
Great sex. Fantastic sex. The best sex anyone ever had, any place, anytime. Oh, man, was he ever in trouble.
Shadows of the Past Page 17
