“I only want for you to—”
“Mercedes, I know what you want. You’ve told me about a thousand times. Please don’t tell me again.”
A silence, then, “Yeah. Okay. But if you need to talk about it—”
“You’re the first one I’ll come to. You know that.”
“Good.” Then, more softly, “I know I’ve been a real pain about this.”
“No kidding.”
“But the time goes by, you know? If you let too much of it get past you, well, you wake up one day and someone you should have made peace with is gone. You missed your chance. It’s too late.”
“I see that. I do.” And Elena knew that her sister was talking about more than her and Davis. Mercy had barely known her own birth father. He’d died in a bar fight when she was very small. “And I also see that sometimes you never even get a chance to make peace with the ones who mean so much in your life.”
“That’s right. So when there is a chance—”
“I know, Mercy. When there is a chance, we really need to reach out and take it.”
“I love you, chica.” Her sister’s voice was tender as a wound.
“And I love you.”
For a sweet, full moment, they were silent together, a warm, close kind of silence, the silence you only know with the person you feel free to say anything to.
Then Mercy said, “Davis also mentioned that he caught Rogan Murdoch listening in on your private conversation.”
Elena snapped to Rogan’s defense. “He wasn’t listening in—well, not exactly.”
“And Davis said more.”
“Oh, great. Worse?”
“Better. But if you don’t want to hear it…”
“You are impossible. Seriously.”
“Well, I just mean that if you—”
“Díme,” Elena demanded. “Tell me.”
“Oh, fine. Davis said he liked Rogan, said he respects a man who doesn’t make a bunch of fake excuses for his bad behavior.”
“Bad behavior. Well, I guess Davis ought to know.”
“Elena. Be nice—and let me guess. Rogan asked you out.”
“Yes, he did.”
“I knew he would. He’s obviously way interested.”
Elena beamed at her own reflection in the decorative mirror over the mantel. “We’re going out to dinner tomorrow night.”
“Have a wonderful time.”
“I will. No doubt about that.”
Rogan arrived right on time.
And when she opened the door to him, his green gaze ran over her, taking everything in, making her feel so pretty. So feminine. He said he liked her silk dress, which was simple and sleeveless with a scoop neck. She invited him in, but he said they should get going. They had reservations.
He took her to a downtown steak house where the beef was prime and the wine list extensive. Rogan got them a private table in a corner nook. They had a really good Cabernet and took their time over appetizers, with filet mignon for the main course. And for dessert, they shared a serving of bread pudding with whiskey sauce.
They talked and talked. Hours went by and she hardly noticed the time passing. She asked how it had been, being a brother and a single parent at the same time.
He said, “At first, after our parents died, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. It was pretty grim.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
“We were all in shock and Niall, the youngest of us three boys, started resenting me, that I would dare to try and take over our mom and dad’s place. And Brenda? It seemed like she did nothing but cry and throw things for the first year or so. Cormac is more levelheaded. We always got along. He backed me up with the other two.”
She laughed. “The way you say that. The other two. As if there should be ominous music in the background…”
He looked down into his wineglass, took a slow sip. “I guess I’m overplaying it a little.”
She shook her head. “No. Really. I didn’t say that. Don’t for a minute think I’m minimizing what you went through.”
“I don’t.” His gaze was warm. Appreciative. He said, “But really, Niall and Brenda weren’t that bad. They just didn’t appreciate having to do what their big brother told them to do. And they missed Mom and Dad. We all did. It was awful. A gaping, ragged hole in our lives where the center used to be, you know?”
“Oh, Rogan…” She reached across the white-clothed table, brushed his arm, an understanding touch.
He made a low noise in his throat. His eyes were far away now. “Niall is in law school, UT.”
“UT. Just like his big brother.”
“Niall wants to be a trial lawyer. It’s a job I think he’ll love because he never met a position he couldn’t argue with—and if I sound cynical, I’m not. Brenda’s the baby of the family and she acted like one. But Niall was the true rebel. With the tats and the piercings. At one point, it seemed like there wasn’t anywhere on his face that didn’t have a safety pin stuck in it. He hung out with druggies.”
She shook her head. “You must have been scared to death for him.”
“I was. But you know, he never got crossways with the law. And all his tattoos are in places you can’t see when he’s wearing a button-down shirt. He had a couple of bad years, but then he seemed to get some focus. His grades improved. He got high SAT scores and had his choice of colleges. And now he’s found what he wants to do with his life. So it’s all good.”
“I’m so glad. And Brenda?”
“She’s gorgeous and smart. Not that I’m prejudiced.”
She grinned at him. “Of course not.”
“And she wants to be an actress. Between you, me and the wall, I can’t understand why anyone would want to get up in front of a bunch of people and pretend to be someone else. Plus, it’s not exactly a secure line of work. But it’s her dream. And as her big-brother-slash-stand-in-parent, I figure it’s my job to support her dream.”
“Well said.” She clinked her glass to his.
“Brenda’s going to NYU in the fall.”
“Wow. I know zip about theater programs. But even I’ve heard that NYU is a top theater school.”
They were eating dessert by then. He scooped up a spoonful of bread pudding. “You go to UT?”
“Uh-uh. Berkeley.”
“Whoa. That’s a ways from Texas.”
“I loved it. Getting out on my own, living in California in the Bay Area. Meeting lots of new people with interesting ideas…”
“Did you wear flowers in your hair and practice free love?”
“Rogan.” She looked at him sideways.
He faked an innocent expression. “What did I say?”
“The flowers and the free love? That was like 1968.”
“I know. But a guy can fantasize, can’t he?”
“Well, I did go to Golden Gate Park once or twice. And to a couple of rock concerts. And I found an ancient Make Love, Not War T-shirt at a street sale. I even wore it once.”
“You would look great with flowers in your hair. A hibiscus, maybe, over one ear…”
“You think?” She couldn’t resist him. She leaned in closer.
He mirrored her movement, capturing her hand, pressing his warm lips to the back of it and reaching out, guiding a swatch of her hair behind one ear. Her skin seemed to grow warmer wherever he touched her. And a shiver of anticipation trembled through her.
“A hibiscus,” he said again. “Absolutely.”
They stared into each other’s eyes for a while. She thought how she really liked this mutual attraction thing. You could have the best time of your life just sitting at a table in a restaurant, looking at each other endlessly, smiling like a couple of borderline fools.
She thought of Tonio, suddenly, for some reason. Tonio and Tappy. She imagined them sitting together somewhere, holding hands just like her and Rogan, blissfully happy. The thought made her smile.
Rogan’s mouth tipped up at the corners in response. “What
?”
“Just hoping everybody in the world is happy tonight.”
He touched her cheek again, so lightly, kind of cradling the side of her face. His palm was slightly rough and very warm. She felt like a cat, petted. Purring. “Are you happy, Elena?”
“Oh, yes. I am.”
It was after eleven when they got back to her condo. He kissed her at her door, a lingering kiss.
And then she turned to fiddle with the lock as he waited close behind her. Thrillingly close.
He put those big, warm hands of his on her shoulders and a lovely sort of weakness overtook her. She instantly leaned back against him. He lowered his head, pressed his lips to the curve where her neck met her shoulder.
She sighed in pleasure, reached back to hold him there, sliding her fingers into his silky hair, forgetting all about getting the door open as his kiss trailed up the side of her neck, sparking delicious, exciting sensations. The keys dropped to the welcome mat and she could not have cared less as she turned in his arms and captured his mouth.
They shared a long, searing, perfect kiss.
“Come inside,” she whispered at last against his mouth.
He pressed one more quick, hard kiss on her trembling mouth and then bent to scoop up the fallen keys. Handing them over, he stepped back that time, so she could open the door without any tempting distractions. Her hand trembled a little as she fit the key into the lock.
She ushered him in ahead of her, stopping in the small foyer to turn on another light and disarm the simple alarm. He went on, into the living room. She followed, switching on the lamp by the sofa and the torchiere lamp by the mantel.
He took in the rose-colored sofa and chairs, the sage green walls, the dark plank floor. “This is beautiful.” And then he reached for her and kissed her again.
She’d been thinking she might offer coffee or a last drink. Or something.
But he didn’t seem interested in anything but kissing her. And that was fine. She wasn’t all that interested in anything else, either.
Somehow, they ended up on the sofa. And she was breathless, transported. Her whole body shimmered with excitement and anticipation of what was to come.
Her first time. At last. Her first time—and with the perfect man.
He touched her bare upper arm, running his big, rough-palmed hand downward over her elbow, along her forearm. How could something so simple, one long, stroking touch, be so very sexual? So exactly right?
How could the feel of his lips against her skin make her whole body tremble, make her pull him closer, make her moan deep in her throat?
She kicked off her high-heeled shoes and leaned back on the couch arm. He bent over her, his mouth locked with hers, joined with her in a kiss that seared her to the core.
And then he touched her breast. Even through her dress and bra, that caress seemed to burn her—to set her on fire. She speared her hands up into his hair and dragged his mouth down. Lower.
Along the curve of her throat, which she arched for him, to the top of her chest. He kissed the bare flesh above the scoop neck of her dress, sending flares of need all through her, making her moan some more.
And she wanted…
Everything.
To be naked with him, to make love with him. To do everything a woman could do with a man. To be intimate with him in the most complete way.
At last.
She pressed a hand to his chest, loving the hardness and heat of him, wanting only to get rid of his shirt. And her dress. And everything, every last scrap of clothing that separated them.
And then he was rising, scooping her up with him as he stood. She let out a surprised little laugh as she found herself high in his arms.
“The bedroom?” He kissed her as he said it.
She kissed him back and pointed the way.
Chapter Five
In her room, he eased her down until her feet met the rug at the side of the bed.
And then he kissed her some more. Endless, wet kisses. Kisses that made her only more certain that this was the night. And he was the right man.
She pressed herself so close to him, as they stood there, kissing by the bed. So close, she could feel him, feel his hardness, the proof of how much he wanted her. It felt…really good. Exciting.
Heedless of everything but this magic between them, she lifted her hips to him, rubbed herself shamelessly against him. It seemed so natural with him. So exactly what she ought to be doing with him.
But then his caressing hand found the tab of her zipper at the nape of her neck. He took that zipper down, the back of her dress falling open, baring her back.
And there seemed something so momentous about that, about the first step to being fully undressed with him, that she broke the endless kiss they shared.
She held the front of the dress to keep it from falling off and she gazed up at him, watched his eyes go from lazy and hot, from deepest, darkest green, to a clearer color, one with questions in it.
He clasped her shoulders, gazed steadily down at her and she looked up at him. It was one of those looks, the kind she was already accustomed to sharing with him.
A speaking look.
He said, “We should talk, huh?”
She nodded.
He guided her around. She guessed what he would do and she smoothed her hair out of his way. He zipped her dress back up again. She reached behind her, caught his hand and turned again to perch on the edge of the bed, pulling him down so he sat beside her.
He raised her fingers to his lips. The feel of his mouth, the warm rush of his breath against her skin, thrilled her. Such a simple thing to get her whole body humming with desire all over again.
She said, “I don’t know where to start.”
“I have things to say, too.” He sounded so calm. So sure. She wished she were half as relaxed about this as he seemed to be.
“Oh. Well, okay. Shall I, um, go first?”
He gave her an encouraging smile. “Go for it.”
She cleared her throat, almost wishing she had left it alone, let nature take its course. Yes, it was important, to be responsible, to agree on birth control and all the other awkward stuff.
But still…
It was a lot more fun when he was kissing her senseless, a lot easier just to let herself be swept deliciously away. And why was it that now she’d made him stop kissing her, now she’d made it clear they needed to discuss all the ways they would be sexually responsible, she felt painfully shy, hopelessly inept?
She tried for a light touch. “The good news is I’m on the pill.” She cringed as she said it. Not smooth, not in the least. And it seemed so lame, just to leave it at that. It seemed as if she should explain, somehow—and then, to her horror, she did start explaining. “I…had this boyfriend…” And as soon as she started, she couldn’t seem to stop. “I thought that maybe we would…oh, well, you know. I hoped it would develop into something really good. Which was why I started on the pill. I kept thinking it would happen, between him and me. And somehow, the moment was never quite right and he and I never really went anywhere, as a couple, you know? I mean, I guess what I’m saying is it…didn’t work out. And I…” All at once, she heard herself ask in a desperate whisper, “Oh, what am I doing?” She eased her hand free of his and covered her eyes. “Did I just say all that? Talk about too much information.” She let out a groan. “Excuse me while I sink right through the floor.”
“Hey.” His voice was gentle, with just a hint of laughter in it. And then he was wrapping his warm fingers around her wrists, peeling her hands away from her eyes. And once he had her looking at him again, he cradled the side of her face. “Sometimes it doesn’t work out. I know how that is.”
“Oh, Rogan. Somehow, you always manage to say just the right thing.” With a low groan, she swayed toward him. They kissed.
It was a good kiss, sweet and slow. Not deep, but still exciting. And also, somehow, wonderfully reassuring.
Eventually, though, the
kiss ended. And again, they were two people who could sit in a restaurant together and talk for hours, two people who were seriously attracted to each other—and yet, still, didn’t know each other all that well.
Right then, at that moment, she was very much aware that they were hardly more than strangers when you got right down to it.
He asked, “Anything else?”
“Yes.” She really did feel she had to tell him, that it wouldn’t be right just to let him find out for himself.
“Tell me.”
“This will be…my first time.”
It was the deal breaker.
She knew it instantly. She could see it in his eyes—a sudden coolness.
“A virgin.” He said it quietly. Flatly.
“What? Is there something wrong with being a virgin?” An inappropriate laugh tried to escape her. Somehow, she managed to hold it back.
“Elena.” He said her name much too patiently. “No. There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin. Nothing at all.”
She sighed. “All of a sudden, you sound like somebody’s father.” The magic, most definitely, was gone.
He shifted beside her, putting a little distance between them. “Look. How about if I tell you what I was going to say? Then maybe you’ll understand a little better why it bothers me that this would have been your first time.”
Would have been. So there was no mistaking the situation. Lovemaking had been canceled due to her virginity. “Fire away.”
“That first moment I saw you, standing next to the front desk at your dad’s office…?”
“I remember.”
“I knew I wanted you. I knew it was going to be really hard to keep my hands off you.”
She couldn’t help smiling then. “I felt the same—well, I mean, except that I had no plans to keep my hands off you.”
“Listen.” He looked so earnest, suddenly. So sincere. She remembered all the reasons she really, really liked him. “I want to make love with you. A lot. I like you, a lot. But I want a life on my own more than anything. I want some time to myself, you know? I’ve spent the last ten years being responsible to everyone—I’ve been running a business. And I’ve been a substitute dad. I want some time to be a single guy, with no one waiting at home for me. I need at least a couple of years where, beyond earning a living and building my business, I’m commitment-free.”
Marriage, Bravo Style! Page 6
