Heart Craving

by Sandra Hill

  “Oh, Nick,” Paula murmured, pressing his note against her heart, “why can’t you just give it up? Our marriage is over.”

  “Honey, I know our marriage is over . . .” he said.

  She jerked to attention. Criminy, was he reading her mind now?

  “. . . but we can still be friends, can’t we? And I promise . . . I swear to God . . . I won’t jump your bones.”

  She smiled grimly. But how do I stop myself from jumping yours?

  “I’ll pick you up at eight. Okay?”

  Paula felt her resistance crumbling. She wanted to go to a prom. More important, she wanted to go to a prom with Nick. But she shouldn’t. If she were smart, she’d take this beautiful dress and send it back to the store. She’d call Nick and tell him she couldn’t go.

  “Don’t try to call me back, hon. I’m driving Skip down to the nightclub. He’s gonna teach me how to be an Indian strip dancer. You oughta see me swing my . . . uh, tomahawk.”

  Her mouth dropped open with incredulity.

  “And twerk.”

  “Whaaat? You?”

  “Just kidding.”

  She laughed, despite herself.

  “Bye, honey, see you later.”

  She heard him drop the phone with a loud clatter and a sharp expletive. Then, just before her answering machine clicked off, she thought he muttered something about heart cravings giving him heartburn.

  Chapter Five

  You had to give the guy credit for trying . . .

  “THIS IS NOT a date, Nick,” she said that evening as they were driving to the Montclair high school.

  “Right,” he agreed, too readily.

  Nick flashed her a dazzling smile before turning his attention back to maneuvering the car through the busy parkway traffic.

  Just his nearness overwhelmed her. He looked so handsome. She’d never seen him in a tux before. She had to admit that accompanying him to this prom, no matter how foolish, was worth it, just to see him in formal attire. Forget about Playgirl centerfolds. Nick in a black tuxedo was sexier than any of the nude models, hands down.

  “And we’re not getting back together,” she asserted. “The divorce still goes through on Wednesday.”

  His strong hands, lean-fingered and capable, gripped the steering wheel with a vengeance, turning the knuckles white. Staring straight ahead, he agreed, “Right.” But there was a gritty tone to his voice.

  “And you are most definitely not going to ‘jump my bones.’”

  A grin tugged at his firm lips. “Right.”

  “No hanky-panky.”

  He gave her a sideways glance of amusement. “Define hanky-panky.”

  She laughed. This was the old Nick—the one she’d fallen in love with five years ago. What had changed him into the somber, overly protective, possessive, withdrawn male of recent years? She remembered their early days together when he’d been just like he was now—teasing, carefree, irresistibly charming, devastatingly attractive, sexy as hell. Oh, Lord, I am playing with fire. This is a big mistake.

  “Did you groan?” he asked.

  “No, it was probably the wind.” She tossed her head back and let her hair blow in the breeze. “Who lent you the Volkswagen convertible?”

  At first, he didn’t answer, and she sat up straighter, suddenly suspicious. “Nick?”

  “Okay, I bought it for you, but don’t get your hackles up. The dealer said you could bring the Volvo in for the trade-in next week. It’s not as if it’s a gift or anything.”

  “You traded in my car?” she sputtered. “I don’t believe you! You actually traded in my car without asking me?”

  “Geez, Paula, you said I never listen to you. Just yesterday, remember, you complained that you always wanted a VW convertible, and I got you a Volvo.”

  Tears of frustration smarted her eyes. “You just don’t get it, do you, Nick?”

  He pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the high school, flipped off the ignition, and turned toward her, clearly aggravated. “What now? No matter what I do these days, I piss you off. I just can’t seem to please you, no matter what. You want a car, you don’t want a car. You want a dog, you don’t want a dog. You want to move, you don’t want to move. Make up your mind.”

  “Oh, you are a real piece of work, DiCello. Do you really believe our marriage went to hell in a hand-basket over a stupid car? Or a mangy mutt?”

  “God knows! Because I sure as hell don’t.” He got out of the car and stomped around to her side, opening her door with a jerk, almost pulling it off its hinges. When she got out and stood before him, he slammed it shut with a bang. He breathed in and out several times to calm his temper, just the way he always did. Then his shoulders slumped. “C’mon, Paula, let’s forget the fighting . . . just for tonight.”

  She wanted to reach up and smooth the frown from his suntanned forehead, to brush his unruly ebony hair off his face, to erase the look of hurt in his eyes. But all she could do was agree. “Okay. Friends . . . for tonight.”

  He muttered something foul under his breath about friends.

  “What?”

  “I said, let’s not fight. I didn’t say I wanted to be your BFF or whatever you call it.” With a grumble of disgust, he took her elbow, leading her toward the school entrance. “And don’t be surprised if that VW convertible is stolen while we’re inside.”

  Dancing the night away . . .

  MIDNIGHT CAME too quickly. Time to go home. But Nick didn’t want the night to end. “One more dance?” he asked.

  “Definitely,” Paula said with a sigh. Like a cloud of her lemony perfume, she drifted into his arms, which encircled her waist. Leaning her head back, she looked up at him dreamily.

  She had curled her shoulder-length auburn hair so that it looked expertly mussed and incredibly wanton. Her green eyes appeared misty.

  “Thank you, Nick, for a wonderful, wonderful evening. I haven’t had this much fun in a long, long time.”

  “The pleasure was mine, babe,” he said, pulling her closer. The band was playing a slow, steamy backdrop to the singer’s not-so-bad rendition of that old Meatloaf song, “I Would Do Anything For Love.”

  That was for sure!

  “I think your captain got a big kick out of you being at a prom,” she said with a laugh. Her breath tickled his ear and sent slingshots of white-hot messages to other important parts of his body. “I like him—and his wife, too.”

  “Yeah. O’Malley’s okay. His daughter was a little embarrassed to have her parents here, though.”

  “Wouldn’t you have been, at that age?”

  He stiffened with sudden memory. He knew exactly where he’d been the night of his senior prom. And it hadn’t been a high school gym. More like the city hospital, watching his mother die of liver failure. Too many years of whatever cheap wine she could scrounge up with her welfare checks. And his father . . . he hadn’t seen the worthless bastard since he was five years old.

  “Nick . . . Nick . . . what’s wrong?”

  “Huh?” He forced his thoughts back to the present. Paula was staring at him with concern. “Nothing’s wrong. By the way, did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  “Only a hundred times.”

  She looked so sweet, and seductive at the same time, in the gown he’d bought for her earlier that day. The strapless top pushed her breasts up, creating a cleavage he’d have liked to sink his hands into. And the skirt billowed out like a froth of white cotton candy, brushing against his legs enticingly as they danced.

  No wonder he’d been in a state of blistering half-arousal the entire night.

  “You look pretty spectacular yourself, cowboy.” She swayed in perfect rhythm with him to the music.

  “You think so, huh?” He winked at her. “Does that m
ean I get to jump your bones?”

  She laughed. “Not on your life!”

  “How ’bout a drive before I take you home, then?”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she said dubiously.

  He didn’t look forward to cramping his body into that motorized tin can, but he’d do anything to keep her at his side just a little longer.

  “Aw, c’mon. We’re supposed to be pretending this is our senior prom. Don’t young kids go out somewhere afterwards? All-night parties. Restaurants. Movies.” Motels.

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Be a sport, Paula. Don’t you crave a little fantasy?” Good Lord, I hope so! If not, Madame Nadine is a gold-plated fraud, and I’m the sucker of the year. “Besides, this might be the last time . . .” His words drifted off. He couldn’t voice the possibility that this might be their last time together.

  But Paula honed in on the fantasy part. “I think you gave me enough fantasy yesterday to last a lifetime.” Her lips parted, reflexively, in remembrance.

  You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, sweetheart. “Just a drive.”

  He got to second base . . . then struck out . . .

  NICK HAD DRIVEN all the way to Sandy Hook to show her the beautiful sight of a full moon and bright stars shining on the mirrorlike surface of the ocean at low tide. But Paula wasn’t fooled for one minute. He’d come here to park and neck . . . and more.

  She couldn’t be mad at him, though. He’d given her this magical night, a gift to make up for the past year of pain, a special way to end their marriage . . . amicably, without rancor.

  They pushed their seats all the way back and arched their necks so they could gaze at the sky. Still, Nick’s long legs were bent at the knees, and his tall frame spilled over onto the gear shift. He was definitely not made for a VW.

  “Why are you smiling?” he asked, putting his right arm behind her seat and twirling one of her long curls around a finger.

  “I was just thinking that when I asked you for a VW, I never realized that you wouldn’t fit.”

  “Who says I don’t fit?” he said, feigning affront.

  “I say. Well, at least I’m safe in this cramped space. No way could two people—”

  He tugged on her hair, still wrapped around his finger, and pulled her closer. Against her lips, he whispered, “Don’t bet on it.”

  “Nick, you promised,” she demurred, faintly, before his lips captured hers, sliding back and forth with exquisite care, teasing, barely touching, just sliding over the wet surface, coaxing.

  Finally, she could stand no more. Putting her hands on either side of his face, she held him firmly still and pressed her lips to his.

  At first, he made a low chuckling sound deep in his throat, mumbling something about chalking one up for slide kisses. Then he growled and proceeded to take charge of the kiss.

  His teeth nipped at her bottom lip. When she opened her mouth to protest, his tongue plunged deep, then withdrew. He devoured her lips in ever-changing kisses—soft, gentle, coaxing caresses, alternating with hot, bruising promises of searing passion.

  Waves of longing swept over her, turning her skin hot. Her breasts grew heavy, and the vee between her legs felt molten and damp.

  She moaned around his tongue.

  He moaned back.

  Once, he pulled away, gasping for air. “We’re not going to make love,” he assured her. “I’ll keep my promise.”

  She nodded, wanting to tell him to forget his promise.

  “Just a little necking,” he assured her, nuzzling her cheek. “Like two teenagers after their senior prom. A little horny, but not ready to go all the way.”

  “Are you saying I’m horny?” she asked, trying to sound insulted.

  He chucked her under the chin and grinned. “I know I’m horny as hell. Maybe you’re just turned on.” He put his mouth near her ear and played tongue games with its delicate crevices, whispering, “Are you turned on, babe?”

  She thought about lying, then admitted, “Like an oven.”

  He laughed and, in one expert move, put his hands on her waist and lifted and turned her so that she lay across his lap, breast to chest. Her legs were bent and draped on the passenger seat, and her back pressed into the steering wheel, but she hardly noticed the discomfort because Nick had unzipped the back of her dress and was lowering the bodice of her strapless gown to her waist.

  She objected feebly.

  He inhaled sharply, and in the bright moonlight, she could see the hazy mist of want in his half-closed eyes. His parted lips looked thick and swollen from her kisses.

  “Oh, Paula, honey . . .” His voice was choked with emotion as he gazed down at her, then touched her nipples lightly with the fingertips of both hands. She keened softly as ripples of intense, almost painful pleasure shot out from her breasts. She threw her head back and arched her chest forward, inviting.

  “Show me,” he whispered huskily.

  And she drew his mouth down.

  He cradled the underside of one breast in one hand, pushing upward, then took her hardened nipple, openmouthed, flicking it with his tongue until she mewled with yearning. Only then did he suckle her in earnest, hard, his cheeks flexing with the rhythm. By the time he gave equal treatment to the other breast, she was gasping for breath.

  Nick seemed to have trouble breathing himself.

  “So, this is necking, huh?” she teased when he finally looked up at her.

  “Well, maybe we’ve progressed to petting,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly.

  “Do you suppose teenage girls do this, as well?” she asked, reaching between their bodies and running her palm over the ridge of his erection. She wanted to give as much enjoyment as he was giving her.

  He groaned in sweet agony, flinging his head back against the seat, as she continued to fondle him in the way he liked best. Suddenly, he stiffened and set her back in her own seat with an abruptness that startled her.

  Jerking the car door open, he walked onto the beach and bent over at the waist, clasping his thighs, inhaling and exhaling with labored breaths. Finally, he stood and just stared out over the ocean, a bleak, lonely figure.

  Confused, Paula adjusted her gown and stepped out of the car. Putting her hand on his arm, she asked, “Nick, what’s wrong?”

  “I promised I wouldn’t jump your bones tonight.”

  “Well, maybe . . . well, maybe I changed my mind.”

  “About the divorce?” he asked hopefully.

  “No, of course not. Just about . . . you know.”

  His jaw clenched angrily. “Well, I want more than a quick lay.”

  “Nick, don’t ruin tonight by arguing. It was a wonderful evening. I didn’t know how much I had craved this kind of thing. It was like a fantasy come true.”

  “You craved the fantasy?” he said with decided interest, his face no longer so despondent.

  “I guess I did. Deep in my heart.”

  He said the oddest thing then, “Thank you, Lord . . . and Madame Nadine. At least I’m on the right track.”

  Day Four

  The things a guy will do for love . . .

  “Ouch! I thought you said this wouldn’t hurt.”

  “No, darlin’, you asked me if getting a tattoo might fulfill your wife’s ‘heart craving,’ and I said it probably wouldn’t hurt. It’s not the same thing.”

  Sitting on a high stool, Nick tried to peer back over his shoulder at Madame Nadine, who was working with concentration on his right shoulder blade. Or at least as much concentration as she could muster with that blasted cigarette hanging out of her mouth, cats meowing all over the place, and flowers sucking all the oxygen out of the air. Or did flowers give off oxygen? He couldn’t remember in the midst of his pain.

  “Ouch
!” he said again.

  “Stop moving. I can’t see.”

  Hah! He didn’t know how she could see anyhow in the glare of her bright orange dress embroidered all over with neon yellow sequined sunflowers. The broad did have a thing about sunflowers.

  “Watch you don’t burn me with that damn cigarette,” he grumbled as her two-inch ash grazed and crumbled against the back of his neck.

  Madame Nadine mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like “Up yours.” But he was probably mistaken.

  Just then, her needle hit a particularly sensitive spot, and Nick almost shot out of his chair. “Are you sure you didn’t work for Hitler in another life?”

  “Tsk-tsk! No pain, no gain,” she remarked blithely.

  “Easy for you to say! What kind of tattoo are you putting there anyhow? It better not be one of those hokey snakes. Or a skull and crossbones. I want something to impress Paula, not gross her out. How about two linked hearts?”

  “Puh-leeze, I’m an artiste. I am creative. I am—”

  “—a fraud,” he muttered under his breath.

  “I heard that, young man,” she said. “Watch your mouth, or I won’t help you anymore. And I still think you should have let me put the tattoo on your privates. It’s the latest thing, you know.”

  “Get real!”

  “Would you consider a genital earring?”

  “You’re not getting within a mile of these family jewels.” He placed both hands protectively over said treasures. “And you’d better hurry up. I only have another ten minutes left on my lunch hour.”

  Finally, she finished and told him how to care for the tattoo over the next few days. He tried to peer at her creation over his shoulder, but she kept distracting him, blabbing on about how she’d gotten a ticket the day before for failing to procure a business license, and could he fix it for her. He kept telling her he didn’t work in that division, but somehow she managed to talk him into seeing what he could do.