He wasn’t sure what it was about her that ignited such a fire in him. Hell, he wasn’t sure he shouldn’t douse the flames right now before he got burned. But he hadn’t felt this way in a decade. And he’d like to believe she felt something, too.
She might claim that she’d only called him yesterday to help her career, but he’d heard the need in her voice. She thought she hid her emotions, but she wasn’t always that good at pretending. She’d missed him.
His feelings for Lydia seemed like mere puppy love compared to the strength of his attraction to Carly. He and Lydia had been high school sweethearts. Known each other all their lives. Funny how, looking back, he remembered being so devastated when she broke it off with him. He’d spent years wallowing in bitterness. And he’d kept himself closed off to another relationship ever since.
But even at his lowest, he’d always had his family to turn to for love and support. He couldn’t imagine having to face life all alone. But Carly had. She’d managed to survive the wreckage of what her father had done and make a life for herself, without, it seemed, any help. And she’d thrived.
She knew what she wanted and went after it with single-minded determination. She was one tough woman. The kind of toughness it took to be a firefighter’s wife.
Whoa. Wife?
But when she focused all that passion on him the rest of the world seemed to fall away. What if she put all that drive into a relationship? With him. Finding out seemed worth the risk.
Even if he ended up with third-degree burns.
* * *
MOIST LIPS WERE running over his body. A soft hand circling and tightening around his burning erection. But this was no erotic dream. Joe woke slowly, hard and aching with need. With a strangled groan, he pushed into the hand. Carly’s hand.
“Morning, tough guy.” Her voice was husky with sleep.
He managed a low growl as he slipped one spaghetti strap off and kissed her shoulder. “Morning.” He rolled her beneath him and kissed her thoroughly, sliding his hand down her tall, slim body, taking the teddy with it. His fingers stroked her intimately, relentlessly, until she gripped his head and rocked her hips against his.
On his elbows, he held himself above her, cupping her face as he kissed her temple, her cheek, her jaw. And she kissed him back. There was something in her kiss this morning, passion, yes, always that, but he tasted need and longing. She seemed softer, more vulnerable. It gave him hope. Maybe she really could open up and let him be a part of her life.
Moaning, she urged him to her and he barely grabbed protection before he was inside her. He had to close his eyes it felt so good, so right.
Her throaty crooning of his name drove him over the edge and he thrust one last time, pulsing and trembling in ecstasy.
When he regained his senses he opened his eyes and gulped air into his lungs. “Carly?” His voice sounded dry and raspy.
“Mmm?”
“You okay?” He lifted his head from her shoulder. Her eyes were closed but she wore a half smile and her arms were still clasped tightly around his back.
“Mmm-hmm.” She stretched against him and entwined her legs with his.
“I could get used to waking up like this.”
Her eyes opened, and he read panic in them. So much for the softer, more open side of Carly. Her legs disentangled from around him and he obligingly rolled to his side while she scrambled off the bed and into the bathroom.
Damn. He got up and found his underwear. “Hey, that’s just an expression,” he called, following her to the bathroom door. “I didn’t mean that like, you know, I wanted to—”
She poked her head out of the bathroom. “What time is it?” she asked around a toothbrush. He heard the shower running. He checked the clock on her bedside table. “Eight forty-seven.”
“Oh, I’m so late!” She disappeared inside the bathroom and he heard the shower curtain yanked back.
He let out a relieved breath. She was just late for Fashion Week. She hadn’t misinterpreted what he said. But his mind had gone right there. He wasn’t that serious about her yet. Yet? Admit it, Joe. He was thinking of her like that was a possibility. But it seemed way too soon. Obviously. But...someday? He shook his head and padded out to the kitchen. He’d had too little sleep to think about that now.
After making himself coffee and heating the other cinnamon roll, he poured Carly a mug and toasted her bagel, then brought them back to the bedroom. She was standing in the bathroom wearing nothing but a skimpy little black bra and panties. Her hair was already dry and she was putting on makeup. Man, what he wouldn’t give to crawl back in bed for the rest of the morning.
“Aren’t you going to shower?” She glanced in the mirror at his reflection.
Setting down her plate and mug, he shrugged. “I can after you leave.”
She frowned. “Aren’t you coming with me?”
“Today? Hadn’t planned on it. I gotta be at the station early tomorrow for my shift and I have a pile of laundry waiting.”
“Oh.” Her face a mask of indifference, she pitched her makeup inside a flowered bag and sprinted for her closet.
He watched her go, but didn’t follow. “Do you really need me there today?”
“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t have assumed.” Her tone was flat as she pulled out two hangers, one with a skirt, the other a top, and held them both up, eyeing them together.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair. This hot and cold act of hers was driving him crazy. What were they doing here?
Gathering his clothes off the chair in the corner, he shoved his legs into the suit slacks and yanked them up.
She stilled, slowly lowering the two hangers. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll shower at home.” He slid on the dress shirt, buttoning with more speed than accuracy.
“What’s the matter?”
She was so passive-aggressive he couldn’t accuse her of anything specific. “I don’t play games, Carly. I mean what I say and I say what I mean.”
She spun to hang the outfits on a closet-door hook and then faced him, folding her arms under her breasts. “And I don’t?”
“You want me to come with you today, but instead of saying so, you go all cold and indifferent.”
Her lips tightened and she narrowed her eyes. “What am I supposed to do? Beg? I did that yesterday.”
“You didn’t have to beg. I enjoyed being there for you.”
She scoffed. “It sure didn’t hurt your career, either.”
“What are you talking about?” He tucked his shirt in and zipped the slacks.
“You claim you don’t play games, but you never mentioned to me that you’d had offers from modeling agencies.”
“That’s because I haven’t.” He sat in the chair and yanked on his socks.
“Right. Several modeling reps told me this week that they’d contacted you with offers.”
“Well, they’re ly—” Wait. He stopped tying his shoe. Several reps had tried talking to him yesterday, but he wasn’t even there Thursday or Friday. “You mean, before yesterday? Contacted me how?”
Carly frowned and perched one knee on the rumpled bed. “Well, they usually call, but if they don’t have your cell number they’d probably send a letter.”
Joe thought back to all the letters that had come to the station. His sisters had left them on his coffee table, but after reading the first couple of creepy offers from strange women, he’d pitched the rest in the trash unopened.
“If they sent me letters, I didn’t see them. I threw out a bunch of weird fan mail the day I got back from the cruise.” He finished tying his shoes.
“Well, then, it’s a good thing you were able to connect with them yesterday.”
Straightening from the chair, he stood and shook his head. “Man, you’re really bad at this, aren’t you?”
She frowned. “At what?”
“At relationships. What part of me hating those photo shoots didn’t you get? I don’t want to m
odel for anyone.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re right. I should’ve known that.” Studying the bed, she grabbed a pillow against her chest and curled her arms around it. How could she look so vulnerable and so sexy at the same time?
“And if you were so upset that I kept a secret from you, why didn’t you say something before now?”
Lifting her gaze to his, she shrugged. “That’s just the way people are. They lie, they keep secrets.”
Uh-huh. She must’ve learned that firsthand from her old man. He stalked to the bed and stopped in front of her. “I don’t lie, Carly. And I don’t keep secrets.”
She stared at him, blinking. In her eyes he read disbelief. But he also saw hope.
He bent and raised his palms to her face. “Carly, I—”
Her buzzer rang.
Joe sighed and dropped his hands. She gave him an apologetic smile, slid off the bed and dashed out to her intercom.
He grabbed her robe off the chair and followed her, draping it over her shoulders as she pushed the talk button.
“Yes?”
“Carly, it’s me. Buzz me in.”
Carly stumbled away from the door, her mouth open and dread in her eyes.
He took her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
She blinked up at him. “It’s my mother.”
15
THE BUZZER RANG AGAIN.
What was her mother doing in New York? She hadn’t mentioned a trip when they’d spoken last week. But Mother never visited unless something was wrong.
“Aren’t you going to let her in?” Joe reached for the intercom.
“No!” Carly knocked his hand away. She couldn’t deal with her mother right now. She was supposed to be at an up-and-coming designer’s studio in fifteen minutes. Not to mention she was still reeling from the fight with Joe. Of course she was bad at relationships. That’s why she didn’t want to get involved with anyone. This whole thing with him was getting too complicated.
“Carly, it’s freezing outside. You can’t leave her standing out there.”
He was right. She closed her eyes and summoned a last vestige of fortitude. Glaring at Joe, she huffed out a breath. “Fine.” She pressed her palm on the buzzer. Then she strode back to her bedroom to get dressed. She refused to face her mother in her underwear and robe.
When Joe followed her, she grabbed his suit jacket and tie still draped over the chair and offered them to him. “You need to get out of here.”
Joe hung the tie around his neck and then slipped on the coat. “I want to meet her.”
“Believe me. You don’t.” She ditched the robe, found a pair of black tights in her lingerie drawer and sat to pull them on.
“I thought she lived in New Mexico.”
“She does. I don’t know why she’s here. But it can’t be good.”
“She’s that bad?”
“You have no idea.” She stood and pulled the check jacquard pencil skirt off the hanger and slipped it on, then reached for the black wool-and-cashmere sweater. “We don’t get along. My family wasn’t exactly all happy-happy, okay?”
“Well, maybe my presence will help.”
Hah! “Joe, you don’t understand. The woman will chew you up and spit you out.” She sat to zip her boots. She did not want Joe to witness just how dysfunctional the relationship was.
Standing, she smoothed down her sweater and gave Joe a pleading look. “Please go?” A loud knock sounded at her door. She froze, her stomach fluttering. She gave Joe a withering look, set her shoulders and went to answer the door.
“How could you leave me standing out there in this weather? And in this neighborhood?”
“Hello to you, too, Mother.” She stepped back, widening the door.
Her mother sauntered in, dropping an enormous bag on the bar. “Oh, you have company?” Her gaze slithered over Joe, who was leaning a shoulder against the door frame leading to the bedroom. “I know you. You won Carly’s contest.”
“Mother, this is Joe Tedesco. Joe, this is my mother, Victoria Herzberg.”
“Call me Vicky.” She smiled at Joe, and then shifted her gaze to Carly. “Not bad, Lee.” She wiggled her brows.
Carly felt sick to her stomach. “You didn’t let me know you were coming, Mother.” The woman with whom she shared DNA had had more work done since Carly had last seen her.
“It was a last-minute trip.” She smoothly removed her fox-fur coat and draped it over a bar stool. “I hope you’re getting a new place soon.” She eyed the tiny one-bedroom apartment as if it might transmit a communicable disease. “My friend Louise says she just listed a to-die-for apartment overlooking the park.”
What alternate universe did her mother live in? “I can’t afford something like that.”
Vicky waved a hand, several brilliant rings catching the light. “But someday soon, darling.”
Whatever that meant. Carly moved to grab her parka off the hook by the door and stuck her arms in. “Mother, I have to go. Why don’t I meet you for lunch at your hotel?”
Her mother’s surgically enhanced lips pinched in irritation. “But I just got here. And I had this wonderful idea while I was reading your little blog thing.”
Her ‘little blog thing’? “It’s Fashion Week, Mother.” Carly pulled her cell from her bag, checked the time. “And I’m late.”
“Well, that’s perfect. Your stepfather had some optometrists’ seminar in Dallas, so I decided to take a trip, too, and do some shopping in New York. I want you to introduce me to all those designers you talk to.” She beamed.
Carly clenched her teeth. “I can’t do that, Mother. Tickets have to be purchased months in advance. Appointments arranged. It’s not like dropping in on the neighbors.”
“But I thought you could get me in since you’re like the press or something. I want to see all the runway shows. It’s so boring in Taos after the holidays. Gerald is busy with work, and all my friends are traveling.”
Ah, her mother was bored? Well, at least her latest husband hadn’t thrown her out. “I’m sorry, but there are no tickets left. You could come back in September.”
Her mother’s expression hardened. “I didn’t think you could be so petty. You just can’t let anything go, can you? You’re still mad because I dared to remarry and move away.”
“This has nothing to do with that, Mother.”
“It’s because I didn’t take you with me. You know we just needed some time alone in the beginning. You could come visit now anytime you wanted, but you’re always too busy.”
Carly’s face was flaming hot. She was shaking and nauseated. All too familiar reactions to her mother. She pressed a hand to her stomach and tried to breathe deeply. “Mother, that’s not why. I can’t get tickets because they’re sold out.”
“Fine. I’ll stay here with Joe.” She cast him a sultry look. “You’ll keep me company, won’t you, handsome?”
Bile rose in Carly’s throat. Joe unfolded his long body from the doorway and moved closer to her—and the door. “Actually, I’ve got to get going, too.”
“Tell you what, Mother, I’ll meet you for lunch at the Atrium at Lincoln Center. Some of the designers might eat there between shows, and I’ll introduce you. Joe, don’t forget your overcoat.” She widened her eyes at him and he stepped around them toward the sofa.
“They might eat there?” Her mother’s whine had taken a hard edge. “All I wanted was to see a runway show. Even if they are sold out, you’re important enough to pull a few strings for your mother, aren’t you?”
Carly bit her tongue to keep from cursing. Anything she said right now would only escalate the tension. She had to get out of here. “No, I’m not. And, I really have to go now.” She reached for the doorknob.
Her mother held her wrist. “You always were a selfish brat,” she sneered. “Your father spoiled you rotten, and you’re just like him.”
Carly wrenched her wrist away and threw open the door. “Get out.”
Her m
other didn’t bother to try to hide her venom. “You think you’re such hot stuff now that your blog is so famous?”
Joe stepped beside Carly and slipped his warm hand in her cold one. “Mrs. Herzberg, I think you better leave.” His tone was polite but clear as he stared pointedly at her.
Her mother glared at Joe, gathered up her coat and bag, and then marched out, chin raised high.
* * *
Wow, what a piece of work that woman was.
Joe shut the door, barely refraining from slamming it.
Carly just stood there, staring at nothing as she rubbed her wrist.
He wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t imagine growing up with a mother like that.
She might’ve once been beautiful. Tall and slim, like Carly, and striking, with her brunette hair and ice-blue eyes. But the artificial attempts to remain youthful-looking had ruined her best features, turning her face into a grotesque mask.
“Boy, that explains a lot, right there.”
Carly scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean? Now you know why I’m such a witch? Mystery solved!”
“No!” He slid his arm around her waist, but she wouldn’t look at him. Her expression remained sad, but her body trembled. He ached for her. Wanted to make her pain go away.
“Hey.” Joe turned her, wrapped her in his arms and held her tight, running a hand down her hair. “Carly, look at me.”
She shook her head and avoided eye contact. “I need to go.”
With a gentle touch under the chin, he lifted her face. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You want to talk about it?”
“No, thanks.” She huffed a laugh then hitched her purse higher on her shoulder, opened the door and stepped out. He followed, and as she locked it behind them, she turned to him and smiled, but it was such a patently false effort. “Actually, you’re right, you know.”
He frowned. “I told you—”
“No, it’s the truth. I am really bad at relationships.”
Oh, man. He gently squeezed her hand. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh.”
Cabin Fever Page 12
