Kelly had a feeling that Francesca wasn’t like that. That she really would have taken her to the mall. But what if she’d just been playing, too?
Pushing the question to the back of her mind, Kelly completed her order. She changed the ship-to address on her account, so the clothes would come here instead of to the New York apartment, then clicked on “Place my order.”
But instead of the cheerful notice telling her that her order had been placed, there was only a single line explaining that her credit card had been denied.
Kelly frowned. That didn’t make sense.
She fished the credit card out of her backpack and checked the expiration date. It wasn’t until 2006. So what…?
Horror filled her. She remembered Sam yelling at her, telling her she wasn’t getting her own DVD player and her claim that she would simply buy it herself. He’d looked mad when she’d said that. He couldn’t have canceled her card, could he?
Three minutes later she hung up the phone and screamed. She flew out of her room and down the stairs.
“What did you do?” she screeched as she ran into the kitchen.
Her father stood at the stove, which was weird. Except for a couple of gay chefs her mother knew, she’d never seen a guy cook. Not that she cared right now.
Sam put down a spatula and faced her. “What’s your problem?”
She curled her hands into fists. “You canceled my credit card.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You had no right. It’s not yours. It’s not in your name.”
“You’re twelve, Kelly. You don’t need a credit card.”
His eyes were a really weird color. Sort of brown, but gold, too. Right now they were dark and cold and he looked mean.
But she wasn’t scared, she told herself. She was mad. “It was mine,” she insisted. “How am I supposed to take care of myself if I can’t buy stuff?”
“I’ll buy what you need.”
“No. You’ll buy what you want me to have. You won’t care about what I want.” Without her credit card she was stuck.
He sighed. “We’ll talk about the logistics of what and where the purchases will be after dinner. You’re just in time to wash your hands and set the table.”
“No! We’ll talk about it now.”
“I said later.”
“I don’t care what you said. I don’t even have any clothes to wear.”
“That’s because you turned down Francesca’s offer to take you shopping. Now you’ll have to wash what you have and wait for the rest of your things to arrive.”
Kelly’s eyes burned. She turned away as betrayal cut through her. She couldn’t believe Francesca had told Sam what had happened about the shopping. It wasn’t fair.
Sam sighed. “Kelly, I’m not trying to make your life miserable, although it may seem that way to you. Things are going to be different here. You’re not going to buy whatever you want, whenever it suits you. I will take care of you, but on my terms.”
So she didn’t matter at all. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Your things will arrive on Friday. That’s only three more days. If you don’t know how to do laundry, I’ll teach you.”
She spun back to face him. “I don’t do laundry. That’s why you’re supposed to have a maid.”
“Ours is gone right now. Either you do it yourself or you wear dirty clothes. I don’t care which. Now wash your hands and set the table.”
He turned off the grill set in the center of the stove. Two chicken breasts lay there. They were pale and unappealing.
“I’m not eating that,” she told him.
“It’s healthy.”
“It’s disgusting looking. Did you cook them?”
His expression hardened. “Yes. And I made the salad.”
She turned toward the table. There was a bowl of iceberg lettuce in the center. “That doesn’t even count as a vegetable.”
“It’s healthy,” he repeated.
“No, it’s not. So you’re not going to get me any clothes to wear, and now you’re trying to starve me. You’re really a lousy father.”
He took a step toward her. “It’s been forty-eight hours since you showed up, and I think I’m doing a hell of a job. If you’ve got a complaint, then put it in writing. Otherwise, wash your hands, set the table, and eat dinner.”
She glared at him. “Go to hell,” she said, speaking each word slowly, then walked out of the kitchen.
There was a moment of silence, then something slammed into a wall.
But Kelly didn’t feel victorious. She didn’t feel anything at all except empty, hungry, and very much alone.
9
“I’ve decided to run away,” Sam said after dinner. “Want to come?”
Francesca curled up against him on the family room sofa and closed her eyes. “Where would we go?”
“Somewhere hot. An uncharted island in the South Pacific. You’d have to spend the day naked.”
She smiled. “There are parts of me I don’t want sunburned.”
He shifted so his mouth pressed against her ear. “We’d be making love all the time, so they’d be covered.”
The low, sexy words made her stomach clench and her thighs relax. “What about food and water?”
“It would be there. We’d do take-out.”
“On an uncharted island? How would they find us.”
He wrapped both arms around her and drew her close. “Shh. You’re spoiling the fantasy. There would be plenty of food and water. A big bed, champagne. Ready to sign up?”
She thought about the feeble start she’d made on her outline and Sam’s child sulking upstairs. They were halfway through the first week, and things weren’t looking any brighter.
“Sure. When do we leave?”
“You’re my kind of woman.”
He kissed her, pressing his mouth against hers as he pulled her close. She felt surrounded by sensual heat. Need sparked to life, making her part her lips.
As he swept his tongue inside, he groaned low in his throat. The sound of masculine need made her tremble. Wanting grew, as it had the first time they’d been together. It enveloped her until it was all she could think about. Until rational thought wasn’t possible. She ached for him.
“Sam,” she breathed as she rubbed her palm against his chest.
He swore, then kissed along her jaw and down her neck. Her breasts swelled and her nipples tightened.
As she arched against him, he slipped a hand under her T-shirt and cupped her left breast. She gasped as his thumb brushed across the sensitized peak, then shuddered as he continued to caress her.
Despite her need to get lost in the moment, she was aware that they weren’t alone in the house.
“We can’t,” she whispered, even as she covered his hand with hers, urging him to keep touching her.
“I know. I’m just playing.”
If this was play, she thought as he nibbled her neck and made her skin break out in goose bumps, what would it be like if he got serious?
But she already knew. She’d made love with Sam, experiencing the sureness of his touch, the ease with which he pleasured her. Her insides tightened as she recalled how he’d filled her, thrusting deeply until she’d lost herself. She wanted that now—his body covering hers, touching and teasing.
Think about something else, she told herself as need turned frantic. Her breathing increased, as did her heart rate, and she couldn’t find the strength to push him away when he slipped his hand from her breast to the waistband of her shorts.
Any halfhearted protest she might have made died away when he unfastened the waistband and drew down the zipper.
“Just for a second,” she whispered, even as his fingers slid between curls and settled against swollen flesh.
He pressed his mouth to her ear. “You’re wet,” he whispered.
She sagged back against the sofa and closed her eyes. “I can’t help it. You’re touching me.”
“I like touching you.
”
He rubbed against the one sensitive spot and she gasped. “What about Kelly?”
“We’ll hear her if she comes downstairs.” He bit her earlobe. “Just a couple of minutes. You don’t have to like it.”
“Yes, I do.”
He circled around, then slipped a finger inside of her. At the same time he pressed in with his thumb. The unbelievable combination made her gasp. Her hips pulsed slightly as her body surged and tensed.
She was close in a heartbeat. A few more strokes, a little rubbing, and she would lose herself in the pleasure.
Awareness of her surroundings made her hesitate. She put her hand on his wrist. “We have to stop.”
Sam looked at her, then nodded. “You’re right. If things get going too much, we won’t hear Kelly.” He withdrew his hand.
Half relieved, half disappointed, Francesca fastened her shorts. She felt aroused, edgy, and in serious need of some satisfaction.
“Did you know I have an original Picasso?” he said.
She blinked at the change in topic. “No.”
“It’s in my office. Come have a look.”
He stood and drew her to her feet, then led the way toward the front of the house. There was a small hallway just past the formal living room. The first door on the right led into a bookcase-lined study, complete with runway-sized desk and heavy drapes.
She barely had time to notice the small painting on the far wall when the door closed and Sam turned the lock.
“No condom,” he said, pulling her close. “We’ll have to be creative.”
His mouth settled on hers. The relief was nearly as sweet as the need was sharp. Under the circumstances—no birth control, limited time, and strange surroundings—she probably should have told him to forget it. But she couldn’t. Not when his hot, deep kisses made her rub herself against him. Her swollen center came in contact with his hard, thick erection and they both groaned.
“You first,” he said, pushing her back until she settled against the desk. He was already fumbling with her shorts.
She helped, then pushed them off, along with her bikini briefs. Then his tongue was in her mouth and his fingers were between her legs, and nothing mattered but the way he made her feel.
It was too good, she thought, barely able to stay standing. She clung to him as she sucked on his tongue and parted her thighs even more. Fingers plunged in and out of her. His thumb rubbed and circled and teased. She was seconds away from losing herself when he broke the kiss and crouched down.
“I want to taste you,” he told her.
She was hardly going to protest. With one quick push, she sat on the edge of the desk. Sam knelt on the floor and drew her swollen flesh apart. He leaned close, then placed an open-mouthed kiss on the very heart of her.
The orgasm came from nowhere. One second she’d been anticipating the intimate act and the next she was caught up in a whirlwind of pleasure and release. She bit back a scream as she clutched at his head. He licked and sucked, forcing one orgasm into two, then three. She shuddered and gasped, finally stilling.
When she was done, he straightened and smiled at her. Francesca felt more than a little embarrassed.
“I, ah, should have taken longer.”
He grinned. “You’re going to make me think I have super powers.”
“You do.”
She slid off the desk and reached for the front of his jeans. “Your turn.”
He covered her hands with his. “You don’t have to do that.”
Now it was her turn to grin. “I know.”
They exchanged places, with him leaning against the desk and her standing in front. She unfastened his belt, then the button. When the zipper was released, she pushed jeans and briefs down his thighs. His erection sprang free.
He was already hard. She pressed her mouth to his neck as she took him in her hand. He tasted sweet and salty, and he felt like barely controlled power encased in baby-soft velvet. The first stroke made her wish they’d brought a condom with them. The second stroke made them both moan.
“I’m going to beat your record,” he whispered.
“Promise?” She rubbed her thumb against the tip of his penis.
He shuddered. “Oh, yeah.”
Smiling, she knelt on the thick carpeting and took him in her mouth. He clutched the edge of the desk and muttered something about control. She held in a chuckle and began to move.
Francesca wasn’t sure he beat her record, but he certainly matched it. In thirty seconds he was breathing hard, in forty-five he was swearing, and somewhere around a minute, he lost it completely.
“I like your enthusiasm,” she murmured as they straightened their clothing. “It’s inspiring.”
He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “So are you. But now I’m starved. Is there any pasta left?”
“Are you kidding? I’m half Italian. There were three of us for dinner, so I brought enough for, oh, twenty.”
Sam grinned, then crossed to the door. After unlocking it, he glanced into the hallway, then nodded.
Francesca could hear Kelly moving around upstairs as they made their way to the kitchen.
While she reheated ravioli and sauce, Sam poured them each a glass of wine.
“Did I thank you for bringing dinner?” he asked as he leaned against the counter.
“About four times.”
“It was really good.”
He’d already told her about his attempt to provide a “healthy” dinner the previous evening. She’d done her best not to laugh.
“The Grands know how to cook,” she said. “Grandma Tessa does all the traditional Italian dishes, while Grammy M could bake her way into heaven.”
She pulled steaming bowls out of the microwave and tried not to notice the delightfully squishy sensation that lingered after their quickie. She felt satiated, content, and just a little bit wicked.
“Do you cook?” he asked.
Francesca pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat. “No. I’ve taken tons of classes on every kind of cooking. I do fabulous garnishes, but I’m lousy at real food. Honestly, I don’t even like cooking.”
“So why do you take the classes?” he asked as he settled next to her and picked up a fork.
“Guilt,” she said cheerfully. “I’m not interested in the traditional marriage role, and in my family that’s about as blasphemous as not acknowledging the Pope. So I study cooking.”
“You can rebel enough not to remarry, but not enough to tell them you don’t like to cook?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but even being aware of what’s happening doesn’t take away the guilt. I’m Irish, Italian, and Catholic. Guilt is my birthright.”
Sam chewed a mouthful of ravioli. It had been pretty good at dinner, but after what they’d just done in his office, it was delicious. As was Francesca. Her mouth was swollen, her skin flushed. She looked content and satisfied, which pleased him.
“I’m not trying to make trouble here,” he said, “but shouldn’t your professional training make a difference?”
“Psychologist, heal thyself?” she asked, then laughed. “You’d think it would, but then you’d be wrong. Besides, without guilt, I’d have too much mental free time.”
“Good point.” He grinned. “I never did show you my Picasso.”
She looked at him, blushed slightly, then laughed. “Oh. Yes, well, we’ll have to do that another time.”
“Just say the word.”
Not that he wanted to make a habit of five-minute sex. Not with her. Their night together had been too extraordinary. But with Kelly in the house, everything was different.
“I can tell by your change in facial expression that you’ve shifted to another mental topic,” she said.
He nodded.
Francesca leaned toward him. “It’s only been a few days.”
“I know. We both have to adjust. It’s going to take time.” He pushed the bowl away. “I understand all that, but I’m ready to get on with fi
xing the problem.”
“Have you defined what’s wrong yet?”
Yeah, some kid he’d never known about had unexpectedly entered his life. Instead of being someone he could relate to—a boy, or quiet, or normal—Kelly was difficult, stubborn, and ill-mannered.
“We don’t exactly get along,” he said instead.
“That will come. First you have to get to know each other.”
“Not easy when she spends all her time pissed off at me.” He picked up his wine. “Was I wrong to cancel her credit card?”
“Of course not. I’m shocked her mother let her have one. The thing is you have one set of expectations and she has another. You’re going to have to find some middle ground. And maybe next time warn her before you cancel her card.”
“Good point. Too bad her idea of middle ground is for me to do everything she wants and stay out of her face.” He took a sip of wine, then set the glass on the table. “She’s going to be annoyed when she finds out I’ve hired a nanny.”
“You found someone?”
He nodded. “The service wasn’t thrilled to be providing car service and baby-sitting for a twelve-year-old, but for the right money, they’ll do it. She starts Monday.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You’ve been great helping me out, but I can’t take up all your time.”
“I haven’t minded. If nothing else, I’m learning about ballet.” She hesitated. “I’ve been debating this for a while and I’d like to take Kelly to my folks’ place after class. My older sister is getting married, and we have a ‘girls only’ planning meeting scheduled.”
Sam squeezed her fingers and released them. “She’s going to be in the way. I’ll take the day off work and cart her around myself.”
“You don’t have to,” she told him. “I don’t mind taking Kelly to meet my family. I think they’ll overwhelm her with attention, and that won’t be such a bad thing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you say you’d been debating it for a while?”
She wrinkled her nose. “My family. They’re going to read too much into the situation and start planning a double wedding.”
He could see why that would make her uncomfortable. “So don’t take her. I can play hooky for the afternoon.”
The Sassy One Page 12
