by Lisa Plumley
Her hair glowed like gold, bright as the candles. Moonlight and shadows chased across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheekbone, the delicate line of her nose, the lush fullness of her lips. He ached to taste her. Would she taste of strawberries, or the sweetness of vanilla?
In the darkness behind them, a warm June breeze swirled dried bougainvillea leaves through the yard like whispers. On the same breath of air, Chloe’s tropical perfume wafted toward him, making him groan at the impossibility of resisting her. Kissing her felt inevitable. It felt right. Nick leaned closer … and her eyes opened.
“Whew!” she cried, fanning herself with her hand. “Thanks to you, I’m good as new. No more wobblies.”
She grinned broadly and stepped back. He actually thought he saw her wink at him as she released his arm and gave him a brotherly shoulder punch instead. “Thanks for helping me out, Nick. So, how ‘bout that movie?”
Chapter Seven
Her guerrilla platonic-ness tactic backfired.
“How ‘bout it?” Nick asked, his voice low as he backed her toward the patio door. He kept his head bent, his gaze on her lips, and Chloe couldn’t have kept her feet from moving—or her heart from speeding into overdrive—if she’d tried.
So much for bravado. Or for turnabout being fair play. Her flippancy deserted her when she felt the glass door, smooth and cooled by the air conditioner inside, touch her back. She jerked involuntarily at the contact.
“Easy,” Nick murmured. His big hand cupped her shoulder, keeping her exactly where she was. His thumb rubbed over her shirt, moving slowly as he watched the slide of silk over skin. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and tightened his hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”
He meant it to reassure her, she knew. Somehow, his words sounded closer to a wish than anything else, though. Funny, because Nick was far too pragmatic a man to rely on star-lit wishes or fate or anything else he couldn’t hold in his hands and examine.
Through the patio door at her back, incandescent kitchen light spilled over his features, making him seem both familiar and achingly new. This new Nick, this man who’d touch her like this without even a broken heart and Kahlúa courage between them … he was a stranger to her. One Chloe wanted to get to know better.
“Time?” she asked, feeling breathless. “Time for what?”
“The movie, brainiac.” His voice rumbled through her, teasing and arousing at the same time. “Can’t you keep your mind on the conversation?”
No. She couldn’t. Not with Nick’s hard, muscular thigh wedged warm between her legs, not with his palm pinning her shoulder to the glass and her heart to the wall. Not with all his considerable attention concentrated only on her. He’d moved fast and moved hard, and the feel of his body pressed against hers made the whole world tilt.
“It takes a really long time,” he murmured.
“The conversation?”
He shook his head, smiling for the first time since he’d tangoed her backwards. “No, the movie. At the end, of course, the climax comes quickly—” He traced a path over her shoulder, then slipped his thumb just inside the neckline of her shirt. “—but the rest of it moves pretty slowly.”
She was sinking, sinking in this world turned tilted and hot, and amazingly, Nick was her only anchor. The warm pad of his thumb stroked along the side of her neck, sending shivers trembling from her collarbone to her heels. Talk of climaxes and moving slowly was only that—talk—but his touch spoke of more. Much more.
And she wanted it all.
Chloe’s hands went to his chest, smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of his shirt as an excuse to touch him. Wrinkles—as if anything of Nick’s would’ve dared misbehave. Letting her hands fall to her sides again, she felt an answering smile lift her lips. “But that can be a good thing, sometimes,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Moving slowly, I mean.”
His smile was wicked, and so was the forward nudge of his hips against hers. The hard, slow impact of his hips felt too wonderful for words. The hard, heated meld of their bodies made everything else slide away. Her heartbeat pulsed faster, keeping time with the rhythm of his breathing.
“Mmmm, moving slowly … .” He trailed his fingers down her shirt buttons, pretending to consider the idea. “You mean, in a conversation?”
She shook her head. Her third and fourth buttons bumped beneath his fingertips as he made his way downward, edging between her breasts and lower.
“In a movie, then.”
His voice teased her, taunted her … reminded her of the closeness their banter implied. Chloe bit her lip, holding in the answer he waited for.
“Hmmm. Won’t talk?” Nick’s smile flashed in the night. “Then I’ll just have to guess how this slow-moving thing comes into play for you,” he said, fingering the next button. The next. His fingers slipped between the buttons to caress her bare skin beneath, then quickly slipped out and continued to the next button. The last one. “Maybe you like it when … everything moves really slowly?”
“No,” she whispered as his hand followed the curve of her hip, then captured her wrist. He laced their fingers together and pushed her hand beneath his against the glass behind them. The rest of her answer emerged on a gasp. “No, I—I like that in a man.”
“Mmmm.” His fingertips tickled her wrist. “I thought so.”
Quit talking, Chloe thought. Just shut up and kiss me. But instead Nick only raised his head, focused his gaze on her, and for one long, breath-stealing moment, she thought he’d changed his mind. He studied her, seeing her in a way she thought he might never have before.
As a lover.
He drew in a deep breath and released her hand. Only his hips touched hers as, casually, he raised the plastic ice cream bowl he still held in his palm and examined it.
“You want a slow-moving man?” he asked.
She licked her lips and sucked in a breath for courage. “I—” I want you.
She couldn’t say it aloud. Apparently, the atmosphere in Saguaro Vista didn’t have the magical bravery-enhancing properties she needed. Maybe Nick could invent a solution to that.
“Yes,” she whispered instead, trembling so hard the words emerged on a shiver. “I … I want that.”
“Too bad,” Nick said. “Because I’m not moving slowly anymore.”
The ice cream bowl tumbled to the patio tiles. The spoon spun away, whirling silver like a child’s top set into motion. Both his hands came up to cradle her face in his palms, to raise her gaze to his. Once there, she couldn’t look away.
“This time,” he said, “I’m taking.”
His mouth came down hard over hers. And just as he’d promised, just as he’d warned, Nick took everything. Her thoughts. Her fears. Every ounce of caution.
Her heart.
His hands delved into her hair, his fingertips rubbing soft against her scalp to hold her still for his kiss. Moaning, he captured her mouth again and again, now licking her lips with tiny, fiery strokes of his tongue, now sucking and retreating and making her crazy with the slanted pressure of his mouth on hers. Chloe kissed him back with all the love she’d kept hidden, twining her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair, pressing hard against him.
Her breasts crushed against the solid warmth of his chest. Her legs wobbled, and she blessed the patio door that held her upright. The muted sounds of wind and burring cicadas and neighbors talking in the distance receded even further, pushed far beyond the spill of light where she and Nick came together. Between kisses, smiles burst between them like raindrops on a summer lake.
Half insane with wanting him, Chloe squeezed Nick’s shoulders and burrowed closer. She couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t kiss him enough, couldn’t do enough to show him how much she wanted this. Wanted him. Laughing aloud, she hugged him close, pressing fervent fast kisses on his neck … made him laugh, too, when she nibbled the ticklish spot on his earlobe. She climbed hi
m like a kitten with a new toy, tasted him like a gourmet with a delicious new dish. A connoisseur of men, who’d found the one she’d always craved.
Groaning, Nick brought both hands to her waist. “Chloe, Chloe, you’re killing me. Ahhh—” Grinning, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet. “But what a way to go.”
She laughed, then whooped louder when he swung her around. Within the darker shadows at the patio’s edge, he backed into the heavy wrought iron patio table and sat on it, settling her onto his lap with her knees pulled up around his hips. The table’s warm woven metal surface pushed basket-weave dimples into her bare shins, but Chloe didn’t care. She had Nick’s lap to ease the pressure.
Or maybe to build it, she thought as she jiggled in his arms and settled more comfortably atop him. Thank God she was wearing silky shorts instead of a skirt.
Although a skirt suggested delicious possibilities, too.
“Yeah, what a way to go,” she told him, keeping both hands on his shoulders for balance as she kissed him. “I can tell you’re really hating this kissing stuff. Or maybe that really is a banana in your pocket?”
He laughed, and the sound made her heart soar like a kid’s helium balloon zooming skyward. “Nah, that’s no banana,” he said, “and these—” His hands cupped her breasts, thumbing her nipples through her smooth silk shirt. “—these are—”
Chloe clapped her hand over his mouth. “Are not a subject for discussion, mister. Is that all you can think to do with me? Talk?”
He shook his head. “Mmmmph.”
Nick’s eyes glinted turquoise at her through the lenses of his glasses. Foggy lenses, she noticed, leaning a little closer. Wowsers. Had she done that?
She removed her hand.
Nick didn’t remove his. They stayed curved over her breasts, making conversation as difficult as breathing was—considering the way he touched her. Through her silk shirt, she felt her nipples nudge his palms. He looked at his hands covering her, then stroked his thumbs slowly over her again. Her nipples peaked even harder beneath the heat in his gaze.
“These,” he finished, squeezing gently, “feel like heaven wrapped in silk.”
Why in the world had she tried to stop him from saying something like that? “You big faker,” Chloe managed to whisper. “I thought you were going to say something else.”
He kissed her, rubbed his lips softly over hers and then kissed her again. Smiling, Nick looked into her eyes.
She quivered. Surely he could see all the hope and love and … oh, God, but not the secrets … reflected in her gaze. Chloe closed her eyes and squeezed him close.
“Trust me,” he said, slipping his fingers around her top shirt button. “And don’t be afraid, Chloe. We can take it as slow as you want.” He used his thumb to push her button through the buttonhole, then stroked the skin he’d revealed. “As slow as you want.”
She gasped, openmouthed as his lips came on hers again in a kiss hungry enough to rock them both backward. The table beneath them rocked, too, not that either of them cared.“Awww, Nick. I’ve waited forever already,” Chloe whispered, clinging to his shoulders. “Don’t make me wait anymore. Please.”
His hands told her he wouldn’t. This time I’m taking. Again she heard that abandoned bowl spinning on the tiles, remembered the feel of Nick pulling her close for that first, heart-shattering kiss. Giddy anticipation tightened her stomach, making her feel light-headed and tremblingly, achingly, ready for whatever came next.
Biting her lip, Chloe watched, transfixed, as he unfastened her next button, then slipped his fingers inside the gap he’d made. His knuckles brushed over her newly-impressive, hormonally boosted cleavage—thank you, pregnancy!—and her whole body tingled at his touch.
“Beautiful,” Nick murmured.
“Thanks. They’re all-natural, too,” she babbled, temporarily undone by the incredible, impossible feel of his hands on her. No wonder she hadn’t been able to forget the night he thought they’d never spent together. Between his magical hands and that killer smile …
Waitaminute … that smile meant something.
“All-natural?” he asked.
Yup, that smile definitely meant something. It meant she’d blurted out a stupid something. Whoops. Well, what could you expect from a love-starved woman, finally in the arms of the man she loved after months and months and months of waiting?
“Sounds like a granola commercial,” Nick added on a grin.
She felt a blush heat her face—and probably the rest of her, too. “Tastes great, too.”
He grinned wider. “That’s a beer commercial.”
“Whatever. You can sample the merchandise later and decide for yourself.” Chloe ground her hips against him for diversion’s sake, then almost wished she hadn’t. The man definitely had a banana in his pocket, and she wasn’t sure how long she could wait to get reacquainted. “Just as long as this isn’t less filling.”
“Youch!” Nick clutched his heart, laughing. “You really know how to hurt a guy.”
Nah, she thought, kissing him to soften her teasing. But he really knew how to hurt a girl. How long would it be before Nick came to his senses and realized the two of them were thisclose to passing the just-friends barrier forever?
She’d think about that later. Chloe couldn’t end what was happening between them now, no matter how bittersweet her memories were of their night together. She didn’t have the strength. Not now, and maybe not ever. Not when Nick was only beginning to see her as a woman.
A woman, she hoped, he might love.
“But I didn’t mean just these—” He cupped her breasts again, and she swayed against him. “—beautiful as they are.”
His eyes twinkled at her, filled with humor and affection and—oh, God, was that passion? She really, really hoped it was passion.
He kept talking, looking somber and Nick-serious even as he stroked her through her silky shirt. “I meant the whole package,” he finished. “All of you. Inside. Outside. Everything.” Nick stroked her cheek, and she felt his thumb tremble against her skin. “You’re beautiful, Chloe.”
Oh, she was done for. Finished. If he hadn’t been holding her up, she might have keeled over right there on the patio table. Melted in his arms like the hot wax from the candles and oozed straight through the basket-weave wrought iron. No one had ever said anything so wonderful to her before. It felt so alien she couldn’t stand it.
“It must be the pregnancy thing,” she told him for an excuse. “You know, the way pregnant women are supposed to be all glowing and radiant and—”
“It’s you.” He kissed her. “Shut up and just believe it.”
He went on unbuttoning her shirt, and fairly quickly, Chloe found herself believing it. Believing him. He really did want her. The proof was there in the tenderness of his touch, in the huskiness of his voice, in the warm, hard strength of his body beneath her.
“It’s you,” Nick said again. “Just you. And I’ve been an idiot not to realize it sooner.”
Yes! Yes, yes, yes. Well, not yes, Nick was an idiot, but yes—oh, how she wished he’d taken a closer look at her sooner. Maybe he would have, if he’d ever been between what’shernames long enough. Or if she’d ever had the guts to make a move without Kahlúa courage and comfort-giving for an excuse.
She’d never know what it might have taken to bring them together. And right now—with her whole body pasted to Nick’s and his fingers making magic—Chloe didn’t much care to ponder the question.
She nuzzled his neck and kissed him again, happy and wanting and filled to bursting with love, and desperately needing to transmit every jumbled emotion through her kiss. I love you, she thought. Love you, love you …
Beneath her busy hands, Nick’s body stilled. She felt his hands, motionless at the front clasp of her bra. She felt his breathing, harsh-sounding but gentle as a kiss against her collarbone. She felt him withdraw from her, lean back a little and spread the two halves of her unbuttoned shi
rt wide in his hands.
His forehead crinkled. Dread crept into her heart and set up shop. What was he waiting for?
Releasing one half of her shirt, Nick reached behind him and grabbed one of the citronella candles from the tabletop. Chloe couldn’t move as he held its flickering light to her chest and looked closer. If he could’ve had another hand free to tap his lips in his patented thoughtful pose, she felt sickeningly sure he would have.
“Haven’t I seen that before?” he asked, gesturing vaguely toward her chest. His gaze flashed to her face, then back to her … bra, she realized. Her sheer, orange push-up bra.
The same one she’d worn the morning after the night he thought they’d never spent together.
“Now, where would I have seen your bra?” he asked, still looking puzzled—for the moment.
Knowing Nick, it wouldn’t last. He’d remember their night together … and realize her lie. Damn, damn, double damn! Given away by her weakness for fancy date lingerie. Chloe tugged her shirt out of his hand and wrapped it around her torso, hugging it over her belly. Maybe a joke would distract him? She decided to try sounding flippant—as though they weren’t still halfway stuck together in a heated clinch.
“I dunno, Nick,” Chloe said, still hugging her clothes close as she slid down from his lap. “In your dreams, maybe?”
He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked sort of … deflated, exactly the way she felt. But thankfully, Nick didn’t look that much closer to a solution, either, now that she’d safely hidden away the incriminating evidence.
The minute she got home, she was burning that damned bra.
Chapter Eight
“Oh, darling,” Nick said, pacing across Chloe’s living room almost a month later, “I just can’t go on without you. Since you left, I’ve thought of nothing but you. Night and day, day and night—”
“Eastern time, pacific time, standard time!” Chloe added dramatically. Sighing, she bounced her pencil off of the notepad in her lap and crossed her arms over her chest.
