Edge of Sight

by Roxanne St Claire

  “I won’t make you talk,” she said, the soft plea still in her voice. “I just really don’t want to be alone.”

  “ ’Kay.”

  He sat next to her, on her left, of course, so she got the better half of his profile. Still, he was close enough to feel her warmth and smell the citrus in her hair. Close enough to hear her swallow a deep drink of beer, and his whole body ached to taste the suds of Sam Adams on her lips.

  True to her promise, she didn’t speak. She took three long sips of beer, then offered it again. He took it, closing his mouth hungrily over the place where hers had just been.

  She remained quiet, but he felt her sideways glance. He left about an inch of beer at the bottom and gave her a chance to finish it. She shook her head, so he downed the rest, the cold liquid barely squeezing through his tight throat.

  He reached forward to put the bottle on the coffee table, staying in that position for a moment. Like he was about to get up. He should, of course. He should go back to bed.

  Or he should scoop her in his arms, carry her up the stairs… and leave her the hell alone.

  He stayed paralyzed in that position.

  She sat just as still, waiting, barely breathing the thick, crackling air between them. He should go. He should go. He should—

  She put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him to sit back. “You used to like to talk,” she said.

  He chuckled. “I knew you couldn’t just sit here in silence.”

  “It’s just that you’ve changed so much.”

  “We established that this morning. Long hair, more ink, big face slash, few words.”

  “That’s not the only way you’ve changed.”

  He refused to look at her, knowing it would all just get deep if he did. “War changes people, Sammi.”

  “How did it change you?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “Did it change you on the inside, too?”

  Was it war that had changed him? “I think that I was like this all along, and war just brought out the worst in me.”

  “Like what?”

  He just shook his head. This was deep enough. “I’ll talk, Sammi. About something else.”

  Her frustrated sigh was soft, but he heard it. “How about your family?”

  Okay, he could do that. “You just spent the day with them, what could you possibly want to know?”

  “I meant your family in Italy.”

  “Oh, you mean my real family.” He said it before he realized it was out.

  “The Rossis aren’t your real family?”

  “They get the job done,” he said vaguely. “And the family in Italy, sorry, I don’t know them. Left at ten, as you know, and there’s nothing those Italians love more than holding a grudge. So I doubt I’ll ever see any of them again.”

  “But there were other relatives you could have lived with when your mother died, right? You have cousins in Italy, don’t you? Why didn’t you go to them?”

  “For one thing, there was a feud. In Italy, there’s always a feud. It’s a national tradition.”

  She laughed softly. “What was it about?”

  Something stupid, but then all feuds were like that. “I think you know my father died in the 1980 earthquake.”

  “I did know that,” she said, turning a little to face him, getting a little closer without realizing it. Her scent wafted, making him want to lean over and taste the lemons that smelled so good in her hair.

  “Vivi told me that the only reason you and she and your mother lived was that you weren’t at the church that night when your father was killed. That always gave me chills.”

  “Yep, and that’s what started the feud, since that was the first Communion of one of my father’s nephews, and he’d been pressured by his sister to go even though my mother couldn’t. Vivi and I were not even one. My mother never forgave anyone on that side of the family, cut all ties, and moved away from Naples. That’s really not that unusual over there.”

  “Cutting all ties? Moving away without leaving word? It seems so rash.”

  “It is, but she was a stubborn woman.” He gave her a sideways glance, acknowledging the dig. “When she found out she had cancer,” he continued, “she wrote a will that would ensure that no matter how hard they fought, the Angelino family would not get us.”

  “And she didn’t have any family?”

  “Her own parents were too old to raise us, and the only family she had was the Rossis, who were cousins on her side, and had grown up in America after Nino, who is her uncle, had emigrated here as a teenager. She contacted him, and he lived with Jim and Fran and their family, so they made the arrangements for us to move in with them.”

  “And they seem like they were happy about it.”

  He shot her a “get real” look. “Fran, maybe.”

  “Not your uncle Jim?”

  “It got sprung on him at the last minute, so he couldn’t say no or find some legal loophole to avoid being responsible for two more kids when he already had five. And, in case you didn’t pick up this subtlety, he’s been pissed off about it ever since.”

  “Actually, I didn’t pick that up at all. I thought he treated you and Vivi just fine.”

  “Nobody had issues with Vivi,” he said, hearing the bitterness in his voice. “She was adorable.”

  “You can be adorable.”

  He laughed at that.

  “Did the Angelinos in Italy fight for you?” she asked.

  Not a bit. No one fought for them, not during the months they were wards of the country, not after they moved to America. And the Rossis wondered why he arrived with a chip the size of the Mediterranean Sea on his little shoulders. “My mother’s will was ironclad.”

  She was quiet for a moment, considering that. “It must have been hard to lose your mother so young.”

  “Yeah,” he said, attempting a casual “what can you do” tone that he must have missed, because she gave him a doubtful look. “Of course it was,” he admitted. “I was ten. I had Vivi to worry about. We were alone and…” She’d promised.

  An ancient hurt curled through his chest.

  Sarò sempre al tuo fianco, Zaccaria. He could still hear her voice, remember the thin hands, her disease-ravaged body.

  I’ll always be by your side. And that foolish little Italian boy took her literally. He thought she’d never leave him. Of course, now he knew she meant that… metaphorically. But he’d believed her.

  “It was rough,” he said, clearing his throat and his mind. “Especially in the beginning when the only person who spoke any Italian was Uncle Nino.”

  “What did Nino say to you in Italian when we got there this afternoon?”

  He smiled. “Benvenuto a casa. It means welcome home.”

  “It sounded more, I don’t know, personal.”

  “It is,” he admitted. “It’s kind of a code between us. Those are the first words he ever said to me, when Vivi and I arrived in the United States. Not just welcome, welcome home. He wanted me to feel like it was home, even though it wasn’t.”

  “Why not?” she asked, obviously frustrated with him. “They seem like a very loving family. What makes you think they didn’t want you? I never heard Vivi say that, not once. And nothing in the dynamics I saw today suggest you aren’t considered part of that family. Why do you feel like an outsider when they don’t treat you like one?”

  She didn’t have to see it if he felt it. That made it real enough for him. “Vivi acclimated better than I did,” he said in response, avoiding the question he didn’t want to answer. “In case you haven’t noticed, she’s more Rossi than Angelino.”

  “Oh, I noticed. I also noticed that you and JP are at each other’s throats. Has it always been that way?”

  “Pretty much from day one.”

  “Did he resent the new arrivals?”

  “Who knows what goes on in that screwed-up head of JP’s? Ask Nicki, she’s the shrink. I imagine he had a party the night he heard I was injured…�
�� He shook his head, a slow smile forming. “This is right where you wanted me to go, wasn’t it?”

  “I thought talking about your family might open you up.”

  He laughed softly. “You’ll make a helluva lawyer, Sam.”

  She dropped her head back, laughing a little, too. “I hope so. Have to get through law school first.”

  He just looked at her, at that white, sweet column of exposed throat, at the thick lashes that brushed her delicate cheekbones, at the palest of freckles on her clear skin, at the strands of long, sandy blond hair tucked behind her ear. Just her exposed ear was so much of a turn-on, his erection threatened the thin cotton boxers he wore. Just her ear.

  Imagine what her whole naked body could do to him.

  He didn’t have to imagine; he could remember.

  “So, did I talk enough for you?”

  She shrugged. “I thought we were just getting started.”

  He blew out a soft breath, getting just an inch closer, hoping she didn’t notice. “We didn’t talk that much, Sam. I mean back then. We did other things.” Other things like he wanted to do right now.

  “You’re right. But we also talked. Before, during, and after making love,” she said bluntly. “Then we’d eat, share a beer, and go at it again.”

  He got a little harder, but didn’t move away. Couldn’t move away.

  “You’re not going to kiss me, remember?” There was a little challenge in her voice, along with a little warning. “So don’t think I don’t notice you getting closer.”

  He laughed a little at getting caught. “I’m not going to kiss you.” He just looked at her, memories washing over him. “You know, you’re always asking if I remember things. Do you—”

  She put her hands over his lips. “Yes. Don’t.”

  “You don’t know what I was going to say.” Christ, even her hands smelled sweet.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “What?”

  “If I remember…” She half laughed, half sighed. “That little magic trick you used to do.”

  He laughed, too, mostly because that was precisely what he’d been thinking about. “That was no trick,” he said, leaning in as she took her hand away from his mouth. “That was unparalleled skill.”

  “Now you sound like the cocky guy I fell in…” She coughed softly, checking herself. “You sound like you again. And, yes, Zach, that was some mad sex skill you had, yes it was.”

  “Is.” Closer, but not touching.

  “Don’t.”

  “Have to.”

  “Zach.”

  He breathed on her cheek. “Sammi.”

  “Oh.” She was losing it, fighting and losing it. That made his gut tighten, low and hot in his balls.

  It made him want to… talk. And not about his family. “The image of you on that bed, that night, touching yourself while I whispered in your ear… like this…”

  She shuddered.

  “That got me through war, Sam. That sustained me from one end of Iraq to the other.”

  “Then why—”

  “Sammi.” He quieted her with another soft breath. “Shhh. Listen to me. I’m talking.”

  She tensed, her knuckles whitening on the pillow in her lap, her lips parted, her breath coming a little faster. “This isn’t talk, Zach. It’s verbal sex.”

  “You like that.” The ear beckoned, like a magnet pulling his whole body toward hers, his lips to that sweet lobe and precious curl of skin.

  “Yes, I do,” she admitted on a sigh of defeat.

  “You’re wet, aren’t you?”

  “Oh.” The word came out in a soft rush. She tried to shake her head, but it ended up a nod.

  “Touch yourself.” He blew the words into her ear and could swear he could see the tiny blond hairs stand on end. She gripped the pillow tighter on her lap.

  “Pretend it’s me.”

  She struggled to swallow. “I don’t want to.”

  “No?” He tugged the pillow fringe, and she let go of the barrier, exposing her legs, the T-shirt so high on her thighs he could see the shadow between her legs. His mouth went dry.

  “I’ll tell you what to do.”

  She kept her head back, eyes closed, the sweet flesh of her throat pulsing, proof that her blood was rushing as hard and fast and hot as his.

  “Let me tell you, Sammi.” He dropped the pillow and it hit the floor with a soft thud as he got so close he could almost feel the silky strands of her hair on his lips. But he didn’t touch. “Open your legs.”

  She tried to breathe in, but the air got caught, and sounded like a soft gasp. Slowly, she relaxed, her legs widening with another soft sigh of surrender.

  “Pull your T-shirt all the way up your legs. All the way.”

  She released another shuddery breath, finally turning to face him, her lashes fluttering open. “You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?”

  “No, baby, you are. I’m just going to… talk you through it.” He smiled and inched closer. “And watch you come.”

  Her eyes were dark with confusion. “What about you?”

  “I’ll get what I want.”

  “I won’t—”

  “I know you won’t, Sammi. That’s not what I want.”

  She frowned at him.

  “Shhh. Touch. Touch right between your legs. Where it’s hot and wet. Think about my tongue.” He pictured her the way she’d been that night, naked on the bed, her hair everywhere, her legs spread, her eyes locked on his while he told her what to do.

  Just like that night, she didn’t look away, but slid her hand where he told her, her whole body vibrating a little, tension palpable, every breath ragged, their gazes locked.

  Blood slammed into his already hard shaft as she touched herself with one hand and lifted the T-shirt with the other, dragging the material over her nipple.

  Jesus. At the sight of her budded rosy tip, his mouth actually ached to taste it. He leaned down, but stopped himself, digging for control he didn’t even dream he had.

  “Tell me, Zach,” she whispered, her own control long gone.

  “Wet your finger.”

  She did, slowly, torturing him as she slid it into her mouth and he imagined it was his cock.

  “Slide it inside you.”

  She put her hand between her legs, her hips rising a little, a soft moan in her chest.

  “All the way.”

  “Ohhh.”

  “Rub your clit. Like I did, Sammi.” Her eyes squeezed at the sensation, her lip caught between her teeth, her hips rocking as she pleasured herself.

  He let his gaze drag down her face, to the breast she’d exposed and fingered with her other hand. His balls burned hot and tight, his own climax perilously close as he watched her start to fall over the edge.

  “Think about my mouth on you, Sammi. My tongue inside you. Sucking, licking, loving you.” He got so close her hair brushed his nose and patch. “Come for me, sweetheart. Come.”

  Her back bowed as she let out a low, stuttering moan, a soft flush rising on her skin. He had to fist his hands into the sofa to keep from touching her, taking her, finishing this fantasy inside her.

  “Zach… oh, my God, I want… you.” She rolled her head from side to side, her back still arched as she rocked her hips.

  Blood thrummed him into a stiff, aching column, his throat desert dry, his pulse like a bass drum in his ears.

  “Put your fingers in, Sam. All the way. Stroke it slow, slow, slow. Feel how wet you are, how ready, imagine how hard I am. Imagine I’m sliding in, deeper, filling you, all the way, honey. I’m all the way.”

  Her hips thrust softly, her head back, her mouth open, her whole body quivering with response.

  “Now, come, sweet Sammi. Come.”

  She was lost, gone, completely under his spell.

  “Let go,” he whispered in her ear. “Just let go.”

  She cried out softly, then bit her lip and thrust her hips forward, holding them still for one long, extended momen
t of exquisite pleasure; then she shivered and rocked again, groaning, moaning, then quieting as the orgasm subsided.

  “Zach.”

  “Shhh.” He let his lips touch her ears, his hands balled in tight fists, his heart clobbering his chest. His cock had long ago burst through the opening of his shorts, the tip soaked with moisture and the beginning of his own orgasm.

  But that wasn’t what he wanted in return. Not even close.

  Slowly, her breathing steadied. Her hands reappeared, and she opened her eyes to look at him.

  “When you talk, Zach Angelino, it’s a beautiful, beautiful thing.”

  He leaned closer and put his mouth over hers, just enough to brush her lips. “When you come, Sam Fairchild, it’s the most beautiful, beautiful thing.”

  She flicked his lips with her tongue. “It’s your turn.”

  “Yes, it is.” He stood, not caring that his erection led the way. “Come with me.”

  Wordlessly, she followed, holding his hand up the stairs, not pausing at his room.

  “Don’t you need to get something from your bag?” she asked when they passed the bathroom.

  “No, we don’t need those tonight. Not for what I have in mind.”

  “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  Bliss.

  And it was better if they didn’t have protection close by. Then he wouldn’t break his promise to her, and to himself. He walked her to the bed and drew back the comforter, gesturing for her to climb in. She fingered the T-shirt she wore with a questioning look in her eyes.

  “Keep it on.”

  She looked a little surprised, but slipped into the bed, sliding over to the side to make room for him.

  “Turn over,” he said.

  She followed his instructions, facing the other side, and he rolled in behind her, lining their lengths, nestling her into his body.

  “What are you doing, Zach?” she asked, her voice still a little unsteady.

  “Shhh.” He nudged her face back to the pillow away from him. “I want to sleep with you. Just… sleep.”

  She shimmied her backside against his very hard cock. “Doesn’t feel like sleep.”

  “It will when you’re asleep. Aren’t you tired, sweetheart?”

  “Infinitely so.”

  He kissed her hair, and inhaled the fragrance. “Then sleep, Sammi.”