Savour the Moment tbq-3

by Nora Roberts

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HE FOUND HER IN THE MAIN KITCHEN, MOVING FAST.

  “I’m a little behind,” she began. “It’s not like a Parker schedule, but—”

  He stopped her by getting in her way, moving in, drawing her into a long, warm, indulgent kiss. And when he felt her go under, just a little, just enough, he eased back.

  “Hi.”

  “Well, hi. Was I saying something before all my brain cells went gooey?”

  “Something about schedules.”

  “Oh, yeah. That. Okay. I have a nice sauvignon blanc chilling. Why don’t you open it so we can try it out while I get things going.”

  “I like when my main chore is opening the wine. What was the problem with the rehearsal?” he asked as he moved to oblige.

  “What wasn’t, is more like it.” She shot him a look over her shoulder with those bluebell eyes. “The bride learned just this week she’s pregnant.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “They’re good with it. In fact, they’ve turned the unexpected expecting into a surprise instead of a problem.”

  “That’s good for everybody”

  “Yeah, but it’s added some stress—and she’s more emotional and a whole lot tired. She’s crying, then the two kids are trying to murder each other, the MOG worked herself up, plus the heat got to her. Probably because she was worked up. Add in a groomsman who started celebrating a bit early. Just another day on the job.”

  Laurel put water on for the pasta, added olive oil to a skillet, then moved past Del to retrieve the salad makings she’d prepared with Mrs. Grady’s help. “It’s a good thing I did most of this ahead, because I’d hoped to duck out of the rehearsal, but no dice.Thanks,” she added when he handed her a glass.

  After sipping it, she began to peel and dice garlic.

  “I should feel guilty about you cooking after you’ve put in a full day. Want me to chop something? I’m a reasonably experienced chopper.”

  “No, we’re under control.”

  Content to do nothing, he watched her add the garlic and some red pepper flakes to the oil. “This is new.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Seeing you cook. This kind of cooking, that is.”

  “Oh, I dip my hand in every once in a while. I picked up some of it from Mrs. G, and some from working in restaurants. It’s an interesting change of pace. When it works.”

  “You always look in charge in the kitchen. That was supposed to be a compliment,” he said when she frowned at him.

  “I guess it is, as long as it doesn’t put me in the same camp as Julio.”

  “Completely different camp. A different camp in a different country.”

  She added some butter to the oil, got out the shrimp. “Good. Because I don’t often have—or want—company when I’m in the kitchen, but I rarely throw knives.” She added the shrimp to the oil, then pasta to the boiling water.

  “Do you just keep everything that goes in, when and how, in your head?”

  “Sometimes. Do you want a lesson?”

  “I absolutely don’t. Real men grill.”

  She laughed, and with spoon in one hand, pasta fork in the other, stirred skillet and pot at the same time. “Hand me the wine, will you?”

  “Lush.” But he held it out.

  She set down the pasta fork, then dumped a good cup of wine on the shrimp. Del visibly winced.

  “It’s really good wine.”

  “So it’s really good wine for cooking, too.”

  “No question.” Her hands, he thought, were so quick, so competent. Had he ever noticed that before? “What are we having?”

  “For the main? Seafood linguini.” She paused, took a sip from her glass. “Field green salad, some herb bread I baked for dipping. Vanilla bean crиme brыlйe for dessert.”

  He lowered his glass to stare at her—his Laurel, with her hair clipped up as always when she worked, her quick, competent hands busy. “You’re kidding.”

  “I know you’re partial to crиme brыlйe.” She lifted one shoulder in an easy shrug as the kitchen filled with scent. “If I’m going to cook, I might as well cook what you like.”

  It occurred to him he should have brought her flowers or wine or ... something. And realized it hadn’t occurred to him because he was so used to coming here, coming home, to seeing her in his home.

  Next time he wouldn’t forget.

  When the wine came to a boil, she lowered the heat, covered it. Then tested the pasta, deemed it done, drained it.

  She got a dish of olives out of the fridge. “To hold you off,” she said, then turned her attention to the salad.

  “You know what I said about being in charge when you’re in the kitchen?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Something about being in charge makes you just stunning.” She looked up, blinked in such obvious surprise he regretted not thinking of flowers even more.

  “You’re already getting crиme brыlйe,” she managed.

  “You’re beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful.” Had he never told her that before, in just that way? “Cooking just spotlights it, the way dancing spotlights a dancer, or a sport spotlights an athlete. It just never struck me until now, I think because I’ve gotten used to seeing you at some stage or other of baking. It’s a kind of taking for granted. I need to be careful not to do that with you.”

  “We don’t have to be careful with each other.”

  “I think we do. Even more because we’re so used to each other.”

  Maybe taking care was more accurate, he thought. Wasn’t she doing just that now? Taking care by making him a meal she knew he’d like particularly, and doing it because she knew he’d had a difficult day? This

  newness between them wasn’t just about dating or sex. Or it shouldn’t be.

  He didn’t know, couldn’t know, where they were going, but he could start paying more attention to how they got there.

  “Do you want me to set the table?” he asked her.

  “It’s done.” The fact that she was a little flustered, and it showed, delighted him. “In the dining room. I thought, since—”

  “That’s nice. Parker?”

  “Is doing what any good friend does and making herself scarce tonight.”

  “Very nice.”

  She walked over, checked her skillet, then added more butter, some scallops before briskly zesting a lemon into the mix.

  “That smells amazing.”

  “Not bad.” She added some fresh herbs, salt, pepper, stirred. “Couple minutes to cook through, then we’ll let it sit for a few more. Fairly easy-peasy.”

  “Not from where I’m standing.”

  “I probably couldn’t write a brief—especially since I’m not sure exactly what one is. I guess we both picked careers with job security.” Her eyes met his as she tossed the salad. “People are always going to need to eat, and they’re always going to need lawyers.”

  “Whether they want to or not on the lawyer front.”

  She laughed. “I didn’t say that.” She took a lighter out of a drawer. “For the candles,” she told him. “You can take the salad in, and take care of that.”

  She’d fussed, he noted, when he carried the bowl into the dining room. She probably didn’t think of it that way, he mused as he studied the pretty plates, the candles in slim holders, the bright-faced sunflowers in a blue glass vase. The women in his life had a talent and a vocation, he supposed, for making things pretty and comfortable, for seeing to tiny details that always melded together into a perfect picture.

  That made him a lucky man.

  Very lucky, he thought moments later when they sat with the salad, the warmed bread, the wine.

  “When we get to the beach—” He broke off when she groaned. “What?”

  “Sorry, I always have a little orgasm when I think of vacation.”

  “Really?” Amused he watched her eyes sparkle as she took a bite of salad. “I’ll mention it more often. Anyway, when we’re the
re, I’m going to grill you such a steak. In fact, my pact now is for the men to put on a serious meal—just the guys. All you have to do is eat.”

  “I’m in. I actually have a calendar going in my office where I mark off the days until. Like I did when I was a kid for the end of the school year. I feel like that. Like a kid coming up on summer.”

  “Most kids don’t get orgasms when they think of summer vacation. Not in my experience anyway.”

  “You liked school more than I did.” When he laughed, she sipped her wine. “I like my work a lot more than I did school, and still, I’m really ready to step away from it for a couple weeks. I want to sleep until the sun’s actually up, and stretch out and read a book without thinking I really should be doing something else. No suit, no heels, no meetings. How about you?”

  “The last part’s a match—except for the heels. Not having to make a decision about more than whether to have a beer or a nap. That’ll be good.”

  “Naps.” She sighed and closed her eyes.

  “Another orgasm?”

  “No, just a quiet little tingle. I can’t wait. The rest of us were so surprised—and happy—when Parker told us the two of you bought the place. Is it wonderful?”

  “I like it. She’s taken it on faith, as she’s never seen it except in pictures. It’s a good investment, especially considering the economy right now. We got a good deal.”

  “That’s the lawyer speaking. Is it wonderful?”

  “You can hear the ocean from the bedrooms, see it from every window that faces oceanside. There’s a pond and a wonderful sense of seclusion.”

  “Okay, no more. I can’t take it.” She shivered, then rose to remove the salad plates. “Be right back.”

  “I can—”

  “No, I’ll take care of it. In charge, remember?”

  He topped off her wine, and had sat back with his own when she came in with the main. She’d garnished the pasta with sprigs of rosemary and basil.

  “Laurel, that looks seriously amazing.”

  “Never underestimate the power of presentation.” She served him, then herself.

  “Wow,” he said after the first bite. “It’s great. And impossible to feel guilty now. Maybe a little since Parker’s missing out.”

  “I left her a serving in the kitchen. She’s sneaking down for it.”

  “Guilt assuaged.” He took another bite. “Of course, now you’ve done it, and I’m going to want to do this more often.”

  “We might be able to work a deal, if you fire up the grill now and then.”

  “Works for me.”

  “You know, I nearly called you last night. I was in the mood for a cookout, then I had the run-in with Linda and—”

  “What run-in?”

  “Oh, Parker had just left for a meeting, and I was done for the day and walking down to Emma’s to see if she wanted a swim. And there’s Linda at Mac’s door. Going in, too, even though they weren’t home. Pissed me off.”

  His eyes narrowed, heated. “Parker told her not to come here again.”

  “Yeah, and Linda listens so well. Anyway, after an ugly scene I ran her off.”

  “What kind of a scene?” He saw her start to speak, then catch herself and shrug.

  “A Linda sort of scene. I won, which is the important thing.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “That I didn’t have the authority to run her off, that sort of thing. I’m always amazed someone like her could’ve had any part in creating someone like Mac. I don’t know if she’ll ever understand that Mac’s not going to drop everything and do her bidding anymore.”

  She wasn’t changing the subject so much as shifting it, Del thought. He laid a hand over hers as if to hold her in place. “She upset you.”

  “Sure, she’s Linda. She upsets just by existing. Hey, can we get a restraining order? On the basis that she’s a major pain in the ass?”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “For what? I got her gone.”

  “Not before she upset you.”

  “Del, if I called you every time somebody upset me, we’d never be off the phone. She went, and Emma and I took a swim. She did spoil my mood for a cookout though. Let’s not let her spoil the linguine.”

  “She couldn’t. But if she comes back, I want to know about it.”

  “Fine.”

  “No, promise me. I’ll deal with her if she comes back here, but I have to know about it to deal with her.”

  “No problem. I promise.You really can’t get a restraining order just because she’s a pain in the ass?”

  “There are other ways to deal with Linda. Mac didn’t want me to before. Things are different now.”

  “Legal question? If, since she was technically trespassing, I’d knocked her on her ass, could she have me charged with assault?”

  He grinned because she so obviously wanted him to. “Gray area. Plus, I’d get you off.”

  “Good to know, because next time I might not be so polite. Now for something much more cheerful. I met with Sherry Maguire and her guy for a tasting and design approval. It was such fun.”

  They passed the rest of the meal talking about casual things, mutual friends. And in the back of his mind he continued to wonder just what Linda had said or done to upset Laurel.

  THEY OPTED FOR A WALK AFTER DINNER—AND AFTER A LAUGH over the note Parker left in the kitchen.

  My compliments to the chef.

  As payment for the meal, I’ll do the dishes.

  So don’t.

  P.

  Summer stretched the days so they walked the gardens in the soft, settling light. The close, sticky heat of the day lifted, just enough, and still warmed the flowers so their scents seemed stronger, more vital.

  Stars winked on as she took him down to the pond to show him the frog. When he crouched for a closer look, she shook her head.

  “You’re just as thrilled and fascinated as Kent—the boy from the wedding party.”

  “A man never outgrows a good frog. It’s a whopper. I could probably catch it, and chase you. Like I used to.”

  “You could try, but I’m faster these days. Besides, you usually caught Emma.”

  “She was more girl than the rest of you, and squealed more. Those were the days.” He sat back on his heels, scanned the grounds, the green, the cool shadows. “I liked coming down to the pond before dark in the summer, just sitting here.” He did so now. “Thinking long thoughts with my dog, watching the lights go on in the house. See, there’s Parker’s room. Now, anyway. It used to be there.”

  He pointed.

  “I remember. I spent a lot of happy hours in that room.” She sat beside him. “The Bride’s Suite now. So, I guess, it’s still a happy room, full of female. Yours is the same. I remember when you moved up to the third floor. To get some privacy.”

  “I was stunned when they said okay. They trusted me. Then, of course, I

  had to move up there, even though it was a little scary. I had to bribe the dog to sleep up there with me. I miss my dog.”

  “Aww.” She tipped her head to his shoulder. “He was a great dog.”

  “Yeah, he was. I think about getting a dog, but then I remember I’m really not home enough, and it doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Two dogs.”

  He ducked his head to look at her. “Two?”

  “They’d keep each other company when you weren’t there. They’d be pals, hang out, talk about you when you were gone.”

  The idea tickled him. “That’s a thought.”

  He turned, slipped an arm around her, rubbed his lips over hers. “When I got a little older, sometimes I’d bring girls down here to neck.”

  “I know. We used to spy on you.”

  “You did not.”

  “Of course we did.” She snorted out a laugh because he looked both stunned and deeply disconcerted. “It was entertaining and educational. It helped give us a heads-up on what to expect when it was our turn.”

&n
bsp; “Jesus.”

  “You got to second base here with Serena Willcott.”

  “Okay, that’s it. Memory Lane’s closed.”

  “You had smooth moves, even then. I bet you could get to second base with me here, too.” She took his hand, slid it up her body, pressed it lightly to her breast. “See? You’ve still got it.”

  “I’ve worked some new ones in since Serena Willcott.”

  “Is that so? Why don’t you try them out on me?”

  He leaned in again, a brush of lips, a rub, a gentle nip while he used just his fingertips.

  “Okay, yeah, that’s a good one.”

  “If that worked, I might try this.” He slid his finger down her throat to the top button of her shirt, flicked it open. “Not too fast,” he murmured against her mouth, “not too slow.” He opened the second button, then the third, pausing between to glide his fingertips over newly exposed skin.

  “Yeah, you’ve probably improved.” Her heart was already skipping. She made a sound of approval as his lips trailed along her throat, then one of surprise when his hand circled around to unhook her bra.

  “Well done,” she managed. “We should take this inside.”

  “No.” Still kissing her, still touching her, he laid her back. “Right here.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t think four little girls are spying on us tonight. And I want you. I want you here, by the water, under the starlight, on the grass, in the air.”

  His tongue swept under the loosened cup of her bra, over her nipple, and sent a shiver of need along her skin.

  He made her weak; made her want to be. He made her want to give herself over to him and what he stirred in her. The warm grass, the warm air, the easy play of his hands, his lips, left her wanting nothing more than what was here and now. So she entrusted herself to the moment and to him, while to her dazzled eyes the stars seemed to burst to life in the sky.

  The scent of her, seductive as the summer night, allured. The taste of her, so irresistible, stirred. He let his hands wander, to tease and to pleasure while the night deepened around them, cloaked them. Over the hum of the summer evening, an owl began its two-note call.

  Moonlight danced on the surface of the pond, and on her body as he undressed her.