Where There's Smoke...

by Barbara Mccauley

  Smiling, she turned her head to look up at him. “I’d say I’m better than okay.”

  “Yeah.” He grinned back at her. “Me, too.”

  Her cheeks blossomed to a lovely pink, and she turned quickly back to her sauce. “There’s an open bottle of wine on the counter, if you’d—” she drew in a breath when he traced the curve of her ear with the tip of his tongue “—like some.”

  “Sure.” He tasted the softness of her lobe with his lips. The breath she’d drawn in shuddered out. She released the wooden spoon, then put her hands on his hips to steady herself.

  “Ah, glasses are in the…cupboard…to the right of the sink.”

  “Okay.” He slid his hands up and cupped the softness of her breasts through the thin cotton robe she wore.

  “Or if you just want a soda,” she breathed, closing her eyes, “I have regular or diet, or—”

  He turned her in his arms and kissed her slowly, tenderly, until they were both struggling to breathe and he knew she needed more time. He wanted to drag her back to bed, but he knew she needed a little more time before he made love to her again. Mentally, emotionally, physically, what had happened between them tonight was completely new to her.

  And to himself, he realized.

  But he wasn’t ready to deal with any of those feelings right now. He was still too out of balance, still too unnerved by the intensity of what had happened between them.

  In spite of the heat surging through his blood, he knew he needed to back off. Put a little distance between them for the moment.

  It took a will of iron, but he finally managed to release her and step away. “I’ll get the wine.”

  He poured two glasses, set one down for her beside the stove, then leaned back against the counter and watched her while she worked. “You look as if you’ve done this a time or two,” he said, sipping his wine.

  “I guess I have.” She turned the heat off under the bubbling sauce, then moved to the cupboard, pulled out two plates and filled them with pasta from a strainer in the sink. “My kitchen is well-stocked, and it feels comfortable to me to be at the stove. How it tastes is another story.”

  Strange, he thought, that it felt comfortable to be here with her, as well. That watching her fuss about the kitchen in her robe, with her hair tumbling around that glorious neck, her cheeks flushed and the haze of passion still lingering in her eyes, was as natural to him as breathing. And arousing, he mused, letting his gaze skim down to where creamy white thighs met the hem of her robe. The idea that she was naked under that robe made him instantly hard, and he was glad when she instructed him to sit at the table.

  “Be honest.” She worried her bottom lip as she placed a steaming plate of spaghetti in front of him, then sat down beside him. “If it’s too spicy, we can always order pizza.”

  It was spicy, but wonderfully so. The sauce was a creamy tomato, with ground sausage and mushrooms. The rich, robust flavor exploded in his mouth.

  Damn.

  “It is too spicy,” she said when he didn’t speak. “I knew it. We’ll order a pizza. Tell me what kind you like and I’ll just—”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the table when she started to stand. “Emily, for God’s sake, give me a second. I’m having a reverent moment here, just let me savor it.”

  “You like it?”

  “Like it?” He forked up another big bite, shoveled it in and groaned. “My God, woman, I think I just died and went to heaven.”

  Smiling with pleasure, she sat back down and picked up her glass of wine. “Maria told me I was a good cook, but I wasn’t certain if she was just being nice.”

  “Maria?”

  “My cousin.” Emily took a bite of pasta. “She came over the other day to see how I was. I didn’t remember her, though she did seem familiar somehow. She’s the first person who’s been completely honest with me about what’s happening in my family, the photos of my cousin Gina in the tabloids, then the tainted gelato, and of course, the link to the Mafia, which Maria says would be laughable if people weren’t so quick to believe what they hear and read. I have to admit, it is all a little overwhelming. Oh, and then there’s the curse on top of all that, too.”

  Shane actually stopped eating for a moment. “What curse?”

  “It started more than sixty years ago,” Emily said. “My grandfather, Marco Barone, had been engaged to his godfather’s daughter, Lucia Conti, but on Valentine’s Day my grandfather eloped with my grandmother, Angelica, instead. The two families have been feuding ever since, and to top it off, young Lucia put a so-called ‘Valentine’s Day Curse’ on my grandparents and all their descendants.”

  Shane lifted a brow. “And your family believes in this curse?”

  With a shrug, Emily reached for her wine again. “According to Maria, some do, some don’t, but there’s no question that some strange things have happened on that date, most tragic of all, my grandmother’s miscarriage of her first child on their first anniversary. And then most recently, the gelato debacle. That was on Valentine’s Day, too.”

  Shane shook his head. “That’s life, Emily. All you have to do is turn on the TV or pick up a newspaper to know that. Nobody has control over any of it. It just happens.”

  Emily was quiet for a moment, sipping her wine while she watched Shane eat. She’d seen a flicker of something in his eyes before he turned his attention back to his food. Pain? Anger? Had he been thinking of his own family? she wondered. He’d lost both his parents, much too soon, and no one had put a curse on his family.

  He was right, she thought. It certainly did no good to sit around worrying about what might happen. Life was what was happening now. Life was sitting here at this table, eating pasta at midnight after making wonderful, spectacular love.

  The memory of that still hummed over her skin.

  “So tell me, Shane,” she said, lifting her glass to her lips nonchalantly. “Who was the lucky girl last year?”

  His fork halted halfway to his mouth. “What?”

  She nearly laughed at the expression of complete surprise on his face. “The auction last year. Who was the lucky winner?”

  “Oh. Ah, her name was Aurel.”

  “That’s an unusual name. What was her last name?”

  “I haven’t a clue.” He turned his attention back to his food. “She just called herself Aurel.”

  “Really.” Emily truly hadn’t meant to utter the word with such disdain. It just sort of slipped out. “Does she live here in Boston?”

  “She lives in New York.” He reached for the bottle of Chianti sitting on the table. “Wine?”

  “No, thank you.” But she did sip at the small amount still in her glass. “Did she come to Boston for the auction?”

  “No.” He filled his own glass and took a swig. “She was working a fashion show here in Boston.”

  “A fashion show?” She glanced up, then quickly composed herself and casually swirled the wine in her glass. “So she’s a model?”

  “Last I heard. Sure you don’t want some more wine?”

  Shaking her head, Emily set her glass on the table, then picked up her fork and pushed her spaghetti around her plate. “Did you have a nice time?”

  “It was fine.”

  Fine? What was that supposed to mean? Fine, as in fine, or fine, as in okay? She had to bite the inside of her lip to keep herself from asking any more questions.

  After a long, silent moment, Shane pushed his now-empty plate aside and leaned closer. “We went to dinner at The Oak Room, then the limo took us back to her hotel. I walked her to her door, said good-night, gave her a kiss on the cheek and left. We did not sleep together.”

  She nearly choked at his bluntness. “I was not asking you that!”

  “Not in words,” he said, cocking his head. “But I can see the little wheels turning. You’re thinking that because you and I slept together, that I slept with Aurel, too.”

  Straightening her back and shoulders, Emily took a bite of
pasta. “It’s none of my business. I apologize for prying.”

  Chuckling, he reached across the table and took her chin in his hand. “She was a sweet, but very ditzy blonde from the Bronx who referred to herself in the third person and thought she had an acting career ahead of her because she’d been on a television dating show. She also believed in the existence of a parallel universe, and in excruciating detail described to me her other life on the planet Nathra where she was a recording artist under the name of Lexandra. All this information had been channeled to her by a guide called Blunther.”

  She blinked. “How…interesting.”

  “Emily,” he said with a sigh, “I’m no saint. I’ve dated a lot of women, though I certainly haven’t slept with nearly as many as you might think.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “But what happened here tonight between you and me was different. It wasn’t casual. It meant something. You got that?”

  She nodded, felt her pulse jump when he leaned closer and brushed her mouth with his.

  “Tell me,” he murmured against her lips.

  “It meant something,” she whispered, and believed it.

  He kissed her, gently at first, until the heat built up again, making her heart pound and her body ache with need. He pulled her to his lap and she straddled him, then he unknotted the belt at her waist and slid his hands inside to cup her breasts. Breathless, she slid her arms around his neck, let her head fall back on a moan when he entered her, then began to move.

  Holding on tightly to each other, they rushed to the cliff, teetered there for what felt like a lifetime, then together they fell over the edge.

  The sound of a construction truck beeping and men’s voices on the street below yanked Emily from sleep. She managed to open one eye and glance at her clock, then groaned at the time: ten o’clock. City maintenance had been working all week on a water line, and apparently Sunday would be no exception.

  Burrowing deeper into the softness of the bed, she attempted to find her way back to her dream, which involved herself, Shane, a bed and very little clothing.

  When the truck rattled her windows and shook her walls, she covered her head with her pillow to muffle the noise. Now where was I…?

  Oh, yes, she remembered now. On her stomach. Shane had been kissing her neck, slowly working his way down her bare back with his mouth while his hands slid over her shoulders, down her sides, dipped between the mattress to cup her breasts.

  How real it all seemed, she thought, then went very still as she remembered that it had been real.

  Shane had spent the night with her. Made love with her. Her lips slowly curved. It didn’t matter that her body ached and her senses were dulled. She felt wonderful. Glorious.

  And just a little bit wicked.

  She pulled her head out from under the pillow and her smile faded as she glanced at the bed beside her.

  It was empty.

  The truck on the street below rumbled away. Dragging a hand through her tousled hair, she sat and looked around the bedroom. His clothes were gone, as well. She listened for a sound from the bathroom or kitchen, but her apartment was quiet. Much too quiet.

  He couldn’t have been gone more than an hour or two, she thought. They’d dozed off and on during the evening, but had spent most of the night in each other’s arms. It amazed her how natural it had felt to lie nestled against Shane’s strong body, how completely at ease she’d been. And every time she thought she’d never move again, had to struggle to even drag a breath into her lungs, all he had to do was skim a hand over her hip or brush his lips against hers and the fire would ignite once again and burn just as hot as before.

  And now he was gone.

  Last night he’d told her that making love with her had meant something, that it wasn’t casual. She’d believed him, but she wasn’t so foolish to think that because he’d wanted to make love with her he was looking for a relationship, either. Especially a permanent one.

  Could she be content with anything less? she wondered, running a hand over the cold, rumpled sheets beside her. She could still smell him, could still feel him, and God help her, she missed him already.

  Sighing, she slid out of bed and reached for her robe, then headed for the bathroom. She had no idea when she’d see him again, or even if she would see him again. It hurt; she’d be lying if she told herself it didn’t. But she had no regrets, she thought as she stepped into the shower. Whatever happened now, last night would be a memory she would cherish always.

  She showered quickly, blew her hair dry, then pulled on a pair of fitted jeans and a pink ruffled wraparound blouse that Maria had helped her pick out. She changed her shoes four times before settling on a pair of square-toed brown mules with two-inch heels.

  Not bad, she thought as she studied her new look in her mirrored closet doors. She might not remember who she was before, but she was beginning to like and be comfortable with who she was now. She was ready to make new memories, new experiences. She was hoping that somehow Shane would continue to be a part of those memories and new experiences, but she wouldn’t push and she sure as hell wouldn’t beg.

  Who knows, she thought with a smile as she fluffed her new hairstyle, maybe Shane would be the one begging.

  Laughing at the ridiculous idea, she grabbed her purse and headed for her front door. She was going out, and she didn’t have a clue where. Just…wherever. It was a beautiful day. Maybe she’d take one of those city tours, or go to a museum or an art gallery. Boston was rich with history and culture. She’d learn it all over again. The idea excited her, had her throwing her door open wide.

  Then shrieking in alarm.

  A man dressed in a white shirt and navy slacks stood in her doorway, his fist lifted and poised to knock.

  “Joseph Barone!” Emily clapped a hand to her chest. “You scared the hell out of me! For God’s sake, you could have—”

  She stopped, realized what she’d just said, then pressed a hand to her mouth and stared. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  “Emily?” Joseph furrowed his brow. “Are you all right?”

  “I—I remember you.” Her words tumbled out on a shaky breath. “You’re Joseph Barone. My cousin.”

  “You’re white as a sheet.” He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, then took her by the arm. “Come sit down.”

  “You don’t understand.” Her heart pounded wildly as he pulled her to the sofa and made her sit. “I know who you are. I haven’t recognized anyone since my accident, not even my own mother and father, but Joseph, I know you. I wasn’t even trying, I didn’t have time, and then suddenly there you were and—”

  “Emily, stop.” He sat beside her, took her hand in his and rubbed her icy fingers. “Slow it down for a minute. You’re trembling.”

  Her pulse racing, Emily drew in a breath, then slowly released it.

  “Okay. Now, let’s try it again,” he said evenly. “You opened the door and knew who I was.”

  She nodded.

  “What else do you remember?”

  “I—” She struggled to think, then touched her fingers to the sudden throbbing in her temple and whispered, “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?” he coaxed.

  “Only what my mother told me,” she said with a sigh. “You’re the CFO at Baronessa. You’re thirty-three and you rarely come to family get-togethers since your wife died.” Emily closed her eyes. “Oh, God, Joseph, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s been five years, Emily,” he said quietly. “It’s all right.”

  But it wasn’t, she knew. She’d seen the brief flash of pain in his hazel eyes. Losing someone you loved was never truly all right. It just was.

  When he squeezed her hand to reassure her, it felt as if a camera had flashed in her head. First a bright, blinding light, then an image. “Arm wrestling,” she blurted out.

  He frowned at her. “What?”

  “I—I’m outside…at a park, I think. I’m just a child. You’re
arm wrestling at a table with another guy!” she said excitedly. “Everyone is cheering.”

  “Arm wrestling at a park?” He stared at her for a long moment with a blank look, then lifted his brow in surprise. “Good grief, that was twelve years ago. At Claudia’s sweet sixteen party. It was at Longwood Cricket Club. My friend and I got into trouble from both our mothers for knocking a pitcher of red punch all over Claudia’s white dress. She screamed so loud in my ear she nearly broke my eardrum.”

  Emily laughed, then closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to force the image back, to recall even one more tiny detail, but her mind refused to cooperate. Shaking her head, she opened her eyes again on a sigh. “That’s it.”

  “It’s a start for now. The rest will come when it comes,” he said. “There’s a family reunion in July. If you haven’t already remembered everything by then, I’m sure seeing everyone together will jog some more memories. For now—” he stood and tugged her up off the sofa “—per Maria’s orders, I’m here to take you to lunch.”

  “Joseph, for heaven’s sake, I appreciate the offer, but really, it’s not necessary. I was just on my way out to explore Boston, maybe take a downtown tour or go to a museum.”

  “Perfect. I was a tour guide for college credits one summer. We’ll start with Faneuil Hall, also known as the Cradle of Liberty. Built in 1742 and given to the city by Peter Faneuil,” he said in a very stuffy tour guide voice. “The upper story served as a meeting hall during the Revolutionary War and was the scene of many stirring gatherings.”

  Why not? Emily thought. She let him drone on about British officers’ occupation of the city and how they used the hall as a theater during that time. She’d already decided she wasn’t going to stay home, anyway. Why not share the afternoon with her cousin, get reacquainted with him and keep her mind off Shane at the same time? It was a good plan, she decided as Joseph led her toward his car.

  Now, if only it worked.

  Nine

  At six o’clock that evening Shane parked his car in front of Emily’s apartment building. Two apartments down, four city workers stood around an open trench in the middle of the street, watching while two other men down inside the trench shoveled dirt. A white poodle yipped at the workers as its owner, an elderly woman wearing a navy-blue dress and a straw hat, tugged at the dog’s leash and dragged the still-yapping animal down the sidewalk toward Shane. Faced with a new, and much closer intruder, the dog went into a frenzy.