“Butter the skillet! Butter the skillet!”
“Butter the skillet,” Paul repeated thoughtfully. “Ah.”
“Those concussions leave you retarded or what?”
“It’s your handwriting that’s the problem, not my brain!”
Anthony heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Butter the skillet, put the heat up to medium, and dump in the beans when the butter starts to foam. When the beans are nice and coated, add the grated cheese—which I packed in there for you because God only knows what kind of immangiabile cheese you have up there in the sticks and I only buy from Tony Culotto, the best—toss it all together, throw in a little salt if it needs it, and serve it immediately. Capisce?”
“Got it.”
“Good luck, brain boy,” Anthony said with a chuckle as he hung up the phone.
Butter the skillet. Paul transferred Anthony’s dishes to his cookware and disposed of the evidence, burying all the containers in the trash. There was no way Katie could fail to be impressed. The dishes that Anthony—correction, he—had prepared were simple yet elegant. There was nothing swimming in a cream sauce that would freak her out.
He checked his watch: ten minutes till game time. He’d made sure to tidy up, but he wasn’t sure it mattered. Apart from the bare necessities, most of his life was still packed in boxes scattered around the house. He vowed daily he’d finish unpacking, but somehow, he never got around to it.
He’d picked up some candles to help create atmosphere, and had gotten some fresh flowers, too. His stereo system was set up, so that was a plus. Wine was chilling in the fridge and the table was all set. The only thing left to do was relax and wait for Katie—and keep an eye on the food in the kitchen. He looked around. Things looked just a little too perfect, so he loaded up the drain board with pots and pans and a bunch of utensils. Much better. Now it looked like he’d been playing chef all day.
His doorbell rang at seven on the dot. Paul was glad: One of the things he’d never gotten used to in Manhattan was the premium placed on being fashionably late. It drove him nuts. When he said seven, he meant seven, not seven-ish. One good thing about being back in Didsbury was the absence of all those ish-es.
“Hey.” Opening the door, he gave himself permission to drink her in. She was a vision, her long blonde hair shimmering softly in the fading sunlight, her coltish legs swathed in tasteful black trousers. The scarf he’d given her was tossed jauntily over the left shoulder of her maroon turtle-neck. She was holding a bottle of wine.
“You look great,” Paul murmured, kissing her cheek as he ushered her inside. “I’m beginning to think that scarf is the only one you own.”
“It is,” Katie admitted.
“Well, it suits you.” He took the wine from her. “Why don’t you sit down on the couch and I’ll go open this.”
“Oh, no,” Katie replied in a teasing voice. “I want to see the chef at work.”
Paul nearly blanched. “Most of the work is done. But sure, come on.”
Katie inhaled deeply as he led her into the kitchen. “Smells great. What is it?”
“Well, there’s marinated carrot sticks, and for a main dish, there’s sea bass baked with artichokes. There’s also green beans, but I still have to saute those.”
Katie rested a hip against the counter, watching him uncork the wine. “And you cooked all this yourself?”
“Everything except the almond cookies.”
Katie nodded approvingly. “Very, very impressive Mr. van Dorn.”
“Thank you,” said Paul, not quite meeting her eye. He made a show of checking the oven. “Won’t be too much longer. Just remind me I have to get started on the green beans in fifteen minutes or so.”
“No problem.”
Handing her a glass of wine, he poured some for himself. “Shall we?” he said, guiding her back out to the living room. Katie stopped in the middle of the room, surveying her surroundings.
“Did you just move in?”
Paul ducked his head, embarrassed. “Yeah, about six months ago.”
“Six months ago? From the look of things, I thought for sure you’d only been here a few weeks.”
“It takes me a while to get around to things sometimes,” Paul mumbled, easing himself down on the coach.
“The fireplace is nice,” she noted. “I always wanted a house with one of those.”
She meandered some more among the boxes, peering curiously into those that were open. One box in particular caught her attention; she crouched down to inspect it more closely, only to spring up and back away. “Oh, God.”
“What?” Paul shot forward, alarmed. “A mouse?”
“No, our high school yearbook. Please tell me you’ll destroy it as soon as I leave.”
“We could look at it,” Paul suggested.
“Not unless you want to watch me commit seppuku on your living room floor.”
“Does that involve high heels and a spangly, push-up bra? If so, I’d love to watch.”
“Actually, it involves a sword.”
“That could be fun, too,” Paul murmured suggestively.
Katie closed the box, making a point of pushing it into a far corner.
“Oh, c’mon,” Paul protested. “It can’t all have been bad.”
Katie stared at him.
“Haven’t you ever heard the expression ”That which does not kill me, makes me stronger‘?“
Katie’s eyebrows lifted. “A Nietzsche-quoting jock. I am impressed.”
“Hey, I made it to one or two philosophy classes when I was an undergrad.”
“Just one or two?”
Paul smiled sheepishly. “Well, you know, I had other stuff to do.”
“I’ll bet.” She joined him on the couch.
“Seriously, Katie. You have to give Didsbury a little credit. It made you the woman you are today, right?”
She took a sip of wine. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”
“And it’s not completely awful. I bet if you try, you can name three things about Didsbury you actually like.”
“Easy: you, my mother, and Tuck.”
“It can’t be people.”
Katie sighed. “Fine.” She closed her eyes, concentrating. “Okay: it is gorgeous here in the spring and summer.”
“One.”
“Drummond’s Fudge Shop—though I can’t go in there anymore.”
“Two.”
“Winterfest.”
“And that’s three.” Paul was waiting with a smile as her eyes sprang open. “See, not completely horrible.” He slid an inch closer to her on the couch. “I’ve always been a big Winterfest fan myself. Maybe we could go together this year.”
“Maybe,” Katie said faintly.
He chose to ignore the noncommittal nature of her reply, taking a sip of wine instead. “You did eat today, right?”
“Yes.”
“Because we don’t want you throwing up again, do we?”
Katie looked mortified. “Please promise me you’ll never mention that again!”
His hand covered his heart. “I swear I’ll never mention you throwing up again.”
“Honest?”
“Swear.”
“Okay, then.” Katie touched her glass to his, eyes twinkling wickedly. “Deal.”
“Touching glasses is not how I seal deals, Professor.”
“Oh, no? Show me, then.”
A challenge. A dare. Paul loved those. Eyes fastened on her beautiful face, he carefully peeled her delicate fingers from around the stem of her wineglass, placing it on the floor along with his own. Then he took her in his arms, pressing his lips against hers. Mere contact sent electricity bulleting through his system, but it wasn’t long before his head began to swim as he realized it was she who deepened the kiss, she who made her pleasure known as their tongues sought each other’s hungrily. She wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. The realization excited him. He could feel her trembling against him as he tightened his embrace, bu
t rather than soothe, he moved to conquer. Tearing his mouth from hers, he moved his lips to her throat, kissing, nipping. Katie’s head fell back with a moan.
“More,” she whispered.
Paul crushed his mouth down on hers again. The spice of her perfume, the heady taste of her lips, the soft press of her breasts against his chest all conspired to drive him mad. And yet, in the back of his mind… food. He could hear Anthony’s voice in his head yelling, “I cooked special for you and you let it burn, you ungrateful ‘tard!” It spoiled the mood. Paul pulled back, resting his fevered brow against hers.
“I hate to be a spoilsport,” he whispered, “but dinner is going to burn.”
Katie sighed. “I know.”
“Can we call a time-out?”
“You and your sexy sports talk.” Her fingertips traced his cheek. “That’s fine.”
“Good.” Paul couldn’t resist a wink as he rose, extending a hand to her. “Just make sure you leave room for dessert”
———
Katie was proud of herself: not only did she sip her wine slowly throughout dinner, but she actually ate, despite a mild case of the tummy wobbles brought on by the certainty that when dinner was through, she and Paul van Dorn were going to do it. Desire, hot and sharp, sizzled through her just thinking about it.
“Here, let me help you clear off the table,” she said and began gathering dishes.
“You don’t have to do that,” Paul said immediately.
“I want to.”
“No, really,” he implored, but Katie was too quick for him. Picking up her plate, she carried it over to the kitchen garbage can, pressing her foot down on the lever that made the lid spring open. That’s when she saw it: a sea of crumpled foil containers. Katie turned to Paul. His hands were held up in surrender.
“Guilty.”
Katie chuckled as she scraped the remains of her plate into the trash. “You could have told me the truth, you know.”
“How, after boasting to you that I could cook?”
“I don’t care whether or not you can cook.”
“No, but you do care about the calorie count of every morsel you put in your mouth. I wanted to make sure dinner was tasty but not too fattening.”
Katie flushed with appreciation. “Thank you.” She looked at him curiously. “Where did you order from? Isn’t the only take-out place around here Wang’s?”
“It’s a long story. But the food is from Dante’s. In Brooklyn. Remember I told you about my friend Michael?”
Katie nodded. Michael, Michael, Michael. That’s all she’d heard about over dinner: Michael and the Blades. Michael and his restaurant. “You talk about Michael an awful lot, you know.”
“Yeah?” Paul seemed thoughtful. “Well, he is one of my best friends. And he’s the only one on the team who keeps in touch.”
“You talk about the past a lot, too,” Katie continued gently, making another trip out to the dining room to collect more dishes. Paul’s eyes darted to hers as she returned to the garbage.
“What’s wrong with that? Our past is what makes us who we are.”
“It can also stop us from fully living in the present, if we’re not careful.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing? Living a half life?”
Katie hesitated. “You never talk about the Penalty Box or coaching.”
“I just started coaching,” Paul pointed out. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“It’s not a criticism, just an observation. Maybe I’m aware of it because I spend so much time doing the opposite: trying to blot out the past.”
“Isn’t that just as unhealthy?” Paul asked.
“Probably,” Katie answered. “I just get the sense that you haven’t quite come to terms with things.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Let me worry about my head, okay? Your only concern is my heart.”
“But the two—”
“Enough.” He stilled her with a finger to her lips. “How ‘bout this? Why don’t you finish up in here, and I’ll light a fire in the living room?”
“Sure, leave me to do the dishes.”
“Well, it is women’s work.”
“Take that back!” Katie demanded, playfully smacking his arm.
Paul feigned cowering. “I take it back, I take it back.” He squeezed her shoulders lightly. “Yes to the fire?”
Katie let her eyes drift shut a moment, imagining the two of them stretched out before dancing firelight.
“Yes,” she whispered. Yes to everything.
———
Paul had just put another Duraflame log on the fire and was sitting back on his heels when Katie entered the living room. She assumed he was waiting to see if he’d need to poke at the flames to get a good roar going. Absorbed in his task, he hadn’t heard her come in. Katie took advantage of the opportunity to study him in the firelight He looked relaxed, his normally watchful gaze almost peaceful, the hard muscles of his thighs straining through his jeans. Katie cleared her throat to make her presence known. Paul glanced up at her over his shoulder, smiling. “So, what do you think?”
“It seems to be going okay.” She sat down on the rug before the fire. Paul was still standing, back to her, poking at the rising flames. Katie let her gaze drift to his calves, remembering them from the day she’d bumped him with her car. They were sculpted and firm; an athlete’s calves. Her gaze traveled up his back; beneath the black turtleneck she could make out the perfect V formed from his shoulders to his waist. Katie couldn’t help noticing how the ribbed material hugged the strong, broad shoulders. Her gaze crept down again; Boxers or briefs? An image flashed in her mind of silk sheets barely covering his naked hips as he lay back against a mountain of pillows, his rock-hard chest bare and inviting. Swallowing, she forced her eyes to the dancing flames.
“The fire’s doing well now,” she noted lamely.
“Yep.” Paul laid down the poker and sat beside her, putting his arm around her. Katie rested her head on his shoulder.
“This is nice.”
He tilted her face up to his. “Let’s make it even nicer.”
Katie closed her eyes. She heard him murmur her name softly as his hand slipped from around her shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into a loving embrace. It was so easy to return his affection and twine her arms around his strong neck, to surrender to the feeling of his mouth slowly clamping down on hers, eager, restless. Delight tripped through her as she became aware of how effortlessly their tongues danced together.
Secure in Paul’s embrace, Katie felt as if she were awakening from a long slumber and was now experiencing the glories of the world for the first time. Here was desire, need, unforgettable fire. And here was Paul, flickering candlelight tracing patterns on his strong, handsome face.
“I want you, Katie.” He sounded as if he were aching.
“So take me,” Katie whispered, her hand reaching up shakily to begin peeling off her turtleneck.
Paul groaned, a low rumble escaping from his chest as he gently took her hand from her shirt, replacing it with his own. Their eyes met and held as he slowly, painstakingly, slid her turtleneck up and over her head, letting it drop to the floor. Paul smiled his approval, his lips just grazing her throat as he quietly reached around to unfasten Katie’s bra. Blood was pounding in Katie’s ears as that garment, too, fell away, revealing her bare chest. Silently, almost reverently, he bent his head down to kiss the top of each breast before taking a step back and tearing his own shirt off over his head, his eyes once again locked on her face.
“C’mere,” he said softly. Katie stepped in to the gap between them and into his embrace. Someone’s body felt as if it were alight—hers? His? Both? She couldn’t be sure. She watched his face as he languidly closed his eyes, his hands coming up to cup her shoulder blades and anchor her against him.
The sweetness and restraint in Paul’s movements was almost too much for Katie to bear. Already excited, she dug her
fingers deep into his neck as she pulled him down for a hard kiss, her tongue swirling around his, daring him to return the favor. He did—but not before tightening his grasp around her and using the full force of his body to maneuver them toward the couch, sitting on the edge with Katie standing before him. She shuddered sharply as his hands tantalizingly caressed her sides, her ribcage, the hollow of her stomach—everywhere but where she most wanted him to touch.
“You’re torturing me,” Katie whispered, her fingers brushing the soft buzz of his hair.
“Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?” Paul teased. Katie’s breath froze as he leaned forward, his tongue snaking out to taste each hardened nipple. Then, opening his mouth wide, he took as much of her right breast into his mouth as he could before scraping his teeth back and forth across both nipples. Katie felt herself dissolving.
“More?” Paul asked seductively.
Katie nodded fervently, gasping aloud as he latched on to her and suckled hard, a deep whimper rising up from her throat. If he kept up much longer, she was going to come just standing there, the deep throbbing intensity within her abdomen blazing out of control the longer he suckled. She was beginning to feel crazed. She wanted him here, now, in her.
Through sheer force of will, she tore herself from his mouth, looking down at him. Paul gazed at her with desire while Katie hurriedly undid the zipper of her slacks, peeling them down her hips.
“Feeling shy?” Paul taunted as his eyes dipped down to take in the sight of her in her panties. Pulling her roughly to him, he hooked his thumbs over the silky top of her bikini underwear, yanking them down. Katie kicked them aside, a throaty, primitive groan escaping her lips as he pulled her onto his lap, her legs straddling his hips. The pounding of her own heart, the crackling of the fire, Paul’s ragged breath—all were making her fevered. She twined her arms tightly around his neck, reveling in the delicious torture he inflicted upon her as his mouth returned to sampling her breasts, one minute biting the nipples, the next soothing them with his tongue.
“I—I want—” Katie gasped.
“Just relax, Professor,” Paul soothed, clearly delighting in pleasuring her. Katie moaned softly to herself as his tongue tickled and licked its way up to her earlobe. That alone would have been enough. But Paul gave her more, his nimble fingers reaching down between her legs to stroke her. Katie held her breath, and then he was there, two fingers snaking their way inside her at the precise moment his teeth sank into the soft underside of her throat.
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