“Shawn…I better back up. My ex and I were married ten years. I fought the divorce even though I was the one who screwed up. Maybe that’s why I fought it.” He shrugged and focused on the stand of trees in the distance. Another rustled behind them, shading them from the sinking summer sun. “Shawn and I started having fights when they’d stay with me. I was drinking a lot, different women, I’d even hit on their friends’ moms. When he was thirteen, he started sneaking beer and alcohol from my house. I didn’t know it then. Those years are kinda hazy,” he said his voice low and tinged with regret.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He glanced at her, his brows furrowed, shame in his eyes. She would know. “I don’t deserve any sympathy.”
“You--”
“No,” he said, taking her hand before moving it away. He wouldn’t let himself touch her, obviously. “Listen. When he was fifteen, I wanted to hook up with the mom of this friend of his. My ex had warned me she didn’t want Shawn hanging around him, but I took him over to their house with me, let them take my truck. They went and got drunk while I was…my ex called from the hospital almost the same time Shawn’s friend’s mom got a call. His friend was okay, just some bruises and superficial stuff. Shawn…it looked bad for awhile. He was driving, took the worst of the impact. He was in the hospital a month. He’s okay now, sometimes he limps a little, his left leg. Scars…we both started AA. We all finally got to a good place after over four years. And then--”
“Me.” Chiara shook her head. She couldn’t believe this of the man she knew. Or maybe she didn’t know him at all, or only knew what he wanted her to see.
“My fault, not yours.” He took her chin in his hand and studied her. She saw pain and need in his eyes, a need to be believed in.
“We’re both responsible,” she said as he released her.
“We need to go or you’ll be late.” He stood and waited for her but made no move to take her hand. She grabbed his and his body relaxed, his shoulders unhunched and his muscles moved in his usual easy way. They strolled to his truck, getting in silently.
Chiara didn’t know what to say, but she knew this was it. She sat still as he drove out of the park and onto the freeway. “Thanks for the afternoon out. It’ll give me a good memory.”
“What do you mean?” he said with an edge in his tone.
“We can’t see each other anymore. I can’t risk it.”
“I thought you were going to leave him,” he said as he sped down the freeway.
“I am. That’s why I need to be even more careful. Maybe, if we’re both free someday…” She looked out the window, the houses and shopping malls, palm trees and other cars a blur.
“You’re worth waiting for,” he said in a hoarse whisper. She faced him as best she could.
“You might change your mind,” she said. She couldn’t understand why he was being so kind and open with her.
“If you haven’t changed yours after what I told you…” His fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel.
“You’re not that person anymore.” She needed to believe that.
“I…” he began. But he had exited. In a few minutes he’d drop her off.
“If you go back to your hotel, I’ll walk from there,” she said.
“Sure,” he said. He tried to sound nonchalant, but his jaw clenched.
Chiara put her hands on her cheeks, hot as rolls fresh from the oven. “Enjoy the rest of your trip,” she said as he pulled into the parking lot.
“Yeah, you too.” He parked his truck and faced her. “Can I call you sometime?”
Nooo screamed her reason. “I’d like that,” she whispered. It had been a long time since she let her heart speak for her. She hopped out. Her heart had nothing to do with Rocco.
She walked around the truck and glanced back at the clunk of his door. He held up a hand in goodbye and leaned against the side of the cab. Forcing her body to turn, she continued toward her in-laws’ house. Every feeling and sense in her screamed at her to run back into his arms. But she knew better. Her reasonable self had married Phil and now she would use it to leave him. There was no place for Rocco in her plan.
Chapter Seventeen
She walked along the beach, letting the moist air and gentle waters substitute for her unshed tears. Trudging in the back door at the Kirkwoods’, she stopped. Phil rushed up to her and pulled her into his arms. She went limp but he kissed her anyway. Her mouth clenched and she almost gagged as he pushed his tongue along her lips. Shoving him, she backed away, the crease in her forehead deepening as she breathed and wiped her mouth.
“What’s gotten into you?” she said.
“You,” he said. He smiled, though his eyes glinted suspiciously.
Not likely, more like he wouldn’t be getting into her ever again. “Sorry I’m late. I better change.” She hurried into the guest bedroom, ignoring his low whistling. He must have had a few drinks at lunch. Who knows what he and Kim talked about. Her sister-in-law wasn’t as stuffy as the rest of her family; she and Chiara had been friends. That’s how she met Phil. But Kim was plenty ambitious, ruthless, and unaccepting of failure, like all the Kirkwoods. Chiara tugged on her dress, feeling her plan would get back on track if she threw Phil off guard a bit. She freshened her lipstick and fluffed her hair as she slid on her heels.
“New dress?” Phil asked when she walked out into the hall, purse in hand.
“Yes, Isabella bought it for me, payback for going to Mrs. Buffone’s party with her.”
He opened the front door for her. “You look beautiful,” he said through clenched teeth.
Chiara stifled a giggle. What was he playing at?
She didn’t find out as they sat over dinner. Every time she tried to broach the subject of their relationship or divorce, he changed the subject, asking if she wanted more wine, or how much fun the boys must have had that day, or whether they should drive straight home tomorrow or stop overnight.
Chiara sighed after an hour of this. She sat in silence awhile, until the sounds of Phil’s slurping wine and lobster tail sickened her. Upbraiding herself, she tapped her thigh. Everyone made noise when they ate. But listening to Rocco earlier had been sensual, all his sounds intriguing and endearing. She was just sick of Phil, that was all. If she’d been married to Rocco for over eight years, she’d probably be tired of him too. Her stomach somersaulted. She couldn’t even think of marrying Rocco. A guy like him didn’t want to get married again and she’d be crazy to tie herself to him if he did. She took a bite of her salad, hoping to choke down the deep longing rising from her core.
“Haven’t you had enough?” Chiara asked Phil as he emptied the last of the wine bottle into his glass.
“Someone needs to drink it,” he said. He could find a reason for anything. “Would you like dessert?”
“No thanks,” Chiara said. She’d had to force her food down. Hard to have an appetite when your soon-to-be-ex-husband looks at you one moment with scorn and the following as if you’ll be his next course. She smoothed her napkin and placed it beside her plate. After what seemed another hour, Phil paid the bill and drove her back to the house.
Chiara was so drained she didn’t try to talk on the way home. Phil glanced at her a few times, but stayed silent as well. When they walked into the house, Chiara knew it was time. She faced him once they stood in the living room, all mellow creams and yellows. It made Chiara edgy.
“I want a divorce,” she said.
“You’ve said that before.”
“I mean it.” Their eyes challenged each other.
“The boys,” Phil said, giving up first.
“They already sense things are wrong. You know the doctor said there’s no medical reason Danny’s been wetting his bed. It’s stress. And Max has been more clingy this last year than he was as a baby. I know it’ll be hard, but I think eventually we’ll all be happier.”
“You can’t know that. There’s someone else, isn’t there? You’ve always been willing to
work on things before.”
She met his stare again, knowing anything else would admit the truth of her guilt. “No. I’m not in love with you. We both deserve more than that.”
“I want this to work,” he said, moving closer.
“Haven’t you considered what it could be like? Maybe with someone like Suzy?”
“I haven’t cheated on you,” he said. “Have you?”
“No,” she said. He had her backed up into the edge of the couch. Pricklings of fear froze her. That was ridiculous, Phil would never…he grabbed her. She struggled, but he had the element of surprise as he kissed her and pressed himself into her. His breathing was heavy as he spoke. She turned away, her nose wrinkling at the stench of seafood and fermentation.
“Isn’t this what you want, Chiara,” he spit out her name, mispronouncing it. “You like it rough, right?”
“Get off.” She shoved and he had to flail his arms to keep himself from toppling over the coffee table. “Don’t ever touch me again!”
A furious expression darkened his eyes before desperation swam in them. He grabbed at her again. “Our marriage can’t fail,” he said. “You said you’d try.”
She moved away. His stupid college ring caught in the crepe folds of her dress’s neckline. The fabric tore as she pushed and pulled his fingers away. He tried to kiss her again and wrapped his arms around her, attempting to unfasten the clasp behind her neck. In her struggle to free herself, it broke.
She slapped him and he staggered back. She held up the top of the dress and ran. Grabbing her purse as she rushed out, she jogged into the sand. Her shoes held her up. She glanced back--no one followed. Sliding off her shoes, she inhaled the cool, heavy night air.
She ran a ways down the beach. Stopping, she rummaged in her purse for a safety pin. She managed to refasten the back of her halter neckline with it. Taking a deep breath, she stared at the bay. The sun glinted low against the darkening sky. A warm, alive scent filled her. Rocco. She fled down the beach, shoes and purse thumping against her thighs.
Breathless, she knocked on his door. He opened it a moment later, glancing behind her before staring at her. She bit her lip and walked into the room. The TV shone color into the dim room, a breeze lifted the curtains next to it. The door clicked shut.
“I thought…” he said.
The ESPN logo flashed onto the screen. She closed her eyes, the red of the image still floated in her vision. He moved near her.
“Chiara, what happened?” His finger found the tear in her dress, near the spot he’d kissed her two weeks ago. “Has he hurt you?” His voice barely concealed his anger, a flame ready to blaze.
She faced him. “No. I’m okay. He’s having a hard time accepting…he tried to…” her eyes darted around the room like a trapped bird.
“Where is he? I’ll kick his sorry ass,” he growled. He stepped toward the door.
Chiara grasped his arm, hot and strong. “No, please. That would make everything worse.” He touched her hair as he came back close to her. He studied her, meeting her gaze. “Let’s sit and we can imagine it,” she said. She laughed. “You can tell me all the ways you’d beat him down.”
“For now,” he said, leading her to the sofa. They sat and she snuggled into him. Much better already. “First, a few--”
“I changed my mind. Let’s not waste any more time on Phil. I’ve done that enough.” She placed a hand on his broad chest.
“Agreed.” He kissed the top of her head and she smiled. Breathing him in, she sighed. “Wanna talk about it?” he said in a low voice.
“Not really. Hold me?” she whispered as she glanced up at him.
He cupped her chin. His eyes wouldn’t let her go. “As long as you want.”
She wanted to melt into him, let his heat mellow all the knots and worries bunched in her. He said he would do anything for her. “Will you lay with me?”
He began to lean back on the small sofa but she stood and took his hand. She glanced at the bed. He grinned. “If you insist,” he said. He rose and followed her.
She stopped and removed the safety pin, letting her dress fall open. Easing off his tee shirt for him, she let her hands move slowly over his solid form, let the tickling of his little hairs lighten her. They stared at each other, he shirtless. She unzipped her dress and let it drop to the floor.
“You just want me to hold you?” he said in a hesitant tone.
“For now. Can you?” She realized she asked a lot. They were practically naked. He glanced at her low cut strapless bustier.
He exhaled. “If I keep my eyes on the ceiling, maybe,” he said with a hint of playfulness.
He lay down. She crawled next to him and melded herself into his side. As a chill air circled, she pressed closer, but that didn’t help her booty, exposed by her thong panty. She should have gotten under the blanket. This wasn’t working like she’d thought. Moving a hand over his chest, she smoldered. Ribbons of heat unfurled in her when Rocco smoothed his hand down her back. A couple more inches and he’d find her bareness. But his hands stilled on the small of her back.
“Let me take care of you.” His voice sounded from deep in his chest, full of comfort and enticement.
“Yes,” she said. Her body tremored in anticipation. Sex hadn’t been her intention, but his nearness made it necessary. When he stayed still, she glanced up at him. His eyes were closed, dark lashes feathered across his olive skin. She stared at him, trying to memorize each curve and angle of his beautiful face. He wasn’t beautiful in any feminine or pretty boy way, but his manly, worn features and gratified expression somehow made him extraordinary to her.
The tingly heat she felt wasn’t just excitement anymore. She’d drunk too much water at dinner. Hopping up, she jogged into the bathroom and shut the door. The light shone bright and harsh. Her cheeks mottled red, every imperfection visible. When she finished, she stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall behind the sink. Unfastening her bustier, she placed it on the counter. Her breasts dropped a couple inches. What was she doing? Still, she had a tan from the two weeks in the sun and she was nicely curvy. She slid off her thong and went on tiptoe. It would be darker in the bedroom. Flipping off the light made the bathroom black. She shut her eyes, picturing Rocco. Her body, the body he’d touched, told her what to do.
She opened the door and walked toward the bed. Rocco sat up in a flash, his expression hovered between a grin and pure seduction. She shifted slightly and eased her hands along her hips. He stared. No man had looked at her like he did, a crazy combination of dirty pleasure and tender affection.
Running her fingers through her hair, she tried to move her feet, but they seemed stuck on the low carpet. Rocco rose and twined his hand in the hair her fingertips had just touched. Placing her hands on his chest, she edged closer to him. Their eyes met. Her smile reflected his. His hands, slow and steady, stroked her hair, her face, her hips, her belly, and her breasts. If he didn’t take her now, she would either scream or fall to her knees in agony from the teasing of his fiery touch.
“Stop,” she groaned. His hands dropped. She shivered and grabbed his hands. Gazing at him, she smiled. “Stop teasing.”
He chuckled. “Most women like a lot of foreplay.”
“Who am I?” she said, placing his hands on her breasts. Every moment with him was foreplay.
“My dirty girl,” he whispered, deep and hot. His kiss equaled his tone as his fingers rubbed her nipples, rough and fast. Waves rippled and crested in her.
“Ohh,” she moaned. Quickly, she undid and pushed down his shorts and briefs. They whooshed to the carpet. He grabbed his wallet off the nightstand and found what they needed. Between her palms, she kneaded his hardening, glorious cock before she rolled protection over it. His kisses became frantic and she matched each nip, lick, and suck. “Fuck,” she whispered, unable to form a sentence.
“Dessert first,” he said as he lifted her to the edge of the bed and laid her back.
Her heart beat si
multaneously in her chest and her moist pussy. Kneeling in front of her, he caressed her thighs until she arched and clenched the sheets. He parted her and nibbled and sucked her swelling lips. She felt like crème brulee, flaming and crackling on top with creamy delight underneath. The low sounds of his pleasure in her confirmed her feelings. His tongue found her clit and worked it until she came for him, waves crashing and pulling her into their warm encompassing depths.
Panting, she tried to find her breath and voice again. He stood and smiled at her. Pulling her up to the pillows, he straddled her and ran his hands through her disheveled hair. He licked his lips and she laughed. “Good?” she said. Most of the guys she’d been with wouldn’t even do what he had--they didn’t like it. But she did.
Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book) Page 14
