Chapter Twenty-Three
Chiara stretched out, the cool cotton sheets luxurious against her warm skin. She smiled as she opened her eyes. That starry blue ceiling had not been an ecstasy-induced hallucination. Lying in Rocco’s bed, taking it in, she basked in her own contentment. The energetic aroma of coffee zinged into the room.
“Morning, beautiful,” Rocco said. She knew he hadn’t been far. Carrying a tray filled with yummy smells, the steam still rising from the food, he walked to the bed.
“What’s this?” she said, eyeing the tray. Another dream coming true. This kind of thing didn’t happen to Chiara.
His lopsided grin made her giggle. “Breakfast in bed. Are you uninitiated?”
“A BiB virgin,” she said as she sat up, cross-legged, and pulled the sheet around herself. His smile widened. He had the sexiest, kindest, most endearing grin on the planet. “Is this part of your usual services?”
“Only for the dirty girl special,” he said as he set the tray in front of her. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Italian roast?” He nodded. “Strong with a little cream and sugar.”
He fixed her a mug and handed it to her. She cradled it in her hands. The heat of it was almost unnoticeable compared to her own. Sipping it, she sighed in pleasure. He didn’t disappoint. His prowess extended into the kitchen. She looked him up and down as he stood in his boxers. Tingles tickled all over. He was fine, from his strong weathered face, his workman’s muscles, broad chest, to his slightly crooked toes.
“Join me?” she said. “You made enough,” she added, surveying the heaped scrambled eggs, stacked toast and bowl of cantaloupe. “Besides, I’m not very hungry. The snack I had earlier was very satisfying.” Filling her mouth with his heat, tasting him--satisfying didn’t do justice to that experience.
“Like Italian sausage?”
“Buffone brand is the best.”
Waggling his full eyebrows, he chuckled. A bubble of happiness formed every time she made him laugh or smile. He sat next to her and picked up the other mug of coffee. Taking a bite of eggs, she chewed slowly. Not runny, but not overcooked, and the toast was golden brown, everything just as she liked it. Scooping another bite of eggs, she offered it to Rocco, who slid it off the fork with a little jostle of his tongue. A brief compression of pleasure surprised her. They lounged in bed, feeding each other, soon leaving the napkins unused as they opted to lick stray crumbs and shines of melon juice from lips and chins. At a pause, Rocco rose and moved the tray to the floor. He opened his nightstand drawer, knowing what she had in mind.
She had the idea, but he brought more to the experience than she could ever anticipate. Pressed together, completing each other, caressing, kissing, and rocking in one smooth motion, Chiara lost herself again in him. No, she didn’t lose anything, she found herself, the part she believed was gone, or so altered she thought she would never recognize it again. But Rocco saw, called to her true self. Their eyes met. His look, so tender and intense, frightened her as it had their first time together, yet in the midst of the stomach clenching fear, certainty welled up.
“I, I…” she began, on the edge of a doubly sweet release. She moaned, allowing the physical loosening. The other she gripped back, as if it was an errant child teetering on a cliff top. I love you, her voice screamed into the canyon which separated her from him. She let herself kiss him, let the voice speak from her lips to his, but she couldn’t say the words. In that moment, she felt him come, and she wanted to believe it was because he loved her too.
“Chiara,” he murmured so close to her lips each letter caressed her. She breathed him in, his body slick on hers, but the dark canyon separated them. If he leapt into it, she would follow, but she couldn’t be the first to go, the one to say the words that would change everything.
As he held her, she tried to convince herself she couldn’t love him. But the giddy happiness, the longing to see him, the need to study every inch of him, believing he was the best man in the world, made her know she was in love with Rocco Buffone.
Rocco, who had screwed he only knew how many women, including her sister-in-law. Didn’t say much for his taste. Rocco, who lied to women, used them, and discarded them like last month’s Sports Illustrated. And she would end up in the recycle bin with the rest, hoping someone else would come along and pluck them out of the pile, wishing someone else would make them feel as special and plain good as he had. She wouldn’t let it happen. She would pitch him in the pail first.
Rising, she walked into the bathroom. He whistled at her. Glancing back, she smiled. Surely she could riffle through his pages a few more times before she had to give him up. He was like Playgirl when she should be reading Parents. A naughty, secret indulgence. As long as they kept their activities a secret, maybe she could work around the feelings and just enjoy him. But their secret was already blown. He had messed it up first at her parents’ and again last night by saying that stuff to Isabella. She sighed as she walked back into the bedroom.
“You don’t need to leave, you know,” he said. The serious intent in his tone coupled with his masculine form stretched on the bed made her momentarily forget everything. She crawled back in beside him and laid her head on his chest. He hugged her close. Right here, in his arms, he made it all okay. Her lack of a job, of supportive family and friends, the failure of her marriage and as a mom, faded into a back room, easily ignored in the bright coziness of dwelling in him. She enjoyed the closeness for a long time, until she noticed the clock on his nightstand as she began to take in his room, rather than just him.
“I have to go,” she said. She made no effort to move. “I’m having lunch with the boys and I should get back to Isabella’s to shower and change.”
“Shower here,” he said. “I’ll wash your back.”
Enough time with him and he would fulfill every fantasy, make all her dreams come true. That in itself was a fairy tale, not to be believed in.
“I can’t show up in the same clothes,” she said. Reaching down, she found her panties and bra. “Can you help with my car?” She edged out of bed as she dressed.
“Yeah, I have a full gas can. Will you be at your sister’s this afternoon?”
“Should be, why?” she asked as she zipped her jeans.
“Planning my day,” he said with a wink. There was no way she could keep away from him unless she just stayed away altogether. She took the tray into the kitchen before he even got out of bed. By the time he entered, she’d done the dishes and wiped the counters.
“Thanks,” he said. As he circled his arms around her waist from behind, she closed her eyes. His fingertips brushed her neck when he held her hair back and kissed her throat. She began to float into the heat and forgetfulness.
She stepped forward, breaking his hold. “Gotta go.”
He followed her out into the sunny street. She waited while he went into his garage. They walked side by side over to High and up a few blocks in silence. Chiara watched while he poured in the gas then bent to check her tires for her. His ass was so well defined in those jeans, she had to grab it, just once. When she squeezed, a thrill raced through her, which sped up as he faced her and drew her in for a fast, deep kiss. He stopped and smiled. Pulling him down, she kissed him with as much excitement and energy as if they hadn’t just spent the night together, but hadn’t seen each other for weeks. The swishing of their clothes and sounds of their enjoyment blotted out all other noise.
Until a familiar voice shrieked. Chiara broke away and looked. Danny and Max stood close to Phil on the sidewalk. Fury and disgust blotched Phil’s face. The boys were white with horror and confusion. Rocco stayed close behind her but she moved forward and knelt in front of the boys, her throat constricting.
“Mommies and Daddies only kiss like that,” Danny said, accusatory. “You said so.”
“But Daddy and I--”
“He’s a bad man. He hit Daddy! You like him better than us,” Danny said, quiet now. Not as quiet as Max,
who was eerily still and silent.
“No,” Chiara said. “I love you, you’re my boys.”
“I don’t want a new Daddy,” Danny said. “Especially not him.” He shot Rocco a hateful look.
Chiara’s body went up in flames before freezing over. “You don’t ever have to see him again,” she said.
“Chiara,” Rocco said. Disbelief laced his tone.
She stood and faced him. “I’ll call you if I need you.” She wanted him to go away but she still wanted him. They would have to be more careful.
His mouth twisted in a scowl. “My services are in high demand. Don’t count on my availability.”
“Fine. There are plenty of other contractors in the area.”
“Suit yourself.” His voice was as rigid as his body. He grabbed his gas can and walked down the sidewalk.
A small hand clasped Chiara’s. “I missed you, Mommy,” Max said. Chaira lifted him into her arms and hugged him tight.
“I missed you too,” she said. Her stomach exposed her lie to her. She had barely given the boys a thought last night, once she was with Rocco.
She glanced at Phil, whose face told nothing. He had gone into his neutral reasonable stance. They began to walk, the same path Rocco had taken. Holding hands with Danny, still with Max in her arm, Chiara went home. As she walked in the front door, the truth slapped her. This wasn’t home anymore. Her real home was with Rocco. She was homeless.
Phil surprised her by making lunch. She sat with Danny and Max on the sofa and read Frog and Toad Together. As they sat around the table eating their tuna sandwiches, Phil’s niceness put Chiara on edge.
“I hoped you could stay with the boys this week,” he finally said after asking about Isabella and how she was settling in there.
“I always want to stay with them,” she said.
“Mary Jennings can’t go to the convention with Suzy, so I thought I could, if you don’t mind.” There was a touch of sarcasm in his tone, but Chiara wasn’t about to antagonize him by sparring with him.
“Not at all.” Chiara had no idea what he was talking about, but she didn’t care if it meant more time with the boys. “When is it?”
“We’d like to leave Wednesday night. I’ll be back Sunday. I’ll leave you all the contact information. It’s in San Diego, so I’ll stay with Mom and Dad since Suzy and Mary were going to share a room.”
“Can’t I go,” Danny asked.
“No, you can’t miss school,” Phil said.
“We’ll do something special,” Chiara said. “The zoo, or Children’s Fairyland…”
“A Giants game,” Max said.
“No way,” Danny countered.
“We can decide later.” Chiara smiled. Maybe she could like Suzy after all if she and Phil got something going. That would probably make him less cranky and maybe make him more willing to compromise. Or he and Suzy would try and sue for sole custody.
“Boys, we need to get ready,” Phil said, standing.
“We’re going swimming at Suzy’s,” Danny said.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Chiara whispered to Phil. After what had happened with Max, Chiara was wary.
“Boys, please take your plates to the sink,” Phil said. Once they were out of earshot, Phil responded. “Suzy and I will be in the pool with them. I know these next few days will be difficult, but I think we should let the boys adjust, like we agreed.”
Chiara nodded. Phil had convinced her they should see how the boys would do for a few days alone with him, in case they decided on a split week custody arrangement.
“I’ll call later.”
Phil nodded and saw Chiara out after she kissed and hugged the boys goodbye. Four days without them. It would be the longest time they’d ever spent apart.
She drove over to Isabella’s. Really, she should do something for her sister, whose lifestyle would be severely cramped with Chiara and sometimes the boys’ presence. Her palms moistened when she noticed Rocco’s truck parked out front. Her forehead tightened too when she spotted Bobbie’s Lincoln Navigator in the driveway dwarfing Isabella’s Honda Accord. She considered driving away, but she wanted a shower.
“Hello,” she called as she walked in the front door.
Scuffling sounded from the kitchen, so she moved to the doorway. Bobbie, her hands on the back of Rocco’s head, kissed him. Bile rose from Chiara’s stomach and she blinked, black briefly saturated her vision. Rocco pushed Bobbie away and she stumbled, bumping into the chair by the small table. Chiara ran, not waiting to see the expressions on their faces confirmed. Satisfaction had lit Bobbie’s eyes while Rocco’s widened in shame or maybe…Chiara didn’t know.
Her boots clumped onto the sidewalk as she ran, her breathing shallow. Rocco yelled her name as the sound of his work boots chased her. She stopped and faced him. Her panting reminded her of when they made love. Her brow furrowed. Made love--so much for that figment of her imagination.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rocco reached out his hand toward her. She narrowed her eyes. Putting his hands in his pockets, he took a deep breath. The air was heavy. He was ready for the snappy, light fall breezes.
“She kissed me,” he said. It sounded even more piss poor than it had in his mind.
Chiara studied him, disgust curled the corners of her mouth. The urge to kiss her, to blot out Bobbie’s sticky glossed lips, almost overtook him.
“Right,” she said. She strode past him, avoiding him as if he smelled bad.
“She said she wanted to show you what a dog I am, that none of them wants you to be with me. She says Santo’s been a wreck.” Rocco walked beside her, taking long strides to keep up with her pace.
“She said that? I don’t believe you.”
“I asked her why she kissed me. Maybe I know some things about her you don’t. She had to tell me.”
They reached Isabella’s driveway. Chiara glanced at him. He wiped his lips again. He should just wash his face.
“We’ll see,” she said.
A corner of his mouth turned up. We--he liked the sound of it. Too bad he didn’t remember that earlier. He should have stood by her instead of letting her words, and the looks of her sons, get to him. It was just hard for him to remember she was going through a divorce. He felt she was already his. The facts of her situation only made his body tighten.
“Bobbie,” Chiara said in a clipped tone as they walked into Isabella’s. Bobbie sat on the couch, flipping through a magazine.
“Oh, Chiara,” Bobbie said, standing. Her fake full of concern voice made Rocco rub his neck. He was going to need a long hot shower. With Chaira would be best. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but it’s better you know what he’s like. I know Phil might not be the most exciting man, but he’s so respectful.”
Rocco snorted. Not only did Bobbie imply he was disrespectful, but also she didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. Maybe Phil was respectful to most people, but the way he spoke to Chiara, how he must have been treating her, made Rocco bubble with rage.
“My marriage, my life, is my concern, not yours, not Santo’s, not anyone’s,” Chiara said.
“We’re family. We love the boys. You can’t want him to be around your children,” Bobbie said with an up and down look at Rocco. He laughed.
Chiara didn’t. She stared at Bobbie. “Whatever Rocco may have done, he’s a good man, a good father. I’d sooner trust him with Danny and Max than you,” she said.
“No one in the family will accept him, not that you’ll get that far,” Bobbie said as she slung her purse onto her shoulder. “He’ll dump you like he has every other woman. Maybe Santo can talk some sense into you. I’m done trying.”
“Tell him not to bother,” Chiara said, her hands on her hips. She was a spitfire. Damn, what a turn-on.
Bobbie huffed out and slammed the door.
Rocco sidled behind Chiara and encircled her waist. Instead of leaning into him as he expected, she tensed.
“I need a
shower,” she said.
“Let me help you with that,” he said.
“No,” she whispered.
He dropped his hands. Isabella blew in, a tray of coffees in hand. “Where’d Bobbie go?” she said. “Hey, So.”
He and Chiara faced Isabella, who set the coffees on the low table. “Did you figure it out?” Isabella asked Rocco.
“Not quite,” he said. “Too many interruptions. Bobbie went home.”
“Good. Who wants coffee?” Isabella asked. “The coffee pot broke, can you believe it? Want to go with me to Target later?” she asked Chiara, who stood with her arms crossed.
“Sure,” Chiara said in a quiet voice.
Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book) Page 20
