Harry laughed as he rolled off her and pulled her into his arms.
"Just in case it's not blatantly obvious," Alessandra said as she snuggled against him, sighing as he ran his fingers up and down the smoothness of her bare back, "I'm in favor of you not waiting another three years."
Back away. Back away. Distant alarm bells started sounding in Harry's head. She was getting too close. She was assuming this was the beginning of an ongoing relationship. And God knows that would only be trouble.
She lifted her head and gave him another of her killer smiles. "In fact, I'm in favor of not even waiting three hours."
Harry kissed her. What was he supposed to do? After she said something like that, something that made his hair stand on end with anticipation? Was he really supposed to not kiss her?
"You know what's funny?" she asked, propping her head up on one elbow to look at him.
He shook his head, losing himself in the calm blue ocean of her eyes.
"Since this mess started, I've resigned myself to never having as good a life as I had before—you know, huge house, three cars, lots of money. I thought I was going to have to work hard to keep myself from making comparisons and always having things come up short." She touched the side of his face. "But all of a sudden, I'm in the best place I've ever been in my entire life."
Her words should have made him leap up and out of that bed and start running for the mountains. Those bells in his head should have been shaking his brains loose with the noise of their alarm. Instead they were nearly drowned out by the sound of his heartbeat, by the roar of the blood rushing through his body. And instead of wanting to run away, he wanted to kiss her again.
So he did.
He was assuredly in big trouble, but trouble had never tasted quite so sweet.
"He doesn't know where his partner is." Kim closed her eyes, trying to keep her voice even, almost matter-of-fact as she stood in the cool night air at the pay phone four blocks from George's apartment. "If you want, I'll stay close to him, but I think—"
"I'm not paying you to think." Michael Trotta's normally smooth voice was tight. "Just stick like glue to Faulkner. Become permanently joined at the hips. Use that vacuum cleaner you've got for a mouth on him, day and night, if you have to. Sooner or later, he's going to find out where O'Dell has Alessandra hidden, and I want you to be on top of him when he does."
With a click, Michael hung up the phone.
Kim was sweating. She'd soaked the underarms of her favorite silk blouse just from talking on the phone with him. She stood for a long moment, the phone still tucked against her ear, regaining her equilibrium.
Who was this woman that Michael was looking for? And why on earth was he so bound and determined to find her?
Kim had seen her photo in a file on George's desk. Alessandra Lamont was one of those beautiful, icy, frigid blondes. She was the type of woman Michael would really enjoy being seen with, never mind that she was someone else's wife. Never mind that she probably gave head with all the enthusiasm of a dead hamster.
Her husband had swiped a million dollars out from under Trotta's nose. Had he done that because he knew his wife was doing the mob boss? Was that what this was about? Jealousy and revenge?
Michael had had the husband killed, Kim had no doubt about that. Had that hit really been about the money, or had Michael simply grabbed an opportunity to have the blonde all for himself?
But now this Alessandra had run off with George's partner, perhaps triggering yet another round of jealousy and revenge.
Kim knew Michael well enough to know that running away was never an option. No one could ever run far enough. No one could hide forever.
Kim finally hung up the phone, fixing her hair as she headed back toward George's apartment. She had to remember to stop at the market and pick up some Haagen-Dazs ice cream. That was the excuse she'd given George for going out in the first place in the middle of the night. It would look very strange if she returned without it.
Her life was a mess, no question about it. She often wished she could be someone else, just magically take on their existence, their life. But today she was very glad she was Kim Monahan and not Alessandra Lamont.
Whoever she had been to Michael, wherever she was hiding, whatever the reason he wanted to find her, Alessandra Lamont was as good as dead.
Chapter Fifteen
"Allie? You still awake?"
Alessandra smiled. It was bizarre. She was starting to really like when Harry called her that. "Yes."
She was lying nestled against him, his hand cupped possessively on her breast, his leg thrown across hers.
"I've been thinking." His voice was rough from the lateness of the hour, and his breath was warm on the back of her neck.
Lord, all he had to do was breathe on her and she wanted him again. She could feel the tip of her breast tightening beneath his hand.
But it wasn't just her. The relentless attraction was mutual. She could feel the weight of his growing arousal against her leg. He shifted slightly, as if to try to hide it, but there was no way she could have missed it.
Harry took his hand from her breast and pulled his leg back onto his own side of the bed, shifting so that he was sitting up and not touching her at all.
She turned toward him, missing his warmth.
"I know this is a little bit after the fact," he told her. He'd turned on the bathroom light earlier and left the door open a crack so that it wasn't pitch-dark in the room. But the way he was sitting, his face was completely in shadow. "And I probably should have said this before we… urn, did what we did…"
"Made love," she said.
"Yeah," he said, shifting slightly. "See, well, that's kind of what we need to talk about because the words that popped into my head were 'fucked our brains out,' and there's a big difference between those two definitions of the same event. Made love implies… certain promises that the other doesn't. I really don't want you to get the wrong idea about what's happening here. I can't make you any promises, Allie. And I'm sorry, I really should have told you that while we still had our clothes on."
He took a deep breath, and she just waited for him to continue. "I feel bad about saying this to you now, you know? But it wasn't an intentional oversight, I swear. I like you, I really like you—far too much to disrespect you that way. I just… I've wanted you for so long, and suddenly there you were, giving yourself to me. I wasn't thinking about what expectations you might have. I wasn't thinking at all."
He didn't love her. Harry was telling her he didn't love her, and Alessandra nearly laughed out loud.
Too many men had said those words to her. I love you. They'd used it to try to lure her into their arms for an hour or a night or even longer. She'd heard it so often, starting back when she was a young teenager, it hadn't taken her long to know it meant nothing. They loved the way she looked. They loved the idea of being seen with someone as beautiful as she had been. Even though they said the words, they didn't love her.
But in her entire life, no man, not even Griffin to whom she'd been married for seven very long years, had ever told her that he liked her.
Until now.
Harry really liked her. It had nothing to do with the way she looked—how could it, the way she looked now? He liked her. He liked Allie, the person she was inside.
Her heart had never felt so full.
And she had never felt so uncertain and afraid. Had she found this potentially wonderful relationship with this impossibly honest, painfully attractive, down-to-earth man, only to have it taken away from her right away?
"I've known from the start that you've got to go back to New York sooner or later, so I guess my only expectations were that we'd end up in bed again during the week or so you stayed in town," she said, choosing her words carefully. She pulled the blanket up so that it covered her breasts, aware that he was looking at her, aware that she was not hidden by the shadows. "But if you don't want that—"
"Whoa," Harry interrupte
d. "That's not what I said. I'll be in your bed every night as long as I'm here, if you'll let me. I just didn't want you to, you know, start choosing the china pattern, because that's not where this is heading."
"Harry, believe me, I don't want to marry you." She didn't want to marry anybody. At least not within the next few years or so. It would be insane to get involved in a permanent relationship at this stage of her life. She didn't even really have an identity yet. She was smack at the start of discovering who she really was, who she was going to be for the rest of her life. She needed to learn about herself before she could be effective as half a couple. Didn't she? And on top of that, she was in hiding.
"I just spent seven years married," she continued. "And as much as I like you, too, I have a feeling our relationship would be a little bit too much like the one I just got out of. As tempting as it is to be taken care of, I don't want to be someone's possession again."
Harry was quiet for a moment. "Well, I'm a little insulted you think being with me would be anything like it was with Griffin. But it's stupid to feel insulted because it's a moot point, right? We're not going to go past this." He gestured to where they were on the bed.
"Maybe we shouldn't make any rules about what we are or aren't going to do," Alessandra said, still carefully. "Maybe we can just play it by ear. I like being with you—you make me laugh, and you're great in bed. And you said you like me, too, so…" She felt a flush of warmth as she said the words aloud. He liked her. "So let's spend the next week… Well, you can call it whatever you want to, I still prefer 'making love.' "
"No promises," Harry said again.
There was a lot she wouldn't promise him. She wouldn't promise that she wouldn't do something very foolish and fall in love with him. She wouldn't promise she wouldn't try to make him fall in love with her, too. Real love. True love. The kind that starts out as liking and grows from respect.
She loved that Harry respected her, nearly as much as she loved the fact that he liked her.
"I'll only make you one promise," she said as she straddled him, the sheet sliding off her. "And that's that I intend to let you sleep very little over the next week or so."
Harry laughed and pulled her up against him. "That's the kind of promise I can live with." Then he kissed her long and hard on the mouth.
"What the hell is this?" Kim stood in the dining-room doorway, holding her fake-fur coat closed, staring at the feast on the table.
"Wow, you got home fast." George smiled, spreading his hands. "I figured since I can't take you out to dinner, I'd get dinner to come to us."
"Dinner?" Kim said. "This is about dinner? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, George!" She stormed down the hall toward the bedroom.
It wasn't the response he'd expected. He'd imagined she'd be surprised in a positive way, pleased that he'd gone to such lengths to make her happy. He slipped his crutches under his arms and followed her.
"It's Italian. From La Venitia. You love La Venitia."
She whirled to face him, and he realized that beneath her coat she was wearing only a red velvet thong and matching heels.
"You scared me to death. I get off stage, and Carol's standing there with a message that you called, that you needed me to get home quick, that it was urgent. Urgent, George! I'm having a heart attack, thinking you fell, thinking your stitches somehow opened up and you were bleeding to death, thinking something awful might've happened. I call you back, and the line's freakin' busy. I don't even bother to change. I just grab my coat and run. I couldn't find a cab—I ran all the way here." She pulled off her coat and threw it onto the bed. Her bare breasts were covered with the body glitter she wore to dance, and they sparkled with each ragged breath she took. She sat down, pulling off her shoes. "Now I'm sweating like a pig and I've got blisters on my heels the size of donuts."
George sat next to her on the bed, laying his crutches on the floor beside him. "Oh, God, babe. I'm so sorry. I had no idea you would be worried. I just wanted you to get home quick, while the food was still hot."
He reached down and took her foot into his hands. She'd only exaggerated a little bit about the blisters. While the skin hadn't broken, her heels looked red and sore.
"Let me get a wet washcloth to put on those," he said.
"And I think I have some ointment in the medicine cabinet."
"I'll get it." Her anger had vanished as soon as he'd touched her, and now she just sounded as if she were going to cry. She started to get up, but he pushed her back.
"No, I'll get it. I'm doing okay with the crutches. Besides, this is my fault. You sit. Let me take care of you for once, okay?"
She nodded silently, wiping away the tears that had flooded her eyes.
George avoided his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he wet a cloth with cool water. This evening was turning out exactly opposite from the way he'd planned. He'd wanted to do something nice for Kim, and instead he'd completely upset her. He'd wanted to sit separated by the dining-room table and talk to her, take their physical relationship as far out of the picture as possible. He wanted to continue to let her know that every single evening didn't have to end with her getting him off.
Instead, he was going to go back in there and sit on the bed, with her wearing only a pair of microscopic thong panties. God, he was already hard. It would take her about point oh-seven seconds to notice that, and then she'd be all over him.
And although she'd insisted otherwise, he still didn't quite believe she really liked any kind of sex at all.
He maneuvered clumsily out of the bathroom. Kim had flopped back on the bed and lay staring at the ceiling, her feet still on the floor. She turned her head to look at him as he came into the bedroom, her mascara smeared slightly underneath her eyes, making her look even more exotic and sexy than usual.
Of course the fact that she was nearly naked helped.
"Did I mention how completely, absolutely, incredibly sorry I am?" he said as he sat next to her. "Scoot back, will you?"
She obediently moved back on the bed, and he took her feet into his lap, gently pressing the cool washcloth against her heels. "How's that?" he asked. "Better?"
She nodded. "I thought… something awful had happened," she said again in a very small voice. She was a performer, but this wasn't any kind of act. The tears came back to her eyes. "George, would you mind holding me?"
Well, now let's see. Would he mind touching all that smooth, sparkling skin? Would he mind pressing the softness of those goddess-quality breasts against his chest? Would he mind lightly kissing her full lips and breathing in the sweet scent of her perfume?
No, George didn't mind at all. He kissed her, unable to keep himself from running his hand down her back, all the way down past the soft curve of her bottom. God, what a body.
He took care always to touch her gently, always lightly. Now that he knew, he never held her tightly in his arms. He always made certain she could pull free if she wanted to.
He let Kim be the one who deepened their kiss.
He just kept caressing her. Running his hand down her back and then across to her front, lightly brushing the soft velvet V of her panties with the very tips of his fingers, sweeping up her soft stomach, barely touching her breast, leaving just a whisper of sensation against her nipple, then up to her neck, her shoulder, and down her back again. And again and again and again.
She sighed, relaxing against him. "That feels so nice."
"Mmmm. I could do this all night, if you want."
He felt her open her eyes, her lashes brushing his neck. "You would… do just this? All night?"
"And love every minute of it." He softly kissed her forehead.
As his fingers brushed her breast again, she made a soft sound of pleasure, pressing herself up toward him so that he actually touched her. But he didn't let himself fill his palm with her, didn't draw her nipple into his mouth, the way he was dying to do. What he wanted had to wait.
"You're in control, babe," he whispered, his hand sweeping
down her back again. "You tell me or show me what you want, and I'll do it, just the way you want. And if you want to stop, we stop."
He let himself linger just a moment longer on the gentle mound beneath her velvet panties before moving up to touch her stomach. She didn't pull away, so he slid his hand back down and touched her again, still lightly, still through her panties.
She made a noise, deep in her throat, that might've been pain or fear, and he quickly withdrew back to her stomach, tracing circles around her belly button. "Did you want me to stop?" he asked. "Is that what you wanted?"
"No." She spoke so softly he almost didn't hear her.
He touched her breasts again, both of them this time, not quite as lightly, but still taking care to be gentle. Her nipples were taut with desire and he wet them with the very tip of his tongue as he slowly trailed his hand down to her panties. He traced the edge of them with one finger. "May I?"
She was trembling, drawing in one ragged breath after another.
"I'm just going to touch you like this." He demonstrated on the outside of her panties, just the same light, barely there caress. "Okay?"
He held his breath, both terrified and elated that she would trust him as much as she already had. He prayed that she wasn't doing this because she thought he wanted her to. He prayed that he could make her see that whatever had happened in her past wasn't about sex and pleasure, but rather violence and power. And that while they might seem similar on the surface, they were two entirely different acts.
George didn't have much he could give her, but he could give her that knowledge, that truth. If she'd only let him.
He kept touching her, and she opened her legs slightly for him. Just a little bit, and then just a little bit more.
"I'm going to take that as a yes," he whispered, slipping her panties down her thighs. She kicked them free—another sign of agreement—and then he touched her. Lightly. Gently. Just the way he'd promised.
Body Guard Page 21