by Robin Kaye
Who would have thought the sound of ripping fabric would be such a turn-on? Her toes curled, her breathing rasped, and her heart pounded so hard, it was as if she’d overdosed on adrenaline. She wondered if her heart would burst.
“Nick, please. . .”
His fingers ran around her navel in concentric circles that got larger with every pass. Her hips had a mind of their own, rising to meet his hand. Her legs spread, and her heels dug into the mattress. She’d never felt so needy. When he put his mouth on her, she jerked in his grasp. Her hands held his hair, bringing him closer. His tongue, his mouth, his teeth, the rasp of his beard against her thighs, and the vibration of his groan sent her flying. When his fingers joined his mouth, she soared, screamed, and pulled the sheets from the bed, all the while fighting for breath as his mouth and fingers continued drawing it out, taking her higher and higher, until she imploded.
Rosalie was vaguely aware of Nick holding her close, kissing her, and murmuring something as her mind reconfigured after the devastating orgasm. He was smiling down at her and brushing the hair from her forehead.
She wrapped leaden arms around his neck and kissed him.
Gone was the rage, replaced by quiet tenderness, soft slow strokes of his hands, and the feel of his full-body kiss. She explored the muscles of his back, his arms, his sides, and his hips.
Her hips rose, and his erection slid into her. Hard, big, smooth.
“Lee, stop.” Nick groaned and rolled off her. His chest heaved like a bellows.
“What? What’s the matter?”
“Condoms.”
“Damn, I forgot.”
“Yeah, for a second, I did, too.” He reached across the bed, pulled open the bedside table drawer, and tossed some on the bed beside her. She sat, ripped one open with her teeth, and reached for him, but he grabbed her hands.
“No funny stuff. I’m not sure how much more I can take.”
“I’ll be good. I swear.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
She kissed him as she rolled the condom down. The kiss spun out as he pressed her down and covered her with his body.
Nick rose over Rosalie. She saw emotion swirl in his storm cloud-colored eyes, and for an instant, she knew with absolute certainty they were in the same place. They were suspended somewhere between like and love. A place she’d never been before. A place she didn’t want to be. She told herself it was only a dream. But as he settled between her legs, grabbed her hips, and slid into her, slow and long, she knew that was a lie. No dream could ever feel that real, that good, or that scary.
Nothing she’d ever experienced had prepared her for Nick. His eyes locked on hers. He thrust up and back, moving at a slow, easy pace, maddeningly controlled. His pupils darkened, and his breathing turned into gasps, his muscles bunched, and his jaw clenched.
Rosalie wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her back, and his control snapped. He plunged and bucked, and she met him thrust for thrust. Her orgasm built. She didn’t want this to end. He moved to the side, changing the angle, and kissed her as she came apart, swallowing her cries.
Nick never slowed his pace as her whole body spasmed. He rode out her climax and brought her up again. He moved so perceptively, he seemed to know her body better than she did.
His face shined with sweat, his back was slick, and his muscles quivered. Watching him drew her closer to the edge. As a shower of mini-explosions shot through her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him, sucking his tongue into her mouth as he sunk his body into hers. He came with a roar. He stiffened, shuddered and then exploded. He collapsed, his face pressed against her neck, but his body still tensed and thrust twice more before he relaxed.
He was heavy, but a good heavy. She kissed his neck and felt him twitch inside her. He slid off, rolled over, and threw his arm across his eyes. Rosalie snuggled against him and rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
Nick had finally made love to Rosalie. He’d thought about it so many times, had planned how he’d take it slow, savor it, and not get her too worked up. He knew she wasn’t one hundred percent better, and there’d be plenty of time later for extreme sex. He’d wanted this first time to last for hours. What a joke. He’d been lucky if it had lasted ten minutes, and that estimate was generous. He hadn’t felt like this . . . well, ever. He was legendary for his control, but that control disappeared whenever Rosalie was within touching distance. One look from Rosalie, and he was fighting to restrain himself. Even trying to distract himself by naming the players from the Islanders last Stanley Cup win in ’83 was a bust. All he could recall was Ronald Melanson, the goalie.
Making love to Rosalie had nearly done him in. Nothing had ever felt more right, and at the same time, more wrong. Until that moment, he’d never considered keeping things from her a lie. He knew now he’d blown it. Like a line of dominoes, each one pushing the next over, the consequences of his actions tumbled before him, and he was helpless to stop them. He should have come clean about who he was, and what he was, and what he wanted. A woman had a right to know her lover’s name, rap sheet, and occupation. But he was already inside her, and God help him, somehow, she had gotten inside him. It was too late to say, “Lee, sweetheart, I have something to tell you. . .”
Chapter 11
NICK LAY WITH HIS ARM COVERING HIS EYES, AND ROSALIE snuggled against his side. He’d just had the most amazing sex of his life, and all he felt was guilt.
He’d wanted to hide his eyes from the depth of her stare, afraid of what she might see—their connection and his guilty conscience. If she’d continued, he’d have spilled his guts and told her how much he’d missed her, how he hadn’t been able to sleep without her, who he was, and how he’d been trying for the last five years to take over the company she was working to save, the job her promotion depended upon.
Good thing he hadn’t said anything. If he had, it would have been a monumental mistake—one that would either have given her the wrong idea or sent her running from the room. He thought the latter was more likely. And it was against the rules she’d set, and he’d agreed to. He had no right to change them. Even if he’d been straight with her, even if he’d never told her any lies, he still couldn’t have told her he liked sleeping with her and that he missed her when she was away.
“Nick? Are you asleep?”
“No. Sorry, I zoned out.” He pulled her closer and kissed what he thought was her forehead, though it was hard to tell with her hair falling over her face.
“Is something wrong?”
Christ, could he be a bigger schmuck? He’d had amazing sex with her and afterward all he could do was lay there and stew. Way to go, Romeo.
He pasted on what he hoped was a convincing smile, rolled over on top of her and, without meeting her eyes, gave her a kiss that she returned with enthusiasm and heat. Oh, man, the woman could get him hard with one kiss.
“Yeah, something is definitely wrong. I have to go to work, and I’d much rather spend the day making love to you.”
“Mmmm, that would be nice, since I’m supposed to be traveling today and not expected at the office until tomorrow.”
“Oh, really? Well, let me see what I can do about getting out early. You go back to sleep and take advantage of your day off.”
“Okay. I guess I am a little tired.” She yawned and snuggled down into the soft feather pillows.
Nick got out of bed and told himself he had it good. A beautiful woman wanted his body on a temporary basis, just as he wanted hers. They liked each other, and they had a lot of laughs. He should enjoy being together until it stopped being fun, her brother visited and outed him, or she found out who he was, whichever came first. He’d been upfront with her—well, about everything except who he was and what he wanted, namely Premier Motors. And really, was keeping something from someone a lie? He heard Father Francis’ voice in his head telling him that a lie of omission was every bit as serious as any oth
er lie.
He got into a hot shower and wished Father Francis would keep his words of wisdom to himself. He’d been wishing the same thing since he was a kid, and it hadn’t worked yet. Father Francis was overperceptive and always had reason to say, “I told you so.”
Nick took care of the three Ss, dressed quietly, fed Dave, and fixed Rosalie coffee. It was the least he could do for skipping what should come after great sex—the cuddling, the recap, and the stuff women want to hear. He set the coffeemaker to brew in a few hours, pulled out a bag of bagels, and set it out for her, hoping she’d take the hint and eat.
“Aw, the hell with it.” He wrote a few things down, called for Dave, and they left for work.
Coffee. There was nothing like the smell of coffee brewing to put a smile on Rosalie’s face first thing in the morning. Well, except for sex. Exceptional sex.
She found her sleep shirt thrown over the treadmill with the remnants of her favorite boy shorts. She stretched, feeling pleasantly achy and more relaxed than she could ever remember. It sure beat the disappointment that had always followed a first time before—not that there had been many, but she was beginning to see a definite pattern evolving.
Making love to Nick was different. It required no learning—it came naturally. Even kissing was seamless. There were no bumping noses, no clinking teeth, and no cold fish lips. It was a choreographed dance of mouths and bodies, the likes of which she’d never experienced before. It made a girl wonder what else she’d been missing all these years.
In the bathroom, Rosalie was surprised to see guy stuff on the counter. At least, Nick was neat. There was no gross shaving cream mixed with hair in a ring around her sink and no toothpaste spit on the faucet. He didn’t have much. His razor, deodorant, shaving cream, and aftershave were on the other side of the double sink from the tumble of baskets filled with her assorted accoutrements.
She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed his things before. Maybe this was the first time she’d felt well enough to concentrate on anything more than breathing and moving at the same time. Plus, Nick was unobtrusive. In the bathroom at least . . . come to think of it, unobtrusive is not a word she’d use to describe Nick. His things were unobtrusive, but Nick? No way.
Rosalie took a sniff of his aftershave. Without Nick, the scent wasn’t the same. Not that it was bad, but being on Nick made it so much better. His toothbrush hung next to hers. His tube of toothpaste, squeezed from the bottom, stood beside hers in the water glass.
She braced herself for the panic, but it didn’t come. At least all his stuff wasn’t there. She puttered around the bathroom for a while, put on one of those green-goop masks she never took the time to use, and while that set, went in search of coffee.
The scene that greeted her in the kitchen made her laugh. The mask was drying and felt tight; when she laughed, it cracked. She probably looked like The Bride of Frankenstein. A sticky note attached to a bag of bagels said “EAT,” another note on the coffeemaker said “DRINK,” and one attached to the phone said “CALL ME.” The phone rang.
“I thought I was supposed to call you.”
“Most children do call their mother, but no, not you. I have to find out that you have pneumonia from a cafone as he throws me out of my own daughter’s apartment. He’s an animal!”
Note to self: Always check caller ID before answering the phone. “Good morning, Ma. I’m fine. And how are you?”
“Who does he think he is, and what’s all this about you having pneumonia? How dare you not tell me? I thought it was a cold. Then I called and called, and you didn’t answer your phone. I kept getting the message machine that always hangs up on me before I finish. I had to call your office and hear that you were out of town from your girl.”
“Ma, Gina is my assistant, not ‘my girl.’ I left town unexpectedly, and only got back late last night. I still haven’t had my coffee. Is there something you need?”
“Rosalie, what are you doing with your life? You had a good man who wanted to take care of you, to marry you, to make babies with you. And what do you do? You break his heart and take up with a good-for-nothing cafone. Do you want I should die of a heart attack before I ever hold a grandchild?”
“Ma, isn’t it a little early to start planning your heart attack? You’re barely middle-aged.”
“Your sainted grandmother, she died at sixty-two.”
“Yeah, but she got hit by a bus. That doesn’t count.”
“Her vision went with age. She never saw it coming. God rest her soul.”
“So make an eye doctor appointment. Think of it as preventive medicine. Besides, Annabelle is getting married. You’ll have grandbabies before you know it.” Then maybe you’ll stop bothering me. “Why don’t you call Richie and ask him when he’s going to start producing the next generation of Ronaldis?”
“Men can have babies anytime. Look at Charlie Chaplin. Women, the eggs get stale and then they don’t work so good.”
Rosalie couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. But then, most conversations she had with her mother left her asking one question: Why?
“Ma, why don’t you and Papa take a vacation? You can go down to Florida and visit with Aunt Anna, go on a cruise or something. Get out of the cold.”
“What? So you can run your life into the ground? No, I stay where I’m needed.”
“Driving me crazy is not a necessity. It’s an option.”
“Besides, your father, he’s working late a lot. He’s got a big project, and well, he’s busy.”
“What do you mean, he’s busy? He does home remodels. No one works late on a home remodel. Owners don’t want to listen to hammering while they’re eating, not to mention when their children are sleeping. Are you sure you heard him right?” By now, the mask was flaking off her face, and pieces were floating around her like green snowflakes. Her skin felt so tight, it hurt.
“Look, Ma, I’ve got to go.”
“Okay, Rosalie. I’ll see you on Sunday. Are you going to bring the cafone?”
“His name is Nick, and he’s not a cafone. But no, I’m not bringing him.”
She didn’t argue, which was unlike her, and she let out a plaintive sigh.
“Watch yourself with this Nick character. He’s a good-looking man, but he’s got the devil in those eyes.”
Her mother would be singing a different tune if she knew who the cafone with the devil in his eyes actually was. “Ma, we’re only dating. It’s nothing serious. I’ll see you Sunday.”
Rosalie went to chisel the mask off her face, hoping there would still be skin left when she finished, and couldn’t help thinking about Nick. At first, Nick keeping his identity under wraps had seemed okay. She understood that he was protecting himself by not telling her who he was. He didn’t know her then, but it wasn’t as if he didn’t know her now, after everything they’d been through. You can’t spend twenty-four hours a day together for an entire week and not know each other. Rosalie was sleeping and having the most intense, incredible sex with a man who didn’t trust her enough to tell her his real name.
Nick had meetings, signed contracts, and worked with his accounting department, the sales manager, the service manager, the parts manager, and the auto body manager. He felt as if he was hyperaware, hypersensitive, and moving at hypersonic speed.
Lois kept shooting him strange looks, but she hadn’t said anything. What was there to say? She couldn’t complain that he was too productive, when she’d been giving him a hard time about not working enough. He didn’t know how he could have been expected to work while Rosalie was sick. He hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Now that she was back in town and healthy, who could blame him for trying to finish up early? All he could think of was going home and making love to her again.
Dave groaned and rolled over with all fours in the air. Nick had learned that was a sure sign Dave wanted a belly rub. He slipped off his loafer and rubbed Dave’s stomach with his foot while he finished making notes about the
year-end reports. As the numbers stood, this had been his best year and that was saying a lot. Previous year earnings had been up almost ten percent over the year before.
His phone vibrated. He checked the caller ID and recognized Rosalie’s number. It was after eleven. At least she’d slept in.
“Hey, you’re up.”
“I am. Thanks for breakfast.”
“You’re welcome.” He had to bite his tongue to keep from asking how she was feeling.
“My dog is missing. Do you happen to know where he is?”
“I brought him to work. He likes it here, and I didn’t want you to have to get up and take him out.”
“Are you going to bring him back, or is he to become a permanent resident of Romeo’s, like my car?”
“Think of the hassle parking is when you don’t have a driveway. The savings in tickets alone—”
“Fine, I give up. As long as it’s safe, and I can get to it.”
“It’s safe, and I can guarantee you access twenty-four/seven.”
“And Dave?”
“What can I say? He likes coming to work. I like having him around, and Ty likes walking him. He’s getting good exercise, and he loves Ty.”
“Fine, but you’ll bring him home later, right?”
“Of course. Besides, I have unfinished business with you. I’m going to be here another few hours, but I should be back by four. Are you up to taking a run to Chinatown? We can walk around and grab dinner. I promise to have you home and in bed early.”
“You do, huh? Well, okay. I haven’t been to Chinatown in eons. Maybe we can stop in Little Italy for dessert.”
“Sounds good. We’ll see you in a few hours.”
Nick ended the call with a smile on his face and tackled the rest of the pile that filled his in-box.
“Lee? We’re home.”
“Hi, big boy! Come to Mama.”
Nick let Dave off the leash, and the dog ran to Rosalie. If only she greeted him the same way. Nick waited for Dave to get his fill of kisses and “Did you miss me’s?”