One minute he was kissing her, the next he gripped her wrists, pulled her hands away from his neck and stepped back.
Carly blinked. What the—
Joe just stood there, breathing hard, his eyes closed. Without a word, he turned away, scooped the mushrooms into the pot. Dusting his hands, he took a cooking spoon and began to mix them in. “The sauce has to be stirred constantly.”
Carly had to regroup. What had just happened here? He didn’t want...? Then why had he come over? For the sparkling conversation? She didn’t know what to make of him. Was he trying to be Mr. Sensitive? Or did he think she required some form of intimacy before they’d have sex? Uh, that ship had sailed. Literally. Maybe he was just trying to build up anticipation.
Whatever his reason, she wanted him in her bed.
He cleared his throat. “So, I looked at your blog. It’s a pretty cool concept. How’d you get into that?”
Really? Was he serious? It appeared he wanted to...talk.
11
“HOW’D I GET into fashion? Or how’d I get into blogging?”
Joe shrugged. “Either one. Both.” He stared into the saucepan, gripping the spoon like an erupting water hose when what he really wanted to do was take Carly in his arms, kiss her until she couldn’t think and carry her to her bed.
But as much as he’d enjoyed their time on the cruise, he’d ended up feeling like her boy toy. A shipboard distraction she could discard and forget. He wasn’t going to settle for simply being a convenient booty call. Even if he had called her.
Carly picked up her glass of wine and moved to sit on the stool at the bar. “I’ve always loved fashion.” A corner of her soft pink mouth curled up in a reminiscent smile. “I think my first words were haute couture.” She sipped her wine. “Some of my earliest memories are of my mother dressing to go out. She’d always ask me which dress she should wear. I’d always help her choose her shoes and jewelry. When most girls were playing dress up I was copying famous designers’ outfits for myself. Sitting in some designer’s studio while my mother shopped was better than Christmas and my birthday combined.”
Whoa. Even when he’d eaten, breathed and slept football in high school the sport had never been better than Christmas. Or his birthday. Or sex.
“I think—” she stared into the distance, pensive “—dressing well is like wearing armor.” She blinked, refocused on him and shook her head. “That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”
“No.”
She cocked her head and something flickered in her eyes, and then was gone before he could identify it. “Anyway, I always had good instincts for style. I love manipulating fabrics and designs to enhance a figure and achieve the optimal silhouette.”
He could believe it. She did seem to have an eye for the perfect outfit for each occasion. Take tonight, for instance. The neckline of her silky pink shirt draped between her breasts, and he fought to keep his gaze from drifting to the hint of creamy, rounded flesh. For some reason that was sexier than if she was standing in front of him stark naked.
Whoa. He had to stop his thoughts from wandering to that image of Carly, otherwise he’d be in big trouble. As he stirred the sauce he tried to think of something interesting to say. Her eyes are up there, Tedesco!
He met her gaze.
One of her brows arched skeptically and she placed her folded arms on the bar in front of her and leaned in. “You sure you have to keep stirring that sauce?”
No. No, he wasn’t. “Yeah. It just doesn’t taste the same if you don’t.”
She stared at him with those penetrating, almost- silver blue eyes, and then gave a tiny shrug.
Was he really going to resist her? “So, what about the blog?”
She grimaced. “That’s a long story.”
“I got nothing but time.” With a smile, he transferred his attention from her to the sauce again.
She busied herself with pouring more wine. “After my father...” One delicate shoulder lifted. “One of my part-time jobs was in a department store, and the more I helped women choose their clothing, I began to realize that although fashion magazines might have an article every so often about how to dress to flatter different body types, there was nothing instantly available where a woman could find such information. She was dependent upon the expertise—or lack thereof—of the salesperson.” When Carly paused to sip her wine, he watched her delicate throat as she swallowed and then followed her tongue as it licked her glistening lips.
Okay, that wasn’t helping the problem.
“You said, one of your part-time jobs? How many did you have?” He concentrated on opening the pasta and dropping it in the boiling water.
“Two during college, at first, then I was able to get full-time at the apparel factory at night, and quit one of my part-time jobs.”
Joe whistled under his breath. Just looking at her, one wouldn’t know how tough she really was. “Where’d you graduate?”
“NYU.” She snuck another bite of the asparagus.
“When did you start the blog?”
“I thought only the police were allowed to interrogate suspects.”
“Indulge me. I’m making you dinner.”
“Ah, that’s how it is, is it?” She sighed. “I took a computer class, learned all about web design and voila, Carly’s Couture.”
“So, how does it work? You endorse merchandise from the large department stores and in return they advertise with you?” Joe added the drained meat to the sauce.
“Sometimes. I also might recommend an item from a secondhand shop or a vintage store. It just depends. The important thing is my suggestions are free for the average woman or man, and I’m able to support myself.”
“And how do you know what to recommend?”
“Each woman is unique. Her skin tone, the shape of her face, her coloring. The best feature of the blog is the interactive part where a person can enter their dimensions, click on their face shape, hair color, eye color, etcetera, and then I generate a personalized style just for them. I even take their personality and profession into account in deciding what fashions and accessories suit their unique lifestyle. And I write a daily blog about fresh trends, where to find sales, even hair and makeup tips.”
The more she talked about her blog, the more animated she became. But not in a manic way, like his family got when the dinnertime discussions got overheated or downright crazed, everyone trying to outyell the other. Hers was more of a refined enthusiasm, a graceful passion. Her face flushed. Her eyes sparkled. Her voice lifted. Passion looked good on her.
She leaned back, crossed her legs. “What about you? Did you run around pretending to be a fireman as a kid?” She sipped her wine.
“Me? Nah, I wanted to be a football player.” He rummaged for a colander and set it in the sink. “Great game, ’91 championship. I was eight.”
“The Giants against the Buffalo Bills!” She half stood, her face lighting up.
“Wow, you couldn’t have been more than four or five and you remember that?”
“Well, I know my Giants!”
He nodded, impressed. “I remember watching that game with my dad and my brothers. The Buffalo Bills trying to score that field goal at the last minute. And we all went berserk when the Giants won.”
“Twenty to nineteen, right? And Ottis Anderson rushing 102 yards!”
“That’s right. Simms was out with an injury and Hostetler quarterbacked that game! You do know your Giants.” This was a side of Carly he’d never have suspected. And he liked it.
“I never miss a game. On Sunday, you should come—” the excitement vanished in her expression “—over and watch.”
He stared at her. What? She regretted inviting him all of a sudden? Maybe he should give her an easy out. He could always just say he only watched if the Giants played. Grabbing some oven mitts, he lifted the pot of pasta and dumped it, draining the hot water.
But he wanted to see her again.
And over the past week he’d
found himself unable to let it go. He wanted more than just a pleasant interlude during a fun vacation. The woman intrigued him. She was complicated. And damned if he didn’t like that about her.
If he’d been going to settle down with a nice girl from St. Cecilia’s, he’d had plenty of opportunities. His sisters had fixed him up dozens of times over the years. Even Father Lionel had slipped him a phone number or two. He’d eventually ask the girl out, maybe even try a second date. But there was no interest. No...spark.
So, he wanted to see where this would lead. He already knew the sex was amazing.
“I’d like that.” He nodded, then handed her the rectangular casserole dish. “You want to help me layer the ingredients?”
* * *
WHILE THEY ATE Joe talked about the Giants. He’d played football in high school—a tight end. Of course he’d been a jock. He had that build. Broad shoulders. Long, muscular legs. And a tight end. She smiled to herself. Suppressed a giggle.
Too many glasses of wine, Carly!
Or not enough sex.
She set her glass down and focused on Joe. Was he talking about the other firemen, and their wives and children, or his own family? All the people in his life seemed to intermingle as he talked about getting together at each other’s houses for cookouts and to watch the games.
She blinked as her mind conjured up an image of him in his football uniform, the pants fitting snugly across his butt as he bent over to huddle with his teammates. Mmm...
Concentrate, Carly.
Nieces, nephews, Brooklyn. Did his eyes always twinkle like that? And his voluptuous lips. Voluptuous? She set the wine aside.
Speaking of, the way he sat with his long legs spread wide just begged one’s gaze to admire his, uh, endowments. Well, she couldn’t help if it was a clear glass table, could she?
She looked up into his eyes. What had he been saying? Was he waiting on her to reply?
“I’m sorry, what?”
“So you don’t have any brothers or sisters?”
“No, it’s just me. Thank goodness.” She tried to smile then looked away.
Frowning, he sat back, gave her a calculating look. “With four siblings, I can’t even imagine what that would be like. But it sounds lonely.”
Lonely? Desolate, more like. She’d been naturally quiet anyway, but growing up in the huge house with her parents gone most of the day, she’d spent hours on her computer. She remembered begging her mother for a baby brother or sister. One time she’d even tried to conjure up an imaginary friend. No luck.
But those hours on the PC had paid off eventually.
He glanced around her tiny apartment. “I notice you don’t have any photos of your family. Is your mom still living?”
“We don’t need to talk about my family.” She stood and walked around the table, never dropping her gaze. “We don’t need to talk anymore at all, do we?” Taking his hand, she pulled him to his feet. He stood willingly enough and she rose on tiptoe to cover his mouth with hers.
Mmm, his kiss was tangy and sweet. And skillful. This time he had nothing to slice or chop. No sauce to stir. She’d waited long enough. She needed him naked. Now.
He tried to pull away, but his lips didn’t go far. His eyes held conflict, part smoldering heat and part reluctance.
“Joe.” His name came out as a whispered plea. She curled her fingers under the hem of his sweatshirt and lifted it over his firm chest, tugging it off when he helpfully raised his arms. His mouth came back to hers as soon as she’d removed his shirt, and when it returned he took the kiss deeper, stronger.
Yes.
She walked him backward toward her bedroom, enjoying the hot flesh under her hands. When she ran her palms over his nipples he groaned and pulled her tight against him. Thankfully the bed was close and when he bumped into the frame he stumbled and fell onto the mattress. She followed him down and straddled his thighs, unbuttoning his jeans and dragging kisses down his flat stomach as she carefully unzipped him.
Before he could stop her she had him in her mouth, drawing on his length with strong, determined strokes. “Ah, Carly.” He gasped and muttered something about saints, then lifted his hips to match her rhythm.
She relished his taste as she ran her tongue around and over the tip. She relished his moans and the fingers he smoothed through her hair. And she especially relished when he squeezed her shoulders and brought her up and over him.
“That’s enough of that unless you want this to end right now.” He rolled her beneath him and took charge of undressing her, starting with her blouse, which she helped unbutton and pull off her arms. But he got distracted when he unhooked her bra and tossed it somewhere behind him.
The look in his eyes as he stared at her was a mix of admiration and desire. Joe smiled and kissed his way across both breasts, and then suckled one deeply before moving to the other.
His body radiated heat. For the first time since she’d returned to New York she felt warm again. Her life was cold, empty. But all he’d had to do was step into her apartment and everything seemed different, brighter.
Not wanting to give that any thought, she called out for more as he lapped at each sensitive peak. She couldn’t wait much longer. Patience had never been a virtue of hers. She wanted him inside her. “Joe.”
“Hmm?” He moved his mouth down to her stomach, trailing kisses as he went. She quickly got rid of her jeans and thong, anxious for him to resume where he’d left off.
“There’re condoms in the bedside drawer.”
“Okay.” But he didn’t move to get them. He kissed the ticklish spot just below her hip bone and then nuzzled between her thighs. His beard added a delicious friction.
She arched off the mattress and whatever she’d been worrying about was completely forgotten as an aching pleasure wound through every artery and vein.
But she didn’t want to climax this way. “Joe, wait.” She sat up and cupped his face. “Wait.”
He stopped, lifted his gaze to hers, his expression concerned. “What’s wrong?”
I want to feel you inside me when I come. I want your arms around me. I want to see your eyes. I want us to come together. But all she said was, “I want you. Now.”
Her clit still throbbed as he caressed her and then thrust inside her in one beautiful, satisfying stroke. After that the room disappeared.
All she could see were the strands of his black hair that curled so adoringly over his forehead, the warmth in his eyes as he gazed into hers. All she could hear were his murmurs of approval. All she could feel was the way his hands clung to hers, silently promising he wouldn’t leave her alone. In that moment he became her world.
He kissed her breasts, her jaw, her mouth and his pace sped up. The faster strokes did her in. She cried out as she came and he buried his nose into her neck and stiffened and shuddered.
It was a long while before she floated back to reality. Joe was placing tiny kisses along her temple to her forehead. And she was stroking her fingers through the hair at his nape. He didn’t move off her. And she didn’t want him to. If only they could stay like this forever. Where all her troubles seemed so far away, and even if they dared show up, she was safe in Joe’s big strong arms.
“Oh, man.” Joe brought his mouth to hers, his kiss intense, full of purpose. When he lifted his head, how he looked at her. His eyes were serious, with a hint of wonder. “I’ve missed this.”
So had she.
Drawing in a deep breath, he rolled to his back and let out a heavy sigh.
Carly felt as limp as the pasta they’d boiled for tonight’s meal. Lazily, she rolled to curl against Joe’s side, throwing her leg over both of his as she ran her hand down his chest, noting every hard plane and ripple.
It’d been as if they’d never missed a beat since the cruise. She’d told herself the earth-shattering sex was attributable to the newness of her lover. Like wearing a new outfit for the first time, Joe had been exciting and different. But, unlike a new outfit,
sex with him just got better each time they came together.
He rubbed her back while he gazed about her room. “You keep surprising me.”
She smiled. “I aim to please.” She nestled her cheek closer to his left nipple.
With a quick laugh, he gave her a playful swat on her backside. “No, I mean, like, your bedroom, for instance. It’s nice, but simple. It’s not all designer furniture and postmodern whatever.”
Carly glanced around her bedroom, trying to see it through his eyes. It was a mess. “I didn’t have much time to straighten up after you called.”
“No, it’s not that. You don’t know messy until you’ve seen my place. I mean, the whole vibe is different.”
Vibe? True, she hadn’t refurnished this room after her blog started taking off. Buying the new pieces in her living room and kitchen had been a priority. But it hadn’t seemed important to spend money on her bedroom. Now she realized that even though she had the money, she liked these used pieces from her college days. They were comfortable.
She shrugged, not wanting to think about any deeper meaning behind her choice.
“And you don’t seem like the kind of woman who likes to watch football.”
“Just because I love haute couture I can’t love football?”
The hand rubbing her back stilled. “Now, I didn’t say that. But you have to admit that the two don’t exactly go together.”
“I suppose.” She grinned and lifted her head to raise a brow at him. “What can I say, I’m just exceptional.”
She expected him to scoff, or laugh, or accuse her of egotism. But his eyes turned serious. “You are.”
Her smile faded. How did she respond to that?
Luckily, he switched to their original topic. “How’d you get into football?”
“My dad.” Memories snuck into her contented afterglow.
Watching the games with her father had been the only time he’d spent with her. Or rather, she spent with him. He’d always told her she was Daddy’s Little Darling—and hadn’t her mother thrown that accusation at her enough? But the truth was her daddy was rarely home. And even when he was all she usually got was a quick “How was your day?”.
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