Warm Hearts

by Barbara Delinsky

  I don’t know.

  He shifted, straightening one of those knees, seeming to find comfort elusive. Not once did his gaze leave hers; it penetrated the night and the distance between them, searing straight into her heart. Maybe if we just give in to it and make love, we’ll get it out of our systems.

  Maybe.

  Should we try it?

  Her breath was coming faster. I don’t know.

  You could invite me over there.

  She bit her lip. We’re strangers.

  I could invite myself over there.

  I don’t even know your name.

  Or you could come over here.

  I couldn’t.

  We have to break the ice somehow.

  I know. I know. She whipped her head toward the door in response to a loud knock. I don’t believe it. Someone’s here.

  Maybe it’s Connie.

  She returned her gaze to his. No. She’s gone for the weekend.

  One of your other neighbors?

  Maybe.

  Or Ben. Maybe he’s still at it.

  I hope not. The knock came again, even louder this time. Again she glanced toward the door.

  You’d better get it.

  I know.

  Go on. I’ll be here.

  With a sigh of frustration, Caroline set her drink on the window seat and went to the door.

  * * *

  Brendan couldn’t take his eyes from her. She looked so sweet, so agile as she trotted across the floor. And sexy. Her shorts were short, but her thighs and bottom did them proud. And that T-shirt … If she was wearing a bra, he’d eat his hat. Not that he owned a hat, but the bet stood; he was that sure of winning. Her hair was caught up in a clasp that left loose strands caressing her damp neck. He could think of all kinds of things he’d do with those loose strands and her neck and his tongue.

  Damn. It wasn’t a neighbor. It was the guy she dated, but she didn’t look pleased to see him. She had a tight grip on the doorknob, and her back had stiffened. Brendan’s eyes narrowed. He could see that the man was talking, gesturing toward the inside of her apartment. She shook her head, but he ignored her and took several steps into the loft.

  Brendan felt his body grow tense in ways vastly different from the sexual tension of moments before. He watched closely. Her guest continued to talk. She shook her head again, more slowly this time, but whatever she was saying seemed to annoy the fellow, who proceeded to rake a hand through his hair, then fling his arms wide in frustration.

  Brendan could almost sympathize with the man. He didn’t look like a mean sort; he was clean, nicely dressed, and there was a defensiveness about him. If he was half as hung up on her as Brendan was himself and she was denying him what he most wanted, Brendan could indeed understand the frustration.

  His feelings of sympathy vanished, though, when the man clasped her arm. She quickly pulled from his grip and took a step toward the door, but her visitor kept pace, kept talking, kept gesturing. She pointed to the door. The man shook his head. When he snaked an arm around her waist and brought her body flush with his, she arched away and tried to push.

  The harsh sound of the beer can crushing in his hand brought Brendan to life. He’d seen enough. Sweet-and-Sexy didn’t want that man there. If the guy wasn’t willing to accept that on his own, Brendan intended to help him.

  Blindly pitching the can toward the sink on his way out the door, Brendan flew down the three flights in record time. He didn’t have to pause when he reached the street; he’d traveled the route in his mind so many times that he knew the fastest way around the block. He also knew that since her apartment faced his, her town house had to be the fourth from the corner. He ran there full speed and yanked the door open. When it collided with his toe, he swore, but that was the extent of his self-indulgence. Ignoring the pain, he took the steps two at a time.

  He might have taken it as a good omen—to his fantasy or his calculations or whatever—that the door to the third-floor apartment stood open, but he wasn’t taking time to think of omens, good or otherwise. He slowed his pace and jogged to the door, coming to a full stop with his hand high on the jamb before calmly ambling inside.

  Caroline’s head shot to the door the instant he appeared. She’d already freed herself from Elliot’s hold, but the threat of his presence remained. Now, abruptly, it was gone and forgotten.

  Tall-Dark-and-Handsome? It had to be! The way he looked at her spoke of all she’d imagined and then some.

  “Hi, hon,” he said softly. Strolling to her side, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pressed a warm kiss to her forehead. “Sorry I’m late. I took a detour. Nearly got lost.” He gave her a smile and a squeeze, then released her shoulder and extended his hand to her guest. “Brendan Carr. And you are…?”

  Elliot stood very still. Only his eyes moved, jumping from Brendan to Caroline and back. He looked totally confused, all but paralyzed, and seemed to be rescued in the end by nothing more than the reflex of manners.

  “Elliot Markham,” he said, letting his hand be shaken.

  “Nice to meet you,” Brendan said, then headed for the refrigerator. “Man, is it a warm night.” He pulled open the door, extracted the pitcher of iced tea that he knew was always there, took a glass from the adjacent cabinet and poured himself a drink. “Anyone else want some while I’m at it?” he asked, shooting a glance over his shoulder.

  Caroline could only manage to shake her head. Her eyes were wide, glued to Brendan—Brendan—and she doubted she could swallow air, let alone tea.

  Elliot wasn’t quite as awestruck. Recovering from the shock of Brendan’s appearance—more than that, from the shock of Brendan’s obvious familiarity with Caroline’s apartment—he narrowed his eyes on Caroline and murmured under his breath, “What’s going on here?”

  Under normal circumstances, Caroline would have shrugged. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Brendan, her hero, had come to her rescue. She couldn’t take her eyes from him as he calmly downed his drink and set the empty glass on the counter.

  “I asked you a question, Caroline,” Elliot said in that same low murmur.

  Her eyes flew to his and she blinked, as though surprised to find him still there. “Excuse me?”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  In that instant, Caroline realized that she had to pick up the ball. Brendan’s entrance had been stupendous. She couldn’t flub her part and let him down. “He’s just come in from a run.”

  “In his bare feet?”

  “It’s the newest trend,” Brendan injected nonchalantly. “I think it started with Zola Budd in the Olympics.” He dropped his gaze to the toe that hurt like hell and was beginning to swell. “I have to admit that it has its drawbacks.”

  Caroline, too, saw the toe. “How did you do that?” she asked, raising hurting eyes to his.

  It was all he could do to think of a response when she was looking at him that way. Her eyes were brown, like his. He’d never thought his own particularly scintillating, but hers were. And so soft. And filled with worry.

  “I’m afraid—” he made a face and scratched the back of his head “—that I wasn’t watching where I was going. There was this Lamborghini that passed me and I made the mistake of turning my head to look at it. I ran into a trash can.” He shrugged. “I suppose I could blame it on the dark—”

  “Let me get some ice.”

  “No, no, hon, it’s okay.” He came to stand by her shoulder, close enough for her arm to graze his chest. “Will Elliot be joining us for dinner?” he asked softly.

  Elliot was staring hard at Caroline. “I thought you said there was no one else.”

  “There hasn’t been—”

  “—until now,” Brendan finished.

  “We’ve just recently met,” she explained, but she didn’t feel guilt. She knew that would come later. For now, she couldn’t think of anything but the large, firm body beside her. Its warmth, a world apart from the June heat, drew her closer. Its sce
nt, ripe with maleness and sweat, filled her senses. Its sheer size made her feel safe and alive and very, very feminine. “Brendan lives across the courtyard,” she added a trifle breathlessly.

  Mistaking breathlessness for weakness, Elliot lashed out. “You told me that you needed a break this weekend. That you wanted to be alone. That you had work to do and sleep to catch up on. Is this what I get for squiring you around town for three months straight?”

  “No one asked you to do that,” she said quietly.

  “But I did it, and you didn’t say boo. Now, all of a sudden you don’t need me anymore, so you throw me every excuse in the book.”

  “I meant what I said.”

  “Is that why he’s here?” Elliot shot back with a dagger’s glance at Brendan. “How do you think this makes me feel?”

  Caroline knew how Brendan’s presence made her feel—warm inside, a little giddy and very excited. Because of those feelings she was having trouble sympathizing with Elliot. “I’m sorry if you’re upset.”

  “Upset?” He started to raise a hand to his face but dropped it before it reached its goal. “That’s a mild word for what I feel.”

  Brendan leaned closer to Caroline. His arm crossed her back, hand coming to rest on her arm in light possession. He liked the way her slender body felt by his, liked the smoothness of her skin, the gloss of her hair, the faint floral scent that was so in keeping with his dreams. Most of all, he liked the fact that she was no longer a dream but real.

  “Maybe you’d better leave,” was his quiet suggestion to Elliot.

  But Elliot didn’t hear. He was too busy working himself into a self-righteous rage. “I don’t deserve this, Caroline. For three months I’ve been indulgent. I’ve let you call the shots. If you wanted to see a particular show, I took you. If you wanted to eat at a particular restaurant, I took you. When you were busy with work, I said, ‘Okay. I respect you for that.’ Where’s the respect I deserve in return?”

  “Elliot, please don’t,” Caroline said.

  “Why not? Do you find the truth unsettling?”

  What he had said wasn’t exactly the truth. She knew that he was trying to save face in front of Brendan, but, in his indignance, he was digging the hole deeper. “Nothing will be accomplished by—”

  “Shouldn’t I fight for what I want?”

  “Is that what you were doing just before I got here?” Brendan asked, his low voice cutting through the air like the purr of a whip.

  Elliot grew rigid. His eyes widened. He opened his mouth and shut it in the same breath.

  Caroline turned her head to meet Brendan’s gaze, then promptly forgot both his words and Elliot’s presence.

  Brendan was beautiful. She couldn’t think of another word, and she knew that an impartial observer might think her daft, but she didn’t care. His jaw was firm, square and covered by the dark shadow she’d come to expect. But she hadn’t expected the tiny white scar on his chin, or the quick softening of his lips when she’d turned, or the faint crookedness of his nose. And though she’d hoped that his eyes would be brown, she hadn’t expected that they would be like thick, rich velvet, stroking her deep inside. She hadn’t dared hope that they would hold such longing.

  He gave a tiny, secret smile. Hi, Caroline.

  She returned both the smile and the greeting. Hi, Brendan.

  Did we finally do it?

  I think so.

  His hand left her arm. The backs of his fingers lightly brushed her cheek. Her lips parted. She tipped her head until those lips touched his thumb.

  “Shit, I don’t need this!” Elliot growled.

  Jolted by the intrusion, Brendan and Caroline whipped their heads around in time to see him stomp to the door, grab the knob and slam it shut on his way out.

  Then, more slowly, they looked back at each other.

  “Hi,” he said aloud. His voice was nearly as velvety as his eyes, but a smokiness underlay that velvet to produce something extraordinarily manly.

  “Hi,” she whispered. Standing there, looking up into his eyes, she nearly melted. Her limbs liquefied; her blood flowed faster. Any tension that Elliot’s angry departure had caused seemed to gather, break apart, float away.

  Brendan’s gaze shimmered over each of her features. “I was beginning to think it would never happen.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I didn’t plan it this way.”

  “I know.”

  “But I couldn’t just sit there and let him paw you.”

  She knew that she’d been far from helpless, but that didn’t matter. “I’m glad you came,” she said, then, unable to resist, raised a hand to his jaw. His beard was rough and spoke of strength. She shaped his lean cheek with her palm and whispered her thumb over his chin.

  He closed his eyes for a minute. When he opened them, they were darker. “Your touch is gentle. Nice.”

  “I kept imagining what you’d look like.” Her fingers crept to his lips. Her eyes crept higher, meeting his in a wordless expression of admiration.

  The compliment touched him to the core. She made him feel ten feet tall and quivery. He opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t think of the words to express what he felt. So, instead of speaking, he touched his tongue to her finger and very lightly put his hands on her waist. Almost instantly, they began a feathery rotation.

  Caroline felt the movement clear to her toes. His fingers were long and strong but gently enticing. Dazed with sensation, she closed her eyes and looped her hands over his shoulders. If it was an invitation, it was a subconscious one, but far more than her subconscious felt the glide of his hands on her bare skin as the hem of her T-shirt rose from her shorts. She sighed at the divine pleasure, then sighed again when his lips touched her forehead.

  How fantasy paled, she thought. Had she never gone so far as to imagine the way her inner wrists would feel on his shoulders, or the way his chest would press closer with each breath, or the way his thighs would brace hers? She wondered what it was about this man that was so special; then she gave up wondering and simply savored his touch.

  Soft. Moist. Sweet. Brendan couldn’t believe how perfect she was. He’d held many a woman in his arms in his day, but none had felt so right. Caroline. Her name was as lyrical as she. Caroline. He might have said it aloud, but he didn’t know for sure, because the effect she had on him was mind numbing, the pleasure deafening.

  He caught a trickle of sweat as it left her hairline and it was on his lips as they moved over her eyes to her cheek. He didn’t stop to ask himself if he was rushing things when he sought out her mouth. Hers was waiting and parted.

  He kissed her with whisper-soft touches at first, enjoying those exploratory forays. Caroline enjoyed them, too, for her hands had slipped to his back, and the tight cording she found there stood in leashed counterpoint to that gentleness. His tank top was damp, the skin nearby slick with a sweat that lubricated her fingers in their slow journey of discovery. His breath mingling with hers bore the cool, fresh scent of tea. She felt the beat of his heart against her breast, heard its echo in her bloodstream, and she opened herself to him as she had to no man before.

  Details blurred then amid an overall air of bliss. Mouths, tongues, hands, bodies—slow, languorous movements gradually speeding with sensual demands. There was heat within heat. The sultriness of the air lent a sultriness to their passion. One kiss led to the next, wider and deeper; one touch led to intimate others. If either of them had been asked if this was a dream, each would have been hard put to answer. The fine line between fantasy and reality ceased to exist.

  “I need you,” he gasped in a moment’s lucidity. Her bare breasts filled his hands; her own hands had slipped beneath the waistband of his shorts and were palming his naked flanks. They were mouth to mouth, chest to chest, belly to belly. His arousal was full, pressed so hard against her that he had to force himself to think. But think he did, even though his voice emerged husky, ragged and rushed. “You know my name, I’m thirty-eight, a
lawyer, stable, not married, and I won’t give you anything you wouldn’t want to write home about except maybe a baby—are you protected, Caroline?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, “yes.”

  Within seconds, they’d sunk to the rug. Caroline’s T-shirt fell aside, followed quickly by his tank top and then their shorts. They reached for one another, for the only vibrant touch that mattered in that instant out of time.

  Caroline had never felt so filled as when Brendan buried himself in her depths. He had never felt so fully received as when she closed herself around him. Though they shared the trust reserved for longtime lovers, each minute, each movement was new and priceless. And whether it was real or imagined, neither could say, but an aura of invincibility gave force to the fire.

  The still of the night was broken by soft gasps and breathless sighs, by whispered words of praise and encouragement and, incredibly, by the laughter of two people delighted with themselves and the moment. It was the echo of that laughter that remained long after the gasps had risen to cries and their bodies had erupted in climax.

  5

  They lay on the rug, bodies limp but entwined. Caroline was sprawled half over Brendan, anchored by the dead weight of his arm and one very long, very masculine leg. With her hair tangled, her cheeks flushed and her lips moist and full, she was the image of a woman well loved. He, with half-lidded eyes and a curling grin, was the cat who’d gotten the cream and then some.

  “I feel happy,” he announced just for the hell of it.

  She was every bit as ebullient. “So do I. I should be feeling guilty or embarrassed, even horrified.” She raised her head and sought his gaze. “I don’t make a habit of going to bed with strange men.”

  “I am not strange,” he assured her as he pressed her head back down. “And we didn’t go to bed.”

  “All the more horrifying. On the rug.”

  He gave a smug chuckle. “Actually, it was nice. Spontaneous. A little unusual, in keeping with our relationship.”

  “What relationship? We barely know each other.”

  “We do.”

  “It’s only been eight days.”