by Mary Campisi
“Alex?” He said her name with hesitancy, concern.
“It’s okay, Nick. I’m sorry, too.”
They sat in silence, the threads of polka music and laughter spilling out of the hall. “It’s not okay,” his words filled the space between them. “Look at me.” She turned slowly, met his gaze. He had the most beautiful dark brown eyes, like bittersweet chocolate. “I lied.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I’m not sorry I kissed you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing you since that night on the swing, even before that. Every time I looked at you, I thought about how you tasted, and I wanted more, but I kept telling myself it was crazy, I’d be a fool to get involved with somebody like you.” His words were coming out in a rush as though he had to get them all out now or they’d be gone forever. “That’s why I dragged Justin everywhere we went. I didn’t trust myself, didn’t trust the way I was feeling. And then you left.” He ran a hand through his hair, let out a long sigh. “I missed you.” It was a confession, one that didn’t seem to please him.
“Nick.”
He held up a hand. “I wanted you to come back and when I saw you today, the only thing I could think about was touching you, but you avoided me. You feel something for me too, I know it, Alex, whether you admit it to yourself or not. You can’t kiss me like that and pretend it’s nothing.”
“I know.” The words were a whisper.
“And sooner or later you’re going to have to admit that there’s a chemistry going on here—” He stared at her. “What did you just say?”
“I said, I know. I know I have to admit I have feelings for you.”
“So are you?”
Alex twisted her hands in her lap. It was one thing to harbor secret feelings for Nick Androvich, but to make them public, to tell the man himself, that was quite another. And yet, what choice did she have? Her heart was battling with her brain and for once, for once, it was winning.
“Alex?” He laid his hand over both of hers, stopped her fidgeting. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I have feelings for you, but—”
She got no further. Nick pulled her to him, half lifting her over the gearshift column to sit in his lap. His hands framed her face, his lips moved over hers, hard, possessive, desperate, tongue plunging inside, taking, taking. Alex moaned, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the taste of whiskey filling her senses. She wanted to get closer, needed to get closer. Nick’s fingers worked their way down her neck to her breast, molding it with his palm, massaging her nipple through the soft fabric.
“Alex,” he whispered, “I dreamed this a thousand times.”
She moaned against his lips, too shaken to respond.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said, trailing his tongue along the side of her neck, sucking gently. “I want you…” He slid a hand between her legs, parting them, pressed a finger against her heat, “…all of you.” Alex thrust her hips against his finger, once, twice, three times.
He let out a laugh, deep in his throat. “Come to me, Alex.” He stroked her through the silk of her panties, worked small circles over the sensitive flesh, sending shocks of sensation through her body. He kissed her again, drawing her tongue into his mouth, sucking, tasting, and all the time moving those magical fingers between her legs. It was too much, it wasn’t enough—she wanted more, more. She jerked against his touch, harder, faster, as he played her like a pianist who requires no music to honor his masterpiece. And when at last he slipped a finger beneath her panties, and stroked bare flesh, she fell apart, one chord at a time, splitting into a thousand melodies, grasping for that one final note.
Nick pulled her limp body to him, cradling her in his arms, protecting, perhaps for the briefest of moments, even cherishing. He brushed the hair from her face, planted a soft kiss on her temple. “I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.”
She buried her face against the solid wall of his chest, inhaled. He smelled of starch and whiskey and Davidoff Cool Water, scents that would be ingrained in her memory forever, as would this man, this place, this coming together.
“Alex?” His voice was low, gentle. “Are you okay?” He stroked her hair, once, twice, the softest of gestures, born of caring, pure and honest, and it was this touch, this gentleness that made her eyes burn, her throat swell.
She nodded, trying to blink away the tears.
He pulled her closer, whispered, “Let’s go to my place. It’s a little less cramped and a lot more private.”
“I…” she swallowed. Follow your heart, for once, follow your heart. “Yes. Yes, Nick.” She pressed her lips against his shirt. His heart beat steady, strong. “I want to be with you.”
***
Michael watched them leave. Any man with half a gonad would know what came next. Nick was taking Alex home to screw her brains out. Correction. “Have sex,” “get together,” “be intimate.” Screw was too crude a word for Nick and his sexual relationships with women. Screw was Michael’s word—it’s what he did with a woman. Screwed, banged. Shit, he was getting hard just thinking about screwing.
“Daddy, daddy, there’s Elise.” He followed his daughter’s finger and indeed, there she was, all decked out in some blue sleeveless concoction, moving around in the circle of the pillow dance. Her black hair was all piled up on her head and he could see a lot of neck and shoulders. Smooth, dark. His penis jerked. Damn! He looked away.
“Let’s go see Grandma,” he said, moving toward one of the long tables at the edge of the room.
“Dance, Daddy,” Sara said. “Dance with Elise.”
He should never have come. He hated weddings, hated watching the goo-goo-eyed bride and groom pledging their hearts, their love, their fidelity and every other imaginable bullshit to one another. How about the T-Fal frying pan? Why not pledge that, too? It was all fake, a lie, a scam. The groom was probably wondering what it would be like to jump the maid of honor’s bones, and if he were honest with himself, really honest, he’d be awfully depressed, if not downright pissed, that he’d pledged himself to one woman for the rest of his life.
It was such a bunch of shit. Michael pulled at his collar. This monkey suit was choking him. By the time he left he’d be dead from strangulation if the bullshit in this place didn’t suffocate him first. He would have stayed home and watched the Pirates if his mother hadn’t begged him to come. Those children need to see you among people, Michael. You’re always alone. For heaven’s sake, can’t you take a few hours and show them you can act normal?
Normal? You mean like Nick, don’t you Ma?
No. I mean normal. Like a human being, interacting with people, with your children. Then she’d looked at him and there’d been tears in her eyes, his mother, who rarely cried. They need a father, Michael. You. They need you, not me, or Elise, or anybody else who watches them while you run off to do God knows what.
He’d said nothing, what could he say? I got nothing to give them, Ma, I’m sucked dry?
“C’mon, Daddy. Let’s go.” Sara tugged his arm, pulling him toward the wide circle.
“Michael?” It was his mother, eyes bright and shining. “You came.” She said it like she’d known he would, spoken as a statement. How could she have known when he hadn’t known himself?
“Yeah, we made it.” He slid a finger underneath his shirt collar, tried to loosen it.
“I was looking for you at church.”
He shrugged. “One miracle at a time.”
She turned her attention to the children. “Hello, sweethearts.” She bent down, drew them into her arms for a big hug. “Sara, you look beautiful. Kevin, quite handsome. Just like your father.”
Michael felt the heat crawl up his neck. Damn this monkey suit. He’d give half a week’s pay for his jeans and ball cap. “How’s the food?”
“Delicious. Stuffed cabbage, kielbasa, parsley-buttered potatoes, chicken paprikash, and your favorite, beef stroganoff.”
“Lead the way.”
“Dance first, Daddy.”
“Sara—”
“Go, Michael. Elise Pentani’s out there.”
“So?”
“Dance, Daddy, dance.” Sara swung his arm back and forth. “Please?”
“She asked if you were coming.”
Yeah, so she can tell me how much time I’m not spending with my kids. “Oh, for Christ’s sake—”
“Go.” His mother motioned for Sara and Kevin to come with her. “We’ll watch Daddy, okay kids?”
“Yeah. Dance with Elise, Daddy.” This, from Kevin.
“Traitor.” He pointed at Kevin. “One dance, that’s it.” He threw them all a disgusted look and headed for the wide circle of bodies moving slowly to the music. Elise was wedged between Hot Ed’s proprietors, Bernie and Alice. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, her mouth pinched shut as though she was in pain and maybe she was. It must be a bitch to watch somebody you loved sucking face with somebody else. He wouldn’t know, he’d never loved Betsy, she was more of an obligation, an oops-I-screwed-up-and-got-you-pregnant kind of commitment, though he’d been pissed when she up and left, more from a bruised ego than a bruised heart.
And Caroline, well she’d been a dream, a surreal desire to be cherished, a woman in need of being rescued. Help me, Michael, help me. I hate it there, I don’t want to go back. Nick’s deserted me… I never see him… I’m all alone… help me… He’d listened to her, allowed himself to believe that his brother, his best friend, was mistreating his wife, ignoring her, abandoning her, and he, Michael Androvich, was the only one who could save her. She’d needed and needed and needed in a sick way, deep down Michael knew that, and yet he couldn’t turn her away, couldn’t find the words to shut her down, send her back to Philly, because for once in his life, someone was turning to him, to him, not his older brother. Stay here, he’d told her the last time he saw her. With me. I’ll help you raise the baby, here in Restalline. I… I love you, Caroline. Her big blue eyes had filled with tears. She’d touched his cheek, her lips trembling as she smiled. Oh, Michael, don’t you see? I can’t. I love Nick. I’ve always loved him. Always.
And then she was dead, and Michael felt both betrayer and betrayed. He’d loved his brother’s wife, a woman who’d come to him, cried to him, left him. How could he ever forgive himself for what he had been ready to do? He couldn’t, so he kept away from Nick as much as possible, sheltered with guilt and bad memories and an occasional fifth of Jack Daniels.
But he’d be damned if he’d ever fall in love again. He’d rot in hell first.
“Michael! Come on.” A tall, busty brunette yanked his hand forward and drew him into the circle. Cynthia Collichetti. Big boobs. He’d felt her up a few weeks ago in the back room of Cody’s. “You were supposed to call me.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy.” His gaze moved to Elise, who was staring at the floor, took in her blue shoes, darted past her tanned legs, all the way up, up, up to her thighs, her stomach, stopped at her breasts. Perfect. More than a mouthful was just a waste. Damn! What was the matter with him? He was drooling over Elise Pentani.
“I’m free every night after nine, except Thursdays,” Cynthia said. “Thursdays I bartend at Jasper’s until eleven.”
“Okay.” Beautiful Brown Eyes drifted from the sound system.
“Call me.”
“Sure.”
She leaned over, kissed his ear. “You won’t be disappointed.”
The crowd stopped and Janice, the waitress at Hot Ed’s, knelt before him. She wore a hot pink dress that looked like it had been painted on her body, one stroke at a time. She licked her lips, grabbed his forearms with two-inch hot pink nails and kissed him, thrusting her tongue deep in his mouth. He jerked back, his gaze riveting involuntarily to Elise who stared at him in surprise and shock. Janice pulled him onto the dance floor and spent the next thirty-seconds rubbing her body against his. When the dance was over he snatched the pillow from her hand and sucked in air.
His feet began moving before his head registered where he was going. He placed the pillow at Elise Pentani’s shiny, pale blue shoes and knelt down. Their gazes locked, she moved forward.
“I… I don’t remember seeing you without your ball cap.”
“Yeah, well, guess it doesn’t go with the suit.”
“You’re very nice looking, Michael.” She sounded surprised.
“Even dogs take a bath once in a while.”
She inched closer, touched his cheek. “So smooth. And your eyes… like honey and brown sugar.”
Shit! He was hard and ready. What was wrong with him? “Stop it, Elise. Nick’s gone. I’m not his substitute.”
She jerked back as though he’d slapped her.
“Kiss her! Kiss her!” the crowd shouted.
Michael pulled her toward him, determined to show her, teach her so she’d never confuse the two brothers again. Her lips parted, full, pink lips, moist with anticipation. Her eyes fluttered shut. Who the hell was he kidding? He couldn’t kiss her, couldn’t taste those lips, because once would never be enough. And she was in love with his brother. Michael brushed his lips against the side of her mouth, stood up, and headed for the bar.
Chapter 11
Nick turned the wheel with one hand, winding along the back roads toward home. His other hand held Alex’s, clutched tight, in case she had second thoughts—not that he thought she would or that he would force her to stay if she did… hell, he didn’t know what he thought right now. All he did know was that his erection was throbbing hard and heavy against his zipper and he wanted her… now.
They hadn’t spoken much since he’d turned the key in the ignition ten minutes ago. One last kiss, then she’d eased away from him and fastened her seat belt. She seemed almost shy, as though she wasn’t used to or comfortable with the emotion they’d shared. Was she? He knew very little about her personal life other than the fact that she was an only child, an orphan, who’d been raised by her aunt and uncle. What else? What else? That was all he knew and now was sure as hell not the time to go digging around asking questions about her past relationships with men. Later, he’d find out later. All that mattered right now was that she wanted to be with him.
“It’s just around the bend, another mile,” he said as they passed his mother’s house.
Alex nodded. “Justin showed me one day. He pointed it out when we were on our way to buy corn.”
“You should’ve stopped.”
“You weren’t home.”
Hmm. Maybe she’d thought about it. “Well, next time you can stop whether I’m home or not.” He paused, squeezed her hand. “And if I’m not, maybe you can wait for me to come home.”
“Maybe.”
Maybe. There were a lot of maybes floating around between them. “Here we are,” he said, turning down the wide road that led to his house.
“It’s… so you,” Alex said, her eyes fixed on the white farmhouse with the wraparound front porch.
Nick scanned the house and surrounding area—white, neat, clipped, with a comfortable old glider on the front porch and a barn in the back. His mother had spread her green thumb to his yard with three pots of impatiens and six hanging ferns. “It’s me all right,” he said, hopping out of the Navigator and hurrying to the other side. He opened the door, pulled her to him. “You can see anything you want later.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Right now, there’s only one thing I want to see… you… naked in my bed.”
She moaned into his mouth, flung her arms around his neck, and melted against him. He let out a groan of need and want, lifted her into his arms and carried her to the house. He couldn’t wait to taste the rest of her… he climbed the last stair, headed toward his room… couldn’t wait to sink himself deep inside…
“Nick?”
He laid her on his bed, sat down beside her, placed a hand on her thigh. “Yes?” Her skin was pale, almost a pink blush against his dark fingers.
“I… I…” She pulled her bottom lip through her teeth. “The
re’s so much we don’t know about each other… maybe… maybe we should talk…”
He laughed, ran the palm of his hand under her dress. Higher, higher… She caught her breath, held it. Alex wanted to talk about as much as he did right now. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said, finding the silk scrap of panty wedged between her legs. “Let’s practice the Braille method, huh?” He flicked his thumb against her panties. “Talk through touch. How about that?”
Her lips parted, her eyes grew wide, serious. “Nick…”
“Just say yes.” It was as close to a plea as he’d ever come.
She hesitated, just a second, then said, “Yes. Yes, Nick.”
He reached for her, a pulsing mass of heat and need, pulling her to him with an urgency that surprised him. His lips were everywhere, her throat, her breasts, the tip of her hipbone. He slid his hands up her thighs, reached for the silk scrap of panties, and yanked them off. “You’re so soft,” he whispered, planting a kiss on the inside of her thigh. She clung to him, her fingers buried in his hair, a low moan on her lips. He lifted his head, watched her.
“Open your eyes, Alex. Look at me.”
She met his gaze, her blue eyes bright. “Nick… Nick, I…”
“Shhhhh.” He stroked her cheek, ran a finger over her lips. “No words. Not now. Okay?”
She nodded, reaching for him. And then there were no more words as he flung aside her dress, her bra, her reserve, reveling in the touch and feel of her, the way she fumbled over his belt buckle, shy yet determined, yanking his pants off, clinging to him, mouth open, welcoming his tongue, gasping in frustration when she couldn’t get close enough. He wanted her and she wanted him. The need was there too, throbbing between them as though it had a life of its own, pleading for union, for completeness, for the desperateness of this moment to end. Her body trembled when he entered her, shook and vibrated as he moved inside her, gasps of pleasure on her lips. She wrapped her legs high over his back, pulling him closer, tighter, bucking with him, against him, tearing at the tiny scrap of control he had left. And when he knew he’d explode if she moved one more time, she jerked and convulsed against him, screaming out his name. It was too much; Nick grabbed her buttocks, buried himself into her one final time, deep, and let his release flow over him and into her, hot, needy, exhausting.