by Nora Roberts
She drizzled hollandaise over the tender shoots, fragrant au jus over the slices of pork.
“We ought to be able to work a deal, you and me,” Brody began when he cut into the pork.
“A deal?”
“Yeah, just a minute.” He sampled. “Just as I figured. So, a deal. We’ll barter. Sex for food.”
She lifted her brows, pursed her lips as if considering. “Interesting. However, I really think you’re reaping the benefits on both sides of that deal.”
“You, too. But if the sex thing doesn’t work out, we can try odd jobs. Manly stuff. Painting that apartment of yours, minor plumbing, whatever. For this, you provide hot meals.”
“Might work.”
He tried the potatoes. “My God, you should be canonized.The Casual Gourmet .”
“Saint Reece, the casual gourmet?”
“No, that’s your cookbook title.The Casual Gourmet. It’s not simple, which can be construed as ordinary. It’s spectacular. But you don’t need to spend all day sweating over the stove to make it, or your heirloom china and sterling to eat it. Gourmet, the way people live, not just the way they entertain to impress.”
She sat back. “That’s a better title, and a better summary of the idea than mine. Damn it.”
“I’m a professional.”
“Eat your asparagus,” she ordered.
“Yes, Mom. By the way? Don’t even think about packing up any leftovers.”
“Duly noted.”
He ate, he drank, he watched her. And at some point, he simply lost the thread of the casual conversation.
“Reece?”
“Hmm.”
“It’s the eyes, mostly, it’s the eyes. They grab me by the throat. But the rest of you? It looks really good in candlelight, too.”
Unexpected, she thought. He could say the most unexpected things. So she smiled at him, and let the glow of it warm her while they ate.
15
SHE INSISTED on clearing up. He’d expected that, as she was a woman who liked to put, and to keep, things in their place. He’d have laid odds she had that tendency before the violence in Boston—where she’d probably kept a tidy house, and a tidy kitchen personally and professionally. She’d always know where the midsized mixing bowl was, and her favorite blue shirt, her car keys. Her checkbook would always be balanced.
What had happened to her had, in all likelihood, spotlighted and enhanced her organizational bent. At this point in her life, she not only wanted butneeded things in their place. It would give her a sense of security.
For himself, most days he figured he was doing pretty well if he could find matching socks on the first pass.
Because he could see she wouldn’t be satisfied otherwise, he dried off dishes, put them back in the cupboard. But he largely stayed out of her way while she stored leftovers, boxed up her equipment, scrubbed off his stove.
Nerves were coming back, and she’d gone very quiet with them. He could practically see them popping out on her skin like hives as she rinsed out the dishcloth, twisted the water out of it, laid it over the middle lip of the double sink to dry.
He supposed now that the meal was over, and the cleanup nearly done, sex had stumbled back into the room like an interesting and awkward guest.
He considered just grabbing her, hauling her upstairs and into bed before she thought about it. There was an advantage to the technique, and he could probably have her naked before she changed her mind. But he rejected it, at least for the moment, in favor of a more subtle approach.
“Want to take a walk? Down to the lake, maybe?”
And he saw the combination of surprise and relief on her face. “That’d be nice. I haven’t done that yet, not on this side anyway.”
“It’s a clear night, so there’s light enough. But you’ll need your jacket.”
“Right.” She stepped into the utility room to take hers off the peg.
He moved in behind her, deliberately reaching over her for his. She stiffened at the light brush of bodies, sidestepped and reached for the door.
Her nerves pumped once, like a pulse, then seemed to evaporate into the cool air.
“It’s gorgeous out.” She breathed it in, soaked it in, earth and pine. “I haven’t been able to talk myself into a solo walk at night. I think about it though.” She pulled her jacket on as she walked. “But it’s either too quiet or not quiet enough, and I come up with a dozen reasons why I should head straight up to my apartment after a dinner shift.”
“Mostly towners around this time of year at night. Not much to worry about there.”
“Obviously you don’t know about the crazed psychopath hiding in the marsh, the serial rapist just passing through town or the kindly math teacher who, in actuality, is an ax murderer.”
“I guess I missed them.”
She glanced up at him as if considering, then shrugged. “One night last week I was restless and wanted a walk. I actually thought about taking my serving fork with me, in case I had to defend myself against any or all of my imaginary homicidal maniacs.”
“A serving fork.”
“Yeah. A knife seemed a little too over the top. But you could do some damage if you had to with a decent serving fork. But I decided against it and watched an old movie on TV instead. It’s ludicrous. I’m ludicrous. Why do you want to hang around with me, Brody?”
“Maybe I find neurotic women hot.”
“No, you don’t.” But she laughed, shook back her hair to take a look up at the sky. “My God, it’s so big, so clear. I can see the Milky Way. I think that’s the Milky Way. And both Dippers, which is about it for my constellation knowledge.”
“Don’t look at me. I just see a bunch of stars, and a white, waning moon.”
“So?” Because he hadn’t taken her hand, and she doubted he was the type for a lot of hand-holding, she slid her own into her jacket pockets. “Make one up. You’re in the business of making things up.”
Hooking his thumbs in his jeans pockets, he studied the pattern of stars. “There’s the Lonely Herman—or the Fat Man Standing on One Leg. Over to the west, there’s the Goddess Sally, who guards over all fry cooks.”
“Sally? And here, all this time, I didn’t know I had a patron goddess.”
“You’re no fry cook.”
“Right now, I am. Besides, I want Sally for my own. Look how she shines in the water.”
Stars swam in the lake, a thousand lights sparkling on the dark plate of it. And the moonlight cut a dreamy white swath over the gleam. The air was full of scent, the pine, the water, the earth and grass.
“Sometimes I miss Boston so much it’s an ache right down in the bones,” she told him. “And I think I need to go back, I want to be back and find what I had there. My busy life, my busy friends. My apartment with the Chinese-red walls and sleek black dining room table.”
“Chinese red?”
“I liked bold once.” She’d been bold once. “Then I stand at a spot like this, and I think, even if I could bury what happened, I don’t know if I could find anything there that I want or I need anymore. I’m not Chinese red anymore.”
“What does it matter? You make your place where you are, and if it doesn’t suit, you make it somewhere else. You use whatever colors you damn well please.”
“That’s exactly what I told myself when I left. I sold all my things. My sleek black dining room table, and all the rest. I told myself it had to be done. I wasn’t working, and there were bills. Lots and lots of bills. But that was only part of it. I didn’t want them anymore.”
“Yours to sell,” he pointed out. But he thought how wrenching it must have been for someone like her to push everything she had away. How painful and sad.
“Yeah. Yeah, mine to sell. And the bills got paid. And now I’m here.”
She moved closer to the water’s edge. “The woman in your book—the one you didn’t kill after all? What’s her name?”
“Madeline Bright. Maddy.”
“Maddy Br
ight.” Reece tested the name out. “I like it—friendly but strong. I hope she makes it through.”
“So does she.”
They stood for a moment, side by side, looking over the lake, through the night, toward the deep silhouette of the mountains.
“When we were up on the trail that day, and you were figuring out how she’d die—or how you thought she would—and I went on by, did you stay up there to make sure I got back safely?”
He kept right on looking at the Tetons. “It was a nice day. I didn’t have anything else to do.”
“You were heading in my direction even before you heard me running back.”
“I didn’t have anything else to do,” he repeated, and she turned to face him.
“You were being a nice guy.”
She took a chance, a big step for her. Like jumping off a cliff into a river. She lifted her hands to lay them on his face, rose up to her toes. And touched her lips to his.
“I’m afraid I’m going to screw this up. You should know that before we go back. But I’d like to go back anyway. I’d like to go back in, and go to bed with you.”
“That’s an excellent idea.”
“I get them occasionally. Maybe you should hold my hand in case I lose my nerve and try to run.”
“Sure.”
She didn’t lose it all, and she didn’t try to run, but with every step back toward his cabin the doubts crept closer.
“Maybe we should have another glass of wine first.”
“Had enough, thanks.” He kept her hand in his, kept walking.
“It might be best if we talked about where this is leading.”
“Right now it’s leading up to my bedroom.”
“Yes, but…” It was no use balking when he was already pulling her inside. “Um, you need to lock the door.”
He turned the lock. “There.”
“I really think we need to—”
She broke off, completely stunned, when he simply plucked her up and laid her over his shoulder.
“Oh, well.” There were too many conflicting currents running inside her to let her decide whether being carried through the house was romantic or mortifying. “I’m not sure this is the right approach. I think if we took a few minutes to discuss…I’d just like to ask if you’d keep your expectations on the low side because I’m really out of practice and—”
“You’re talking too much.”
“It’s going to get worse.” She squeezed her eyes shut as he started up the stairs. “I can actually feel the babbling rising in my throat. Listen, listen, when we were outside, I could breathe, and I thought I could handle it. It’s not that I don’t want this, it’s just I’m not sure. I don’t know. God. Does the bedroom door have a lock?”
He booted it shut, then turned and locked the door. “Better?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I know I’m being an idiot, but I’m just not—”
“Knowing you’re an idiot’s the first step to recovery.” He dropped her on her feet by the bed. “Now be quiet.”
“I just think if we—”
Thoughts fizzled because he made that move on her again. Jerking her up, toward him, closing her mouth with his, with heat, with hunger. All she could do was hold on while fears and needs and reason warred inside her.
Part of her was falling apart. And part of her was falling away.
“I think I—”
“Need to be quiet,” he finished and kissed her again.
“I know. Maybe you could talk. But would you turn out the lights?”
“I never turned them on.”
“Oh. Oh.” Now the silver moonglow and the starshine that had been so lovely and appealing outside seemed too bright.
“Pretend I’m still holding your hand so you don’t run away.”
But she felt his hands run up her body, thumbs skimming not so gently over her breasts. Lovely little thrills. “How many hands do you have?”
“Enough to get the job done. You ought to look at me. Look at me, Reece. That’s the way. You know the first time I saw you?”
“In the…in the diner.” The moonlight darkened his eyes, as if the green had been swallowed up by the night. “In Joanie’s.”
“Yeah.” He unbuttoned her shirt, lowered his head to close his teeth over her jaw until she trembled. “First time I saw you, I got that little snap in the blood. You know what I’m saying?”
“Yes. Yes. Brody, just—”
“Sometimes you act on it.” He nipped his way down her throat. “Sometimes you don’t, but you know when you feel it.”
“If it was dark…It’d be better if it was dark.”
He took the hand she’d lifted to cover the scar on her chest, drew it away again. “We’ll test that theory sometime. You got some sexy skin here, Slim.” He let his hands run up to her shoulders, sliding the shirt away as they traveled down her arms. “All smooth and soft. A guy just wants to lap it up. No, you don’t.” He wrapped her hair around his hand to keep her face lifted to his. “Keep looking at me.”
Cat’s eyes, she thought. She was so close to them now the color seemed to have leaped back into them. A mix of green and amber, and so watchful. She didn’t feel safe staring into them, not at all safe. But the fear was somehow thrilling.
Then the fingers of his free hand snapped open the hook of her bra, and her own eyes rounded.
Even as the nervous laugh tickled her throat he was devouring her again, mouth to mouth, body to body. Everything about him was hard and strong and just a little rough. Everything about him was exactly what she wanted.
Hands along her skin, learning secrets she’d forgotten she had, teeth grazing, causing delicious little lines of heat. She felt him loosen her belt before his hands slid erotically under denim to stroke flesh.
Her response came in spurts. Shy and hesitant, avid and eager. But whatever roller coaster she was on, she was dragging him right along with her, the breathless climb up, the windy flight down, and all the dangerous curves between.
She was slight and tight with that smooth, soft skin seductive in its fragility. She fumbled at his shirt, and her breath caught, caught again and again, whenever he touched her. Wherever he touched her.
So he savored and sampled and savaged while his control teetered on a slippery edge.
Her arms tightened around him when he scooped her up, all but tossed her on the bed. Her gasp of excited shock was muffled against his mouth. In a kind of frenzy she fought to toe off her shoes, bucking her hips so he could yank the jeans down.
His mouth tore from hers to feast at her throat while her fingers dug into the muscles of his back, his shoulders. Everything in her was rising toward that heat, the threat and the promise of it.
When his mouth closed greedily over her breast, her heartbeat went to thunder. Her pulse exploded to a gallop.
His weight pinned her, his mouth claimed her. Even through the silver haze of lust, panic began to crawl. She fought it, willing her mind to shut off, to let her body rule. But in the end they both betrayed her as her lungs simply shut down.
“I can’t breathe. I can’t. Wait, stop.”
It took him a moment to understand it was panic, not passion. He rolled aside, then gripped her shoulders to yank her up to sitting.
“You are breathing.” He gave her a little shake. “Stop gasping for air. You’ll just hyperventilate.”
“Okay. Okay.” She knew the routine. She had to concentrate on each breath, on the physical act of inhaling slow and steady.
Mortified, she crossed her arms over her breasts as she sat in a slant of moonlight. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Goddamn it, I’m sick of being a freak.”
“Then stop.”
“You think it’s so fucking easy? Oh, I’ll just be normal now. You think I like sitting here naked and humiliated?”
“I don’t know, do you?”
“You son of a bitch.”
“There you go, sweet-talking me again.” There was heat in her eyes, whic
h he appreciated. But the shine came into them, warning of a jag. “You start crying, you’re going to piss me off.”
“I’m not going to cry. You asshole.” She knuckled a tear away.
“Now you’ve done it. I’m turned on again.” He pushed her hair off her shoulders. “Did I hurt you?”
“What?”
“Was I hurting you?”
“No. Jesus.” She kept one arm over her breasts, covered her face with her other hand. “No. I just…I couldn’t get my breath. I felt, I don’t know, trapped under you, I guess. Just a flare of claustrophobia, performance anxiety and so on and so fucking forth.”
“Oh, if that’s all, I can fix it.” He took her shoulders again, pulling her down to him as he lay on his back. “You can be on top.”
“Brody—”
“Just look at me.” He cupped a hand on the back of her head, drew her lips to his. “Take it easy,” he murmured against her mouth. “Or take it any way that suits you.”
“I feel clumsy.”
“No, you don’t.” He let his hands wander, watched the flush come back into her cheeks. “You feel smooth, a little on the slight side. But not clumsy. Kiss me again.”
She laid her lips on his and let go of the panic. His heart beat strong and steady against hers; his lips demanded that hers yield. The taste of him, once again, awakened all those long-denied appetites.
Still when he lifted her hips, she started to protest, to pull away. But he held her, and his eyes trapped her, until he slid inside her.
A shudder that was relief, pleasure, lust shook her. Then he began to move, and her body began to hum.
She cried out as she stumbled over the first peak, a shock to the system, a sudden surge of sheer delight.
She moaned as she reared back. As she gave herself to it, and to him. And at last, as she took and took.
She climbed the next peak, dragging herself over as the orgasm seemed to rip right through her. She could feel him racing with her, beat for beat.
God, thank God, she thought on a sobbing breath.
When he pushed up to her, arms banding, teeth clamped on her shoulder, it was she who sent them both soaring over the last rise.