Isabella took a hasty step back before she caught herself and recaptured her smile. “Oh, no you don’t.” She tried to talk in her best baby singsong, but her voice was one big croak. “You keep those yucky hands over there with Eric. You keep those hands over there.”
That seemed to be fine with Randy Jr., who had no particular loyalty and just wanted to be where the food was. But Eric kept staring at her and there was only so much ignoring she could do before she just looked ridiculous.
Feeling a weird combination of dread in her heart and butterflies in her stomach, she met his intense stare while Mama, feigning blindness and deafness now, grabbed Randy Jr. and took him to the sink to wash his grubby hands. Eric steered Isabella into the far corner of the kitchen and Mama obligingly turned the water up high.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, sexy, and unhelpful at this vulnerable juncture.
“Of course,” Isabella lied.
“You don’t look okay.” Hesitating, he reached up and stroked her cheek. Isabella soaked up the warmth from his hand and wanted more even as she cursed herself for her absolute weakness where he was concerned. “I’m worried about you.”
Good sense finally prevailed and Isabella stepped back out of his reach. Cold descended on her, as though someone had extinguished the sun. “You probably shouldn’t touch me like that.”
Eric let his hand drop and a light went out behind his eyes.
“Come on, Randy Jr.,” Mama announced loudly as she walked out. “Let’s go find Mommy.”
Neither of them glanced at her.
“I’ve always touched you, Iz.” Eric’s chin had a defiant set to it now, as though he was gearing up for a fight. “You can’t expect me to just stop.”
“It’s different now.”
“Yeah. Better.”
Being the ineffective liar that she was, she decided to just keep quiet on this point. Better to change the subject altogether. “We should go back out, don’t you think? They’ll be wondering what happened to us.”
“Isabella.”
Isabella stilled while the butterflies swarmed in her belly. The challenge was gone from his eyes now and there was only vulnerability and, worse, need. If only he didn’t pull so hard on her heart strings. If only she could shield herself from the powerful ache of longing he created.
“Yes?”
“Let me touch you.” His cheeks colored and his voice turned hoarse. “Please.”
After a beat or two of hesitation, Isabella took his hand and he reeled her in until they stood toe to toe. Instead of pulling her all the way into his arms, he rested his forehead against hers and sighed long and deep.
“That’s better,” he murmured.
Yeah, Isabella thought, it was.
They stood like that, lost in each other, with only the sound of the crowd and the TV in the other room intruding upon their solitary universe. Finally Eric spoke.
“I know we’re moving a little fast,” he said, “and I know this is a little intense.” He laughed, the sound bewildered and humorless. “Who am I kidding? This is scary as hell.”
“I’d noticed.”
“But this isn’t a sex buddy thing, Isabella. The way I’m feeling about you, I—”
“You what?”
But whatever it was, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Shaking his head, he paused. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered. “I know I gave you a hard time earlier, and I teased you about this and I probably sounded cocky, but it isn’t a game. Stay with me. Let’s give this thing between us a chance.”
The no she needed wouldn’t come; there was no sign of it. The idea of spending the night in his arms, laughing and making love with him, was wonderful and seductive. But she couldn’t quite get to yes, either. The best she could manage was…
“I’ll think about it,” she told him. “Give me a little time.”
He smiled, looking relieved and hopeful. “You’ve got it, Sunshine.”
The night wore on and wound down.
One by one, her brothers left, taking their drowsing children and wives with them, until finally only Mama, Daddy, Isabella and Eric were left to watch the Braves win in extra innings.
Inside the warm cocoon of her parents’ house they talked and laughed, and Isabella drank a little wine. Daddy finished off another beer or two, rocking in his chair and absently scratching the ears of Zeus, who sprawled across his lap and was as content as a four-legged friend could ever be this side of heaven.
Isabella had a second slice of coconut cake, sank into the love seat, and, somewhere between the tenth and eleventh innings, fell more deeply under Eric’s spell.
It was because her defenses were down, she told herself. The mellow evening, the wonderful food and wine, the quiet joy of being home with the people she loved best. But the same wine that relaxed her so beautifully wouldn’t let her lie to herself, no matter how much she wanted to. Any maybe it was time that she looked the unwanted truth in the face:
She’d probably always been under Eric’s spell.
Daddy, his attention span restored to full power now that the Braves had won, turned from the TV and looked around with mild surprise to see them still there. Taking a pull from his beer, he regarded Eric with fatherly interest.
“So,” he said. “How do you like being top dog? They running you ragged?”
Eric shifted beside her, as though she needed the reminder of his presence. At some point during the evening, with all the getting up and sitting down again as people departed, they’d rearranged themselves. At first she’d been on the loveseat and he’d been on a chair across the room, watching her with intense eyes, but now he sat next to her, his arm flung across the back of the loveseat behind her shoulders.
He didn’t touch her and didn’t need to. Though her body was relaxed, it vibrated with awareness—of his heat…the faint spice of his scent…his desire. Everything about him surrounded her, filled her. He was the focal point of her existence even if she didn’t dare believe she could ever be the focal point of his.
Eric shrugged and gave Daddy a good-natured grin. “I can’t complain. The pay’s pretty good.”
Isabella had to smile at this colossal understatement.
“They are working him too hard, Daddy.” Isabella shot Eric a sidelong glance, daring him to contradict her. “He just got home from Hong Kong, and before that he was in Rio. There’s no telling when he last spent a whole week at home.”
“You’re not worried about me, are you, Izzy?”
It was an innocuous question and nothing about Eric’s inflection hinted at…anything at all. To her parents’ ears, no doubt, this sounded like a routine conversation. But Isabella heard the rough edge of lust in his voice and her nerves prickled with awareness.
“Of course I’m worried,” she said. “You’re working yourself to death.”
One of Eric’s heavy brows rose infinitesimally and she did not take this as a good sign. But to her surprise and relief he merely looked away and gave Daddy a wry, reassuring smile.
“I’m a big boy,” Eric said. “I can take a little hard work.”
“There’s somethin’ to be said for hard work, o’ course.” Daddy, relaxed and philosophical after a few beers, his Mississippi childhood evident in every drawling word, rocked back in his chair, linked his hands over his belly, and stared up at the ceiling across the room. “Lord knows I worked my fingers to the bone to support this fam’ly—’specially with those boys tryin’ to eat me outta house and home—”
“Lord, yes.” Mama nodded from the sofa, bearing witness like always.
“—but there’s more to life than work.” Daddy waggled an arthritis-knotted index finger at Eric. “You keep up like this, son, and one day you’ll look up to see that the best part o’ life’s done passed you by.”
“What’s the best part of life?”
“The best part of life,” Daddy said, “is fam’ly. Childrens.” Here he paused to shoot Mama a fond look, which she re
turned. “You won’t never go wrong spendin’ more time with your fam’ly.”
“Yeah, well, everyone doesn’t have a great family like this one, Joe.” Muscles in Eric’s jaw tightened down, making his profile look harsh and unhappy. Isabella, who was apparently born without the gene that would have made her impervious to his emotions, shifted closer, offering comfort in the only way she could at the moment. “You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, Daddy.” Isabella smiled and did her best to keep her voice light, tried to make a joke before Eric’s dark thoughts took root and grew. “Poor Eric here didn’t have enough siblings to put together a basketball team like we did. And I’ve heard rumors that he didn’t have to share one bathroom with five other people. Had his own bathroom. Fancy that.”
The teasing worked. Eric snorted with laughter and the brilliance of his smiling gaze, as it connected with hers, was enough to strike her blind. Her heart skittered and, unless she was much mistaken, stopped altogether.
Daddy grinned, too, but he wasn’t finished delivering his message. “You just remember,” he told Eric as he leaned across the side of his chair, reached down, and pulled the lever to lower the foot rest, “that it don’t matter what kind of fam’ly you come from. It’s the kind of fam’ly you make that matters.”
Eric went utterly still. Just like that, his smile froze in place and even his breathing seemed to stop for several long beats.
They’d always been attuned to each other’s moods, but now that they’d become lovers it felt like Isabella was thinking his thoughts. And she knew he’d just had a colossal Aha! moment because he’d realized he wasn’t doomed by fate or a Warner family curse to have a miserable marriage like his parents’. He’d realized that he, like Andrew, could break the cycle.
After several long seconds, he seemed to recover from his shock and shot her an indecipherable sidelong glance.
“I never thought about it like that, Joe.”
Daddy nodded with satisfaction, looking like a wise old owl behind his bifocals. “And what’s this I hear,” he said, pinning Isabella with a fierce gaze that wasn’t the least bit unfocused or cloudy despite his seventy-five years, “’bout you up and moving to South Africa? Your Mama don’t want you to go.”
Isabella had expected this. As the only daughter, she’d always been a daddy’s girl and didn’t expect that to change at this late date no matter what he claimed about Mama not wanting her to go.
“Is that a congratulations I hear?” Unfortunately she infused her voice with a little too much cheer, and it sounded forced. Clearing her throat, she tried to act a little less manic. “This is a great opportunity.”
Daddy looked unimpressed. “There’s great opportunities in the United States, girl. Mebbe you ain’t up on the news, but there’s prolly childrens in Cincinnati that needs your help.”
Isabella shifted, uncomfortable now and fully aware of Eric’s keen interest in this topic. Though he kept still and said nothing, she felt the tension of waiting in his body, as though he was stretched through with piano wire that had just been tightened half a turn.
“Well,” she said carefully, “I do know that, but I’d like to travel a little. Help where I’m most needed. And I think a little change and a little adventure might do me good. And it’s only for a few years.”
Daddy wasn’t buying it any more than Eric had; she should have known. The old man’s weathered brown face twisted into the kind of derisive look he’d given her a thousand years ago when she broke Mama’s crystal lamp, one of the family’s few valuable possessions, and tried to convince him that the dog had done it. And then, just to add insult to injury, he snorted.
“Isabella,” Daddy said, “I didn’t raise no fools. And you know darn good and well that this here’s nothin’ more than you tryin’ to run away from your problems. And you oughta know that your problems’ll be right there with you in South Africa, same as if you’d packed ’em in your suitcase with your toothbrush.”
This time Isabella was the one who froze. The heat of embarrassment rose up from her neck and crept across her cheeks until she no doubt glowed like lava flowing down the side of a volcano.
No one could strip away the frills and expose the truth in all its brutality the way Daddy could. He was right, though it killed her to admit it, even to herself. First she’d thought she’d go to South Africa to immerse herself in the needy children and the culture and to recover from Joe’s betrayal, and then she’d seen it as a handy escape from falling too far under Eric’s spell. Either way she looked at it, though, she was running away.
Maybe the thing she was really running from was her own fears.
“I’m going to think about that, Daddy.”
“See that you do, girl.”
The topic turned to golf and Eric and Daddy began an enthusiastic and hyperbole-filled discussion of their latest exploits on the links. Isabella’s thoughts drifted back to Eric and what he’d told her in the kitchen.
This is scary as hell.
The way I’m feeling about you, I—
Let’s give this thing between us a chance.
He’s asked her to stay with him tonight, and they both needed her answer.
What was her answer? If only she knew. An epic struggle was going on in her heart, body and spirit and she was afraid she’d lose no matter what she chose.
If they stayed here tonight, she’d have the empty pleasure of knowing she’d made the sensible decision and a long, excruciating night without Eric to think about what a clever, self-disciplined, self-protective woman she was. She’d stay away from Eric and take that first, crucial step toward stopping him from breaking her heart.
On the other hand, she could leave with him now and spend the night in his arms. She could spend hours making love with him, exploring his wondrous body, and best of all, talking with him. And in the morning she could pay the piper when she had to get up and acknowledge, as she inevitably would, that she’d fallen deeper in love with him than she already was.
So that was the choice: lonely self-preservation or ecstatic self-destruction. Either way, through, her heart was already his to break because she loved him.
That being the case, why not enjoy tonight with him? Did she have to address all her fears and concerns tonight? Of course not. It wasn’t like he’d proposed marriage. Why not enjoy this time with Eric? This paralysis she’d been feeling was ridiculous; it wasn’t as if another round of lovemaking with Eric would lead to her death within twenty-four hours. Why be such a coward?
Taking a deep breath, she chose.
“Mama,” she said into the temporary pause in the conversation, “Eric and I need to get going. We’ve got more driving to do tonight, so we’ll spend the night at a hotel along the way.”
Chapter 13
Though she focused on her mother, Isabella could feel Eric’s vibrating stillness, his rapt gaze on the side of her face. Still she didn’t look at him.
Mama fixed her with a knowing mother’s gaze that conveyed both concern and exasperation.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, girl.”
The best Isabella could manage was a wry grin and a one-shouldered shrug. “So do I, Mama.”
“Eric.” Fierce now, Mama rounded on Eric and pointed her finger at him. “You be careful with my girl. You hear me?”
The casual observer might have thought Mama meant to drive safe at this late hour, but Isabella knew better than that. So, apparently, did Eric. When she worked up the nerve to glance his way, he looked Isabella straight in the face, and in his unblinking eyes she didn’t see any signs of triumph.
What she did see was some sort of inner glow, a glittering excitement, and the kind of solemnity that usually accompanied a swearing-in ceremony of some sort. Swallowing hard, she wished she could regulate her thundering pulse and wondered how they would make it to the nearest hotel without tearing each other’s clothes off in the car.
“Mama Jo,” Eric said, staring at Isabella, “the one
thing you never need to worry about is me being careful with your daughter. I promise you that.”
They found another hotel with another honeymoon suite, this one with pale mint walls and sleek black furniture.
Pausing only to unhook Zeus from his leash and find Fluffles for him, Isabella crept up behind Eric, wrapped her arms around his waist, slid her hands up under his shirt and across that silky-hot skin, and let the relief flow. It consumed her—wiped her out, a tidal wave of dangerous emotions that she would, just this once, indulge.
His reaction was powerful and immediate: his skin quivered under her fingers and then he wrapped his muscled arms across hers and pulled her closer, until she was flush against the hard wall of his back and the high round curve of his butt.
“I’m addicted to you now,” she told him. “I guess you’re feeling pretty cocky, huh? Are you going to tell me you told me so?”
“Cocky? No. Happy? You better believe it.”
Isabella could hear it in his hoarse voice. The pulsing excitement, the need, the straining passion that would break free just as soon as they got a few things straightened out. She knew him well enough to know that, as desperately as he wanted her, he would hold himself in firm check until he was satisfied that they’d reached an understanding.
Understanding, she knew, was impossible. What middle ground could there be between a man who couldn’t love and the woman who loved him? Under what circumstances could the woman emerge from the relationship unscathed? None that Isabella could see.
Still, she pressed her cheek to his back and breathed him in, absorbing those intoxicating Oriental spices, his fresh musk and the faint scent of deodorant and fabric softener. God, he felt good. Right.
But her doubts lingered. Not enough to make her stop sliding her hands up his torso to lift the shirt over his head and throw it to the floor, but still there.
“This is such a bad idea,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his bare back and tasting the faint salt of his skin. “So bad.”
Road to Seduction (Kimani Romance) Page 13