Night Music

by Linda Cajio

  She groaned, half from embarrassment, half from the mention of the dirty deed. The worst part was she couldn’t remember a thing.

  “You’re not getting sick again, are you?” he asked in terror.

  She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry, Devlin.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were sick?” he demanded. “Why the hell didn’t you say you got seasick? We never would have gone out. I had to cancel the charter for this morning because of this. Do you have any idea what it’s like to face four guys at five-thirty in the morning and tell them to turn around and go home?”

  “I’ll pay you,” she said quickly.

  “I don’t want your damn money!” he roared.

  She pressed her hands over her ears and shuddered. Why did he have to yell?

  In a quieter voice he said, “Since you insisted on being so idiotic, why didn’t you take something before you came on the boat so that you wouldn’t get sick in the first place?”

  “I did,” she said, holding her head. It ached from his lecture. She couldn’t seem to find the words to shut him up.

  Something landed on the cushions next to her. It was a large bowl.

  “Use it,” he snapped.

  “I’m not sick,” she said, raising her head. “Just mortified, okay? Look, I’m sorry I was such a disaster, but the medicine worked before on the cruise ship, and I don’t understand why it didn’t work this time. I even took three—”

  “You took three!” He stared at her. “You were lucky you didn’t kill yourself.”

  “I didn’t take them all at once, you cluck,” she said, furious with him for making her sound like a stupid person. “Just the last two, to stop the sickness before I got sick.”

  He looked her up and down. “It didn’t work.”

  Delayed realization finally set in. She was in different clothes because he’d undressed her. He’d actually taken her clothes off and put a T-shirt on her while she’d been … All of her had been exposed to his view. Devlin Kitteridge’s view. Her rose lace-and-silk panties didn’t hide much. No, they hid nothing, she was positive of it. Of all the men to see her like that. She felt oddly violated and aroused at the same time.

  Her humiliation rose one hundred percent at the notion. She wouldn’t show it, she thought, determined to hold on to whatever dignity she had left.

  “If you’ll give me my clothes, I’ll be on my way,” she said, raising her chin.

  “You don’t want them.” He grinned. “I have to admit that for all my annoyance at losing a charter, it was interesting to see you be human.”

  “How lovely,” she said. “Please give me my clothes.”

  “I dumped them overboard.”

  Her jaw dropped in astonishment. “You dumped them?”

  He nodded, raising his eyebrows as if she’d asked a ridiculous question.

  “Why couldn’t you have washed them?”

  “Do you see a washing machine?”

  She looked around. “No, but—”

  “Believe me, you wouldn’t have wanted them. I’ll lend you a pair of my jeans.”

  “No, thank you,” she said primly. The last thing she wanted was to be in any more of his clothes.

  His eyes narrowed. “You intend to walk up the dock in that blanket?” He relaxed his fanny back against the wall, his arms crossed. “This I gotta see.”

  She was no fool. “I will take a pair of jeans.”

  He shook his head. “Hilary, Hilary, Hilaiy. You made a decision, and far be it from me to allow you to back out now. You don’t want to be wishy-washy, do you?”

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Heaven forbid.”

  He would make her do it, she thought. It was just the kind of perverse thing he liked. She’d never met a man who was so full of contradictions as Devlin.

  Something landed against her again, clinking against the bowl. She opened her eyes to find a pair of jeans on the sofa.

  “I’m not a total ogre,” he said.

  She smiled. “No, you’re not. Just first runner-up.”

  Her words forced a reluctant smile from him. “Get dressed, and then we’ll get something to eat and take you home.”

  She wasn’t sure if she was ready for food, but she’d kill for a cup of tea.

  She reached out and picked up the jeans, intending to find the nearest bathroom. Instead the feel of the soft denim instantly brought to mind the image of his body inside those jeans, his skin touching everywhere. In a few minutes her body would be inside them, her skin touching everywhere, the most intimate part of her against where the most intimate part of him …

  A low moan rose from the back of her throat. She could feel beads of sweat on her forehead that had nothing to do with seasickness.

  “Are you sick again?”

  His questions dissipated her sensual awareness. She drew in a deep breath to steady herself, her fingers tightening around the jeans.

  “No,” she said, and knew it was another lie.

  She was sick, sick at heart. She doubted there was a cure.

  When Hilary finally emerged from the head, Dev couldn’t help staring at her. His jeans fit tightly around her calves and thighs. She looked just as fabulous as he’d thought she would. And every time he wore those jeans, he’d remember.

  Fortunately his black T-shirt was too large for her frame, but unfortunately, he realized as he continued staring, it did nothing to hide the curves of her breasts. She crossed her arms over her chest to compensate for her missing bra. It didn’t help. He knew all too well her bra was down in Neptune’s closet. He’d heaved the thing over the side himself. In fact it had given him great pleasure to throw all of those prissy clothes overboard for more than the obvious reason.

  But now … she looked so different. Gone was the social butterfly. Barefoot, with her hair down around her shoulders and brushed shiny, she had metamorphosed into any earthy, sexy, incredibly approachable woman. Yet the elegance was still there, an integral part of her, the part that somehow held the most allure.

  She smiled almost shyly, but didn’t step any closer. “I never asked, but how did it go yesterday? With the grandparents.”

  “They caught a shark,” he said, his voice surprisingly hoarse. He cleared his throat and found more words. “A four-foot blue, a baby. They threw it back.”

  “Together?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Yep. They were talking too.” A part of him wished they hadn’t. It would mean no more outings with Hilary. To dispel the disturbing thought, he turned back to the stove and the breakfast. “If the truce lasted through the car ride home, it would be a miracle.”

  “I assume they took Lettice’s car?”

  “You assume wrong. My grandmother is barred by the family from driving. They took yours. Eggs and toast are ready.”

  “They took mine!” she squawked. “Now how am I supposed to get home?”

  He grinned at her. “Me. Now, take a plate and eat.”

  She did and whirled back into the other room. Dev followed happily. There was something to be said for being behind a woman as she walked. It made a man want to run his hands down the length of her long spine and find the curves of her derriere. From there imagination went rampant.

  He drank coffee while she ate, at first tentatively, then with gusto. “It’s not as good as what you could do,” he said.

  “It’s terrific,” she mumbled around bites.

  “Where did you learn to cook like you do?”

  “I was a sous-chef at the White Dog Café in Philadelphia,” she replied. “A friend of mine owns it, and she let me train there. I worked for a couple of other restaurants but got tired of it and went out on my own.” She paused, then added with a little smile, “Into the froufrou catering business.”

  “If yesterday’s lunch was anything to go by, you give one hell of a froufrou.”

  She chuckled. “I take it lunch did come off, then.”

  “Actually I ate most of it. The grand
parents were too busy catching fish, although they did eat later. You had it all ready except for being on the table.”

  “At least Mr. Savarin won’t be turning over in his grave that I was derelict in my duty.”

  He frowned. “What does a coffee manufacturer have to do with your being a cook?”

  “Brilliant Savarin was one of the greatest master chefs of all time,” she told him.

  “Makes one helluva cup of coffee too.”

  She giggled, then grew serious. “I really have made a mess of your day. What can I do to make it up to you?”

  When she asked him like that, in a voice that could melt a man’s insides, he was ready to give her anything, rather than the other way around.

  “Nothing,” he said, watching her eyes. “I don’t want anything from you.”

  He saw her hurt, then she shuttered her eyes.

  “I see,” she said.

  But she didn’t see, he thought. She didn’t see at all how she could twist him up.

  It wasn’t something he planned to tell her either.

  The afternoon was just beginning when he finally drove up to her town house.

  The tension had reappeared during the long car ride, and Hilary had had no idea how to stop it. Just sitting next to Devlin had produced an awareness that grew as the miles did. Every line of his body, every movement of his, had set off a deep pulsing within her. The air couldn’t seem to find her lungs, no matter how deeply she breathed it in. Hot, heavy syrup seemed to have replaced her blood, especially deep in her pelvis, where it throbbed convulsively. The car’s air-conditioning didn’t cool her off. Instead she felt as if the August heat and humidity had built to an all-time high inside her. Even telling herself that she’d humiliated herself in front of him—albeit unwittingly—didn’t stop the awareness and underlying physical tension.

  She didn’t attempt conversation. Halfway up from the shore it had died an uncomfortable death anyway. Devlin had turned the radio on. He stared out the windshield, watching traffic, and she stared out the side window, watching the sights.

  “Thank you,” she said, when he pulled into a parking slot near her town house.

  “Yeah,” he muttered, turning off the ignition. “I see your car made it home all right.”

  She turned around to look at her regular parking spot, but Devlin was in the way. A tiny voice inside her told her to stop staring. She could, she thought, if he stopped staring at her first. But those blue-green eyes held her mesmerized. She could feel her nipples tighten, and she could see his awareness of her reaction in his quickened breathing.

  He reached across the space between them until his fingers touched her hair. They threaded through the strands slowly, as if testing them against his skin.

  “Do you know you never wear it free like this?” he said in a quiet voice.

  “Yes, I do,” she said, surprised that her calm tone betrayed none of the wild confusion bursting inside of her.

  “I’ve never seen it.”

  “Oh.” She knew she had to get out of the car now. “I should go.” She didn’t move.

  “Yes. Yes, you should,” he said, even as his hand cupped her cheek.

  The space between them suddenly closed to nothing. Their mouths met instantly, hungrily, in a thorough, breath-stealing kiss that inflamed her. His arm came around her, pulling her to him until her breasts were pressed to his chest. Only thin cotton separated flesh from flesh, and it proved to be no barrier at all. His fingers wrapped around her hair. His tongue circled and rubbed against hers, provoking the maddening sensations to even greater heights.

  Warmth trickled along her flesh. She gripped his upper arm, her fingers curling around the corded muscles. It was as if she had anchored herself to him, rooting herself in reality even as she was being swept away. His fingers left her hair to trace a path down her cheek, then down between their bodies until he found her breast.

  She moaned as his thumb rubbed across her nipple, fanning the aching heat to a fever pitch. She had wanted him to touch her like this, but the satisfaction soared the wanting to another level. She wanted him, needed him. Now.

  She was so hot … unbearably hot … intolerably …

  Another kind of reality penetrated. Hilary realized she was in a car, in front of any of her neighbors who cared to see, necking with Devlin. More than necking. Damn near down in the front seat and ready to make the car rock.

  She pulled away, panting for breath. With the engine off, the air-conditioning was off, and the heat had built quickly. She was nuts, she thought, horrified that she was kissing a man uncontrollably in broad daylight. And he was touching her, in public. Idiotic … crazy … What had happened to her brain? All her common sense seemed to fly out the window when it came to Devlin Kitteridge.

  “Thanks again,” she mumbled, whipping open the car door and scrambling out of the passenger seat. The air outside seemed chilly compared with the heat they’d generated in the car.

  She slammed the door shut behind her and half-ran to her front door. She heard his engine start and his car screech out of the parking lot. She didn’t look back as she fumbled with the door lock. Finally the key went in straight, and she was inside in a flash. She leaned back against the steel door, desperate to barricade herself in, away from that man.

  A little voice inside her told her it was too late.

  Way too late.

  Dev slammed on the brakes right in front of his grandmother’s door. As he strode toward the house, the door opened. His grandmother stood on the threshold.

  “I came for lunch,” he said, not breaking his stride.

  “Is Hilary okay now?” Lettice asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did she slam the door in your face again?”

  “No.”

  He walked past her into the house. The knick-knacks and the tables in the foyer hadn’t changed from his youth. Even the Ming vase still sat atop the delicate Hepplewhite table, seasonal flowers blooming brightly in contrast to the muted Chinese porcelain. Once he had come joyously to this home, basking in his family’s no-nonsense affection and security. Then he had hated to come, hated to face his memories.

  For once, though, the past didn’t come rushing at him, threatening to overwhelm him. In fact it didn’t come at all. His mind was too filled with that kiss.

  He was getting in too deep, he thought. Much too deep.

  With a woman like Hilary, a man might never surface again.

  Seven

  He hated dinner parties.

  Dev tugged at his restricting collar, the alien tie feeling, as always, like a noose around his neck.

  “Stop fidgeting,” his grandmother admonished him as she knocked on the door.

  “I’m not fidgeting,” he grumbled, twitching his shoulders against the tight fabric of his suit jacket.

  “You look like Salome doing the dance of the seven veils,” Lettice said.

  He almost snapped back that she wasn’t all that calm, cool, and collected herself. He’d sensed a new tension in her these past several days, but she had said nothing about Marsh, the boat, or the ride home.

  Dev wanted to ask, but decided against it.

  The front door opened, and Lettice instantly turned on the Kitteridge charm. She swept inside and kissed the cheeks of the hostess and host. “Margo, Richard. How lovely. You remember my grandson, Devlin? Of course you do, Richard. You were both in school together.”

  Dev smiled and shook hands with the tall, fair-haired man. “Last time I saw you, you were skinny and nearsighted.”

  Richard chuckled. “And you were trouble.”

  “He still is,” Lettice said.

  “Thank you for having me,” Dev said to his hostess, shaking her offered hand.

  “Oh, no, Devlin. I am just thrilled you chose my little soiree to come out of … retirement.” Margo giggled, clearly overjoyed to have the biggest gossip coup of the year.

  Dev just smiled at her and walked on into the room, wishing he hadn’t
come and wondering why he had. But he knew the answer, and her name was Hilary. Lettice had mentioned at lunch the other day that she would be here. He’d snatched up the vague offer, trading on his old acquaintance with Richard to get his grandmother to make a major faux pas and ask to bring her own guest. He’d even promised to be on his best behavior.

  As he looked around for Hilary, he admitted he should have left things alone, especially after what had happened in his car. Hilary rattled cage doors long shut tight. But he’d no sooner heard her name than he’d leaped right back in.

  Now, he told himself, he needed to see her on neutral territory, to explain … something. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to explain, but the urge was riding him too much to be ignored.

  The front room was enormous and filled with people. Obviously Richard had done all right for himself. At least he hadn’t lost whatever he’d inherited.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Dev muttered, thinking of himself. Everyone was dressed formally too. At least he had on a tie.

  “What did you say?” Lettice asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Well, see you behave yourself. I’m trying to get Richard to be a sponsor at the next Villanova Hospital Ball, and I do not want you to blow it for me. Or you will regret it,” she added in an ominously quiet tone.

  “Yes, Grandmother. And by the way, there’ll be hell to pay on your end if Hilary doesn’t show up. And I don’t see her.”

  “Oh, she’s here, otherwise Margo would be foaming at the mouth. Devlin, dear, there’s something you need to understand—”

  “I thought so!” a voice interrupted. “Devlin Kitteridge.”

  Dev turned to find another old acquaintance bearing down on him, saying, “I haven’t seen you since that … See, everyone, I told you it wasn’t Miles.”

  He gritted his teeth as he was pulled into a large knot of people. After initial greetings the men were blatantly uninterested in him because he no longer had any power in business or in their society. The women were more predatory, and all of them seemed to be clones of his hostess. Maybe he’d walked into a remake of The Stepford Wives, he mused. Everyone talked out of squared jaws, and the cultured tones grated on his nerves.