“You don’t really seem into it,” she said.
“I’m always into it.” He tried to use his smooth, deep voice but it sounded tired and unconvincing.
“I don’t think your homeboy agrees,” she said with a flick of his limp dick.
He grimaced. “Maybe…” No, he wouldn’t stoop that low again. He wouldn’t blame her for his own shortcomings. Maybe he had grown a conscience--it sure was a creepy, sneaky thing. “I better go.”
She shrugged. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Going back out?” he said.
She smiled. “A girl has needs. See you around.”
He waved and climbed into his truck. Now what? He couldn’t even keep it up? Except he could, too much even, with Chiara. Shit. He let loose a string of expletives as he drove up First Street. His forehead pounded. He turned onto High Street but passed his own street before turning into Chiara’s. He stopped and turned off his lights.
There, on the stoop, she sat, the house dark behind her. He actually heard his heart beat. He ran his hands over his hair as she stared into the truck. She knew it was him, even if she might not be able to see him. Her hair waved around her soft face, all her curves silhouetted in the low streetlights. She walked toward the truck. He could almost see her sleek thighs under the light skirt she wore, a tiny tee doing the same for her breasts. Barefoot, she opened the door and hopped into the passenger seat. Heat, sweetness, and seduction swirled around him. She took in a deep breath. Her exhale tickled the hairs on his arm.
“I thought…” she said.
Even her voice moved him, almost prim and proper but for that cadence of sultry naughty sliding through every word.
“Me too,” he said. He hadn’t thought they’d see each other again.
Their eyes held and caressed each feature of the other’s face. The tiny worry marks on her usually smooth forehead, her cute little nose, her deep sparkling eyes, full lips, rounded chin, each begging to be kissed. He should start with one of those cheeks, the right one that got a miniscule dimple when she smiled. But she wasn’t smiling. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Your boys asleep?”
“They’re at my parents’.”
“Where’s he?” Why did he ask? Because he needed to know.
“In bed.”
“Were you?” His throat tightened, though he knew she wouldn’t say she’d just had sex with her husband. Shit, her husband.
“Not exactly.” She grasped his hand, traced his fingers. He leaned sideways into his seat. “I couldn’t…” She blew out a breath. She couldn’t have sex with anyone else either. They were meant to be.
He smiled and slid next to her. His mouth perused first her cheeks, forehead, smooth now, over the unseen bump on the bridge of her nose, jump to the chin, before settling into her lips, her sensual, life-altering lips. Yep, things worked just right.
Their knees touched and he pulled her closer. His hands stayed on her back, trembling, undecided what sweet spot to touch. She knew. With the speed of a throw to home to catch out a runner, she undid his pants and pulled him out. She moaned. Their tongues shifted into overdrive. She teased his balls before she began. His cock swelled in her hot hand. His fingers gripped her shirt. He wanted to feel her too, but her rhythmic, powerful movements made him lightheaded. A gurgle sounded in her throat and she squirmed. A pause in kissing to catch their breaths let him study her fiery cheeks.
“My dirty girl,” he whispered. His voice went deep and hoarse before he moaned. Their breathing quickened as did her touch. She went for his neck with her mouth, ravenous. “Chiara,” he exhaled as she finished him.
He sank into the seat back and she rested on him. Licking his lips, she shuddered against him. After a few minutes just breathing together, he groped in the back for a towel. She took it from him and caressed him clean. He shut his eyes and smiled as she redid his pants for him. They kissed again.
“You need to make me work harder for you,” he said. He was pretty sure she’d come too.
She smiled, the dimple accentuating her mischievous tone. “I’m multi-talented. What did you have in mind?”
“Come home with me and I’ll show you.”
Her smile faded and she glanced back at the house. “I can’t,” she whispered.
He kissed her, deep and long. She trembled when he whispered in her ear. “You can. You want to.” Giving her earlobe a quick suck, he continued. “I’m going to do a lot of that, especially on all your sweet lips, before I have you screaming my name. All night long.”
She laughed, a sexy challenge. “What about the morning?”
“Morning, noon, and night.”
“How do you know I’m a screamer?”
“You will be when I get to you,” he said, fondling her.
Her little sigh of pleasure warmed his neck. She nodded and leaned into her seat. He started the truck.
“Wait,” she said.
He glanced at her and saw. They both stared at the house. The lights were on. She ducked down but he kept his eyes on the windows. The curtain twitched. Shit.
“Is he opening the door?” she asked, her voice strangled in panic.
“No. Go in and tell him. I’ll come with you if you want.”
“No, I’ll go.” She smoothed her skirt and pulled at the hem of her tee.
“Do you want me to wait?”
She sat up, glanced at the house, and shook her head. “I can walk over to your house in a bit, okay?”
“You sure?”
“Mm-hum. Give me about half an hour.” Twisting her hair, she stepped down from the truck, carefully shutting the door. She smiled weakly at him and walked to the front door. She looked back and he nodded to her before she walked in. He drove home.
These empty rooms wouldn’t be empty anymore. He walked around turning on the lights, peering into each room with fresh eyes. He’d have to hurry that remodel of the second bathroom, maybe he could hire one of the guys to help. The bedroom near the living room would be good for her boys. They could buy bunk beds and a dresser, maybe take them shopping for some new toys and books. About twenty years and as much tension rolled off him as he surveyed the space.
Chiara would be here soon. He tidied his room, folding down the sheets and putting away his clean clothes which were stacked on the edge of the bed. She would be here all night, tomorrow, every day. He grinned as he ambled into the kitchen. She would cook in this kitchen, they would be in it together, maybe watch TV in the living room before going to bed every night.
Sure, not everyone would like them living together but he would make it okay. As soon as her divorce was final, what did that take, about six months? Then he’d surprise her with a nice ring…he chuckled. If his mom and Sabrina could hear his thoughts they’d either squeal or faint. He sounded like a woman almost, planning and projecting. Especially when there was enough to occupy his mind about tonight. But his brain jumped again, to the trip to San Diego. Maybe she could go with him and Sabrina. Chiara could show them around, where she went to college and all. Walks on the beach--damn he’d love to see her in a swimsuit, some bright little thing, but not too little because she knew how to tease his senses. Taking a deep breath, he glanced around the living room. Everything was tidy and as ready as it could be. Only about ten more minutes.
He should walk over and meet her. She might have a couple bags and need help carrying them. Grabbing his keys and cell, he went out the door. He actually felt a spring in his step. Whistling, he strode toward her house.
Chapter Fourteen
“Where were you?” Phil said. He sat on the couch when she walked in.
“Outside. I told you I needed some air.” She stood near him. “I need to leave, I can’t do this anymore.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…maybe we should see a sex therapist.” He half mumbled, half begged.
Chiara’s face burned. What it must be doing to Phil to say those words, what he must be going through. It wasn’t his fault his
advances disgusted her. “I don’t think that will help. I--”
“Please just go on this trip. You promised we’d try. We haven’t been to see Dr. Michaels yet. And my parents…they’re counting on seeing us all and taking the boys to Disneyland. The boys too, right before Danny’s birthday, we can’t do that to them. Please, I know things aren’t what they should be, but we still love each other, right?”
“I can’t.” Poor Phil. He looked at her like Danny had when his puppy got hit by a car. Her stomach fell. She wasn’t even trying. And why? For sex? Rocco offered a night, well, maybe a weekend, of sex. It would be amazing, no doubt, but at what cost? Everyone would find out and then…
“Please, unless you have some other reason?” A hint of suspicion gleamed in his eye. “You wouldn’t try to take the boys from me, would you? You know my parents would help me, I won’t let you take them.” He wouldn’t look at her but his voice was steady and sure.
“We weren’t talking about that.” She rubbed her arms. Icy water flowed through her. If she left him now, he’d have every reason to fight her in court and he might win. She couldn’t lose her boys. Rocco probably just wanted some hot sex and then he’d move on and she would have nothing. She sighed. “I’ll go, but then we’ll need to talk again. We can work something out.” Maybe she could explain to Rocco, if he could wait a little longer, maybe it would be okay if she filed the divorce papers, maybe that wouldn’t look so bad.
Phil kissed her cheek. “I knew I could count on you. I’m sorry I doubted your priorities. I know you love the boys as much as I do.”
“Goodnight,” she said as he moved toward the bedroom.
Finding her cell, she walked into the laundry room and called Rocco. He sounded so chipper, huh, and the noise of cars and trees rustling greeted her. Was he walking? Gravel crunched under footsteps. “Are you outside?” she asked once they’d said hello.
“I thought I’d meet you. Where are you?”
“Home. I can’t come.”
“What? Why?” The sounds of his movements stopped.
“Phil and I promised the boys we’d take them on vacation. We’re leaving tomorrow for two weeks. I’m sorry--”
“Two weeks?”
“Maybe when we get back…”
“Right, we’ll have a good fuck then.” His words dripped bitter, like that horrible Asian hot sauce Phil liked.
“I didn’t mean--”
“You never mean to.” His breathing rasped. “Hey, you played a good game.”
“What?” Is that what this was to him?
“You know, it’s all been in fun. I bet a few guys at work I could get you into bed.” Her body clenched. His voice reverberated, harsh yet sportive. “Usually they wouldn’t give me a whole month, but since you’re married--”
“Fuck you,” she said. She shook, barely able to choke out the words.
“You wish.” Nice, he used her own words to cut her down. She hung up and took a deep breath.
He had to be lying. Except it wouldn’t be the first time a guy had pulled that crap on her. But then she’d had Jenny, who’d pantsed the guy in front of his friends. Chiara leaned against the wall and tilted her head up.
“What should I do, Jen?” she whispered.
“Fuhget about it,” Jen’s guido impression answered in her mind, full of laughter. Forget it, she’d say, he’s not worth your time. And then Jen’d take her out for a chocolate shake at The Ice Creamery or when they were older, a strawberry margarita at Fiesta Del Mar, where they scoped out the guys, giggling and flirting.
Chiara slid down the wall into her earthquake huddle. She’d been in denial. There had been an earthquake, a 5.5, and she was trapped alone in the rubble. Blocks of shame, guilt, anger, betrayal, and longing buried her, the carefully constructed walls destroyed. A low sob tried to escape. She covered her mouth with her hand. Rocco had seen her cry, knew her secrets, made her ecstatic, literally.
She had almost given herself to him as she had with no one else, definitely no other man. Yet some things she still held, some truths stayed untold, even to herself. She acknowledged them now before entombing the feelings and truths in a fresh construction made from the destruction. She stood and wiped her hands on her skirt, as if she’d used her bare hands to build those dusty walls. It used to be she had to stuff her feelings down with food, but now she was stronger, years of careful living crafted her fortitude. But the precise building she’d thought would free her hemmed her in, leaving her alone. So alone.
And yet she wasn’t alone. When she eased into bed later, hoping Phil was asleep, he scooted next to her, snuggling against her back. Unbelievable. She’d said she wanted to leave him and he thought she wanted to snuggle?
“Phil,” she said in warning. She edged away from him.
“Maybe if we…can’t you try? I think our lack of intimacy is part of the problem, don’t you think?”
She hated it when he was so reasonable, especially about sex. Sex should be crazy, messy, spontaneous. “I don’t want to.”
He lay on his back. “Is there someone else?”
“No,” she said, too emphatically. She’d always prided herself on being honest, at least when asked a direct question.
“I don’t understand. We got along so well in the beginning. I thought all the problems would solve themselves once you were done with the pregnancies and babies. But now…I know I haven’t changed.”
“Maybe I have.”
Phil sighed. “Do you feel anything for me?”
“You’re the father of my children. I’m tired. Can we talk in the morning?”
“Okay,” he said, almost in a whine like Danny’s.
Chiara let out an exasperated breath and closed her eyes.
The aroma of coffee caused her to open her eyes the next morning. Maybe Phil had actually made breakfast. She scuffed into the kitchen.
“I made some coffee if you’d like some,” he said. “What’s for breakfast?”
Sometimes she wanted to smack him. And his coffee was weak. Rocco probably knew how to make good, strong coffee and he’d make her breakfast in bed. In her dreams.
“I’m having toast,” she said.
“Shouldn’t we have eggs or something? It’s going to be a long day.”
“But we’re having lunch at my parents’ before we leave.”
“Fine,” he said in a clipped tone.
She knew he disliked her parents, her whole family, really. The feeling was mutual; she didn’t like his family much either.
The boys were cranky by the time they arrived at Phil’s parents’ house that evening. But of course, they insisted on taking everyone out to dinner and then gave Chiara disappointed raised eyebrow looks the whole time, as if the boys’ behavior was her fault. A delicate blush of embarrassment spread over Phil’s mother’s cheeks when an acquaintance of hers stopped by the table and wasn’t greeted properly by the boys.
“Bennington, Kitty, what a pleasure,” the perfectly coiffed and perfumed woman said with a quick snide glance at Chiara. She still couldn’t believe her in-laws names, though at first she’d been charmed, thinking them some fifties throwback, like the rich in-laws from “Father of the Bride” with Spencer Tracy and Liz Taylor. In a way they were, all old money and politeness. The first rude awakening had come at the wedding, soon followed by the tussle over Danny’s name. Phil and his parents wanted him named Bennington.
“Claire,” Phil said some time later. “Mom asked if you wanted dessert.”
“I’m sorry. No thank you,” she said.
“She’s so absent-minded,” Phil said in an aside to his parents.
Chiara tugged both ends of her napkin. Two solid weeks of the attack of the Kirkwoods. She didn’t know how she would make it.
At least that night she managed to go to bed with the boys. Max felt scared being in a new place and despite their disapproving looks, Chiara snuggled with him in the twin bed in the guest room Kitty had decorated just for the boys. As Max�
�s breathing steadied in sleep, Chiara stared at the mural of the ocean on the ceiling. Danny loved it but Max didn’t care for it much. He tended to get ignored a bit here; he was too much like her family except he already knew when to keep his feelings to himself. It had taken Chiara many years to learn that lesson.
Uncomfortable as that bed was with two people in it, Chiara preferred it to sleeping with Phil. It wasn’t any worse than Max’s bed at home, where she often slept. In fact, the mattress was cushier. Only the most expensive furniture could be found in Kitty’s home. Also, she let Chiara sleep in. Finally someone else made breakfast. It was nine by the time Chiara walked into the large, bright kitchen. She’d already showered and dressed. One did not appear in pajamas at the Kirkwoods’.
Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book) Page 11