“Always.”
She took the foil-lined bag, unfastened it and drew a deep breath. “Mmm. Wonderful.” With her eyes closed, the dreamy expression on her face and the huskiness of her voice, she looked and sounded wonderful. She made him ache, but sometimes hurting felt good. “Is this single-estate, high-grown Arabica?”
“It is. It comes from El Salvador and is a blend of two very old Arabicas—Bourbon and Typica. The cafétos, or coffee trees, are grown at a thousand meters or higher on shade-covered hills. That makes the bean smaller.” He moved to stand behind her. “Denser.” Close enough now to smell the faint fragrance of her perfume. “Sweeter.”
Close enough that all she had to do was lean back an inch, maybe two, to bring their bodies together. Close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her. The need.
She drew another breath, a trying-to-regain-control sort of breath. “So I pour the beans in here?”
“Hmm.”
“How much?”
He brushed his mouth against her hair and awareness rippled between them. “Just a few. Until I tell you to stop.”
Her hand trembled as she raised the bag over the grinder. She shook out the beans, two or three at a time, enough for three cups before he remembered to say stop. “That’s enough. Now pulse the beans.”
She lowered her hand to the base of the machine, but did nothing until he covered it with his own hand, guiding her index finger to the button, pressing it. The rattle of beans against burr was harsh, but it didn’t distract him. Like Pavlov’s dog, the sound of the coffee grinder never failed to make him eager for a taste, and tonight was no exception. Except it wasn’t Topéca Manzano he wanted to taste.
How had it gotten so warm in here? Liz wondered. The temperature must have risen by at least ten degrees in the past few minutes. Her body was hot. Her skin was damp. Even her hair was feeling the heat. She wanted to strip off her clothes, to strip off Joe’s, to get even hotter.
But all in good time…and this coffee-making lesson was definitely a good time.
He shifted until they were touching, his arms around her, his focus still—at least, partly—on the lesson. “You want to break up most of the bean so that more of it’s exposed to the brewing process. But if you grind it too fine, it’ll wash through the filter.” His mouth was near her ear now, soft rough sounds and warm breaths that made her shiver despite the fever burning through her.
She eased the tension holding her stiff and sagged, just a little, against him. Immediately he moved even closer, and immediately his arousal nudged against her. Her knees went weak at the sensation.
With great effort she tried to concentrate on her task, though she doubted she would remember any of the instructions in an hour’s time.
“The coffee grounds go here.” He opened a small, cone-shaped projection on the machine. “More than a tablespoon, less than a heaping tablespoon.”
Her hand shook as she scooped up the grounds, and he steadied it as he guided the spoon to the filter.
“Now close it.”
They did that together.
“Put the cup here.”
She took a ceramic cup from the rack next to the sink and placed it under the filter.
“And turn it on here.” Again his hand guided hers. “And in four and a half minutes or so, you’ll have an excellent cup of coffee.”
She stared at the small red float bobbing in the water reservoir as the machine started to work. “Four and a half minutes? What do we do while we wait?”
“Gee, I don’t know.” His voice was husky, aroused and amused as he settled his hands at her middle, then slid them slowly up, across her midriff, then her breasts, to the top button. “Get you out of that dress, maybe?”
Lowering her gaze, she watched his long, slender fingers deftly slide the first button free, then the second. He was in no hurry, taking his sweet time, grazing his fingers across exposed skin, raising goose bumps, making her breath catch. Her eyes drifting shut, she let her head fall back to rest on his shoulder, and he took advantage of it by pressing a kiss to her temple.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured as his fingers skimmed across her belly, seeking the next button. One more, maybe two, and she could shrug out of the dress, let it slide over her hips and fall to the floor. That would leave her in nothing but barely-there lingerie, and would leave her no choice but to remove Joe’s clothes as well.
She was looking forward to it.
Major understatement. She went liquid inside at the thought of getting her hands on him.
The coffee machine sputtered and hissed as the last of the water ran through. The fragrance was lush, intoxicating.
“Nice aroma,” Joe murmured, nipping at her ear lobe, tickling around her belly button. “Excellent body. Complex flavor. Sweet aftertaste.” He punctuated the words with kisses along her jaw, turning her in his arms so he could explore further.
“Are you talking about me or the coffee?”
With one last great sizzle, the coffeemaker shut off, and in the silence, Joe stared at her, his blue gaze intense, just a little bit troubled. He didn’t want to do this. She knew because she didn’t either. Wrong as it was, though—reckless, unprofessional, risky—she couldn’t walk away. If he could…
She wrapped her arms around his neck and, for a moment, just held him tightly. “We’ll deal with it later,” she whispered, her voice very nearly soundless in the quiet. “But right now…please, Joe…”
Giving up on words, she kissed him and, for just a moment, he let her, unresponsive, still. Abruptly, he pulled her hard against him, her dress forgotten, his hands cupping her bottom, rubbing her against his erection while his tongue thrust inside her mouth.
It had been way too long since she’d been so hungry for a kiss that she couldn’t bear to break it to remove her clothes. Clinging to him, she shimmied out of her dress and left it, a bright spot of red on the industrial gray carpet. Bodies twined together, soft moans mingled with shallow breaths, they moved blindly from the cabinet a half dozen feet to the sofa.
With far less finesse and patience than he’d shown, she yanked loose the buttons on his shirt, pulled it free from his pants and shoved it halfway down his arms, then left him to discard it while she unbuckled his belt, then undid his trousers. Plastic crinkled an instant before they landed on the floor, along with her bra and panties, joined a second later by his boxers.
She’d recognized that crinkling sound—a condom wrapper—and smiled faintly. He might have his doubts about the wisdom of this, but he’d come prepared anyway. He wasn’t walking away.
The couch was soft, sturdy, creaking only a bit under their combined weight. With her hands and her mouth and soft, helpless whimpers, Liz urged him to hurry with the condom, to forget about caressing and exploring and everything else—this time, at least—to just slide inside her and fill her, complete her, bring her some relief.
And when he did, when he was cradled deep inside her, when they were as close physically as two people could ever be, she realized that it didn’t matter—that she was being unprofessional, that she was on the job, that she was deceiving him, that he was likely to break her heart. Whatever happened the next day, the next week, the next month, she would have this to get her through it.
This one night with Joe would be worth whatever consequences she would have to face. One night of intimacy. One night of knowing he cared for her whether he wanted to or not. One night of acknowledging that she felt the same for him, whether she wanted to or not. One night.
Damned if she wouldn’t make it the best night.
“Damn.”
Joe’s soft curse was the first coherent word either of them had spoken since Liz had whispered, Please, Joe…It was impossible to tell whether the emotion behind it was anger, regret, pleasure or some combination of the three. Her response, if she made one, would be purely pleasure. She had no anger and certainly no regret.
Even though what she’d just done might have
been a career-ending move.
Even though there was no future for the two of them.
She was lying on the couch, facing the desk, Joe snuggled close behind her. Because he wanted to be close? Or there wasn’t any space to put between them? Her heart was still thudding, her skin still flushed, her toes still curled, but she could breathe now. In the instant before the first orgasm—or was it the second?—she’d thought she was going to pass out from lack of air. Her lungs had been constricted, her heart pounding, her body wired, tight, as sensation spiraled through her out of control.
Wouldn’t that have been a hoot? Her first sex in far too long and her passed out from too much pleasure before it was finished.
With no windows in the storeroom, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. She could lift her head and check Joe’s watch, but that seemed too much effort. It had been time enough to make love twice—three times if she counted that first frantic coupling separately from the slow, lazy, sensual journey it had led to.
Time enough to make her face one fact: She didn’t have to worry about getting her heart broken sometime in the future. It was cracking even as she lay there, warm and sweaty and sated, in Joe’s arms.
It wasn’t fair. She’d waited too long to want a man this way, far too long to feel this way about a man. Why did it have to be this man?
Because sometimes life was good, and sometimes it bit you on the ass.
“Liz.”
Here it comes. The jeez-this-was-a-mistake, we’ll-pretend-it-never-happened-and-make-sure-it-never-happens-again speech. She steeled herself for it—hard to do when she was lying there naked, skin to skin with him. But she forced the best answer she could. “Hmm?”
“We should probably go.”
She wanted to protest that she hadn’t had her coffee yet, but he didn’t wait for a response before levering himself over her and onto his feet. Turning his back to her, he pulled on his boxers, then his trousers. By the time she sat up and retrieved her underwear from the floor, he was sliding his feet into his shoes and tucking in his shirt. By the time she finished buttoning her dress, he’d thrown away the coffee, emptied the grounds into a bucket next to the door and unplugged the machine.
He was definitely feeling some regret.
The odds of getting him to talk about what they’d done were somewhere between slim and none, so as she passed the bucket, she gestured to it. “What do you do with the grounds?”
He blinked as if she’d spoken in a foreign tongue, then focused on the pail. “I give them away. Miss Abigail, Sara Calloway and Lydia Kennedy use them in their gardens. They provide as much nitrogen as fertilizer but are more eco-friendly, and they’re great for acid-loving plants, like azaleas. Plus, worms love coffee grounds.”
“And that’s good?” she asked as he none-too-subtly moved her into the shop proper and toward the door.
“Worms aerate the soil, which allows good root formation.” At the front entrance, he glanced up and down the street before turning the key in the lock, then ushering her outside. “There’s also some evidence that the use of coffee grounds is helpful in repelling gophers and moles.”
Worms, gophers and moles. She’d never had a sillier conversation so soon after having great sex. But silly talk was better than no talk at all. It was better than the mistake speech she’d been expecting. Was still expecting.
The night was humid, quiet and cool. Her car was the only one parked on the square. Every business was closed up, everyone gone home. “What time is it?” she asked as they walked toward Ellie’s Deli.
“Twelve-twenty.”
His hands were at his sides. It would be so easy to slip her hand into his, curl her fingers over his. He probably wouldn’t push her away. He probably wouldn’t do anything at all—would just tolerate her action—and for that reason, she did nothing either.
She tried conversation again. “Do you think Natalia let Elizabeth and Bear out?”
“I’m sure she did.”
“So they won’t be bouncing up and down with their legs crossed by the time you get there.”
At the corner they turned south, walking along the western edge of the square. He breathed deeply—wishing she would just shut up and let him regret in silence?—and said, “No. They’re probably kicked back on the sofa, if they haven’t destroyed it, watching Animal Planet.”
“Geez, they eat one pillow and get branded as destructive for life. Cut ’em some slack. It was one mistake.” As she faced him across the car, she lowered her voice. “Cut yourself some slack, Joe.”
For the first time, he met her gaze, his mouth a thin line. He started to speak, then shook his head and unlocked the doors.
What had he been about to say? That having sex with her was a mistake he wouldn’t make again? That he wanted to forget it ever happened? She would give almost anything if he’d insist that it hadn’t been a mistake at all. That he still wanted her. That he would always want her.
Of course he didn’t.
She gave in to silence on the way home, feeling bluer with each passing block. When he parked next to her house, she got out and picked her way carefully over uneven ground to the sidewalk. Feeling the chill more acutely, she lengthened her stride, climbed the steps and stuck the key into the lock.
“You think it was a mistake?”
Joe’s voice came from behind her. Slowly she turned to face him. He stood at the bottom of the steps, serious, still, unbearably handsome.
In every way. “No.”
“Neither do I.” He sounded as sincere as she did. Was he lying, too?
“Then what…?”
He dragged his fingers through his hair before shrugging and parroting an answer she’d given him a few days earlier. “It’s complicated.”
Her laughter was short and regretful. “With you Saldana boys, everything’s complicated.”
“See, that’s part of the problem. Most women I date don’t even know I have a brother. You know. Man, do you know.”
If life were fair, she would tell him the truth: that Josh had never laid a hand on her unless it was for an audience. The bigger truth: that she’d never wanted him to. The biggest truth of all: that she’d never wanted any man the way she wanted him.
She returned to the top step and gazed down at him. “But I’m not holding it against you.”
Against his will, he laughed before sobering. “It’s just…weird. You being with Josh for so long, then tonight with me. It’s…”
Weird, she agreed. If it were true. When he was physically identical to the ex-boyfriend, it would be hard not to wonder if he was being used as a substitute, if when she touched him, kissed him, made love to him, she imagined he was Josh instead of Joe.
“I can honestly say I didn’t think of Josh even for an instant tonight.”
Joe stared at her, still, as if he didn’t believe her.
“What do you want me to say, Joe? That I wish I’d never known Josh? That I’d never been involved with him?” To counteract a shiver, she folded her arms across her middle so her hands were tucked against what little warmth her body had to offer. “I’ve told you before—I don’t love Josh and never did. I don’t want him back. Everything between us is over. Once I find him, I won’t care if I never see him again.”
“And what about everything between us?” Joe asked quietly. “Once you find Josh, what happens to us?”
She didn’t know what to say. How could she commit to a relationship with him when he didn’t know who she really was? How could she promise him anything? She didn’t even know what she wanted. A long-distance affair? To see where weekend visits, sex and e-mail could take them? Was she willing to give up her job and live in Copper Lake? Would she rather lure him to Dallas or some other city?
She didn’t have a clue what she wanted…besides him. Romance, love, marriage, family—the whole fantasy would be incredible. But maybe they’d find out in a few months’ time that the attraction between them was mostly physical, and th
ey’d each be ready to move on. Maybe they cared, but not enough to make a long-term commitment work.
She could give up her career for a sure thing, but for nothing more than maybes?
“I guess silence is a pretty clear answer, isn’t it?” Clouds had drifted over the moon, throwing his face into shadow, but she heard the disappointment in his voice.
“No, Joe, that isn’t—”
But he’d already pivoted and headed toward his house, his long legs taking long strides. She could kick off her shoes and run after him. She could yell across the space to him.
But she chose to do the wise thing: let him go. She stood there in the cool night shadows and watched until he disappeared inside the lavender house. Watched his shadow pass the window. Watched moment after moment while everything remained still.
Her feet hurting, her skin cold, her chest tight, she heaved a sigh at last and turned to the door. Just before she went inside, she cast another glance across the lawn and murmured, “That’s not my answer at all.”
Joe had trouble falling asleep. His yawns were so wide that they swallowed his face, but he couldn’t relax enough. Liz’s fragrance clung to his skin, even after a 2:00 a.m. shower. His fingers tingled with the feel of her. His whole self echoed with her silence.
What about us?
When he finally drifted off, it was to disjointed dreams of Liz, him, Josh, pain and disappointment and loss.
He got up at seven, groggy and still tired, and put the dogs out. There was no sign of life across the yard.
After letting the pups in again, he set out food dishes and fresh water in the middle of the kitchen floor, then fell back into bed, back into a restless sleep. It was nearly noon when he awoke again. His head hurt. His eyes felt like sandpaper. His joints were stiff. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in so late, or the last time he’d woken up feeling so lousy. College, probably.
Beside him, Elizabeth lifted her head, scowling her annoyance with him for disturbing her nap. He scowled back, slid to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen. First things first: dumping Ayutepeque beans into the grinder, scooping more than a tablespoon but less than a heaping tablespoon into the filter, adding eight ounces of cold water from the refrigerator dispenser. While the coffee perked, he went into the living room and returned with the biking magazine.
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