He sighed and shook his head. “Stevie, don’t make plans until you’ve met her. Until you get the answers to some of your questions.” He gave her a reassuring smile to take the sting out of his words, but said them anyway. “She has a life. A life you don’t know anything about. She might even be happy.”
She nodded, inhaled sharply, and blew the air out in a long sigh. “I know, I know. But what if she’s not? It’s just that I have so many questions. And it feels like I’m wasting time—”
“It’s already been—” He broke off. “How old is she?”
“I don’t know, I tried to figure that out by remembering when Joanna was married to Michael, but it’s kind of blurry, dates and stuff, but I was ten when Joanna was pregnant—or when she was married to Michael Harris anyway. So that would make Debbie about seventeen.”
“Uh-huh.” When she looked up at him, he shifted one hand to smooth her hair back from her face, then scraped the pad of his thumb along her tear-dampened cheekbone. “It’s already been seventeen years, Stevie. One more night won’t hurt anything.”
“Yeah, I guess I know that. It’s just…” Words dried up, but her eyes didn’t. She took a breath again, let it go, and fought to control the quiver in her bottom lip before she said, “She’s my family, you know?”
“I know. I know, Stevie.” He bent his head to kiss her, tasting tears and hope along with the sweet taste that was pure Stevie. She touched him. In ways he hadn’t even completely realized yet. Her tears wept into his heart and ached gently as he pulled her close and tried to give her the comfort she so obviously needed.
“Paul,” she said, breaking the kiss and staring up into his deep brown eyes. “I didn’t come here for this. I didn’t want—”
“I know, Stevie.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Damn, I know that.”
“I should go.”
“Probably,” he conceded.
Their gazes locked, her arms came around his neck, and when she leaned into him he felt her surrender. He picked her up, cradling her close to his chest as he turned and left the kitchen. Walking soundlessly across the rug-strewn wood floor, he went to the wide staircase leading to the loft bedroom above. With her head on his shoulder, he carried her up the stairs and walked to his bed.
The massive pine four-poster was wide and soft and inviting.
“Paul, what’re we doing?”
“What we do best,” he said, and set her on her feet long enough to bend down and toss the quilt to the foot of the bed. When he turned back to her, she was watching him, her eyes filled with too many emotions to read and understand. She pulled in a breath, then let it shudder from her, and Paul reached for her instinctively.
His arms closed around her and locked her tightly to him. She nestled her head on his chest briefly before pulling just far enough back to look up at him. “This isn’t why I came here.”
“I know,” he said, his gaze drifting over her features, etching the very feel of her into his memory.
“But I don’t want to leave.”
“I know that, too.” And then he kissed her, bending his head to claim her mouth with a tenderness that rocked them both.
Achingly slowly, sweetly, he stripped her out of her clothes, his fingertips brushing across her skin, sending shivers coursing through her body. Paul wanted, needed, to comfort, to reassure, to caress her body and ease her wounded heart.
He devoured her, his mouth taking hers in a lazy, determined assault on her senses that threatened to overwhelm him as well. Her hands moved to the hem of his shirt and she yanked it up, breaking his kiss long enough to pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. Then their mouths met again and tasted, explored, each other while hands wrestled clothing, working buttons, zippers, teasing flesh.
In a few hasty seconds, they were naked and Paul tumbled her onto the fresh white sheets. Her hair spilled out around her head looking like a wild, careless halo. She reached for him and he moved into her embrace, loving the feel of her hands sliding down his back, her short, neat fingernails scraping lightly at his skin.
She was all. She was everything. In her arms, nothing else mattered, and as that thought registered, a part of his brain told him to be worried. But his brain wasn’t in charge now, so he disregarded the mental flashing red lights and gave himself over to the wonder of Stevie.
Stevie stared up into his dark eyes and saw flashes of emotion dazzling their depths, and a part of her wondered what he was feeling, thinking. But those questions and others were quickly lost in the sweet rush of sensation spiraling through her. His hands were everywhere, and wherever he touched her, heat erupted. Her body burned for him, her soul hungered for him, and somewhere in the midst of the turmoil racing through her brain, she realized that she was in far deeper than she’d imagined. Than she’d been willing to admit.
There was so much here, in his arms. More than she’d ever known before. There was tenderness and strength and a frenzied burning that exploded between them with the slightest touch.
As he shifted, to trail hot, damp kisses along her chest and to her breasts, she stared up at the beamed ceiling overhead. From above, moonlight poured through the skylight, washing the oak planks until they glowed with a nearly golden sheen. Shadows danced and moved and kept time with her as she writhed beneath him.
His mouth closed over her nipple and she arched into him, demanding more, needing more. He gave it to her, his tongue flicking at the sensitive flesh until she was gasping for air and not caring if it didn’t come. All that mattered was Paul. His mouth. His hands. His breath on her body, dusting across her flesh like a blessing.
And then he moved again, parting her thighs and slipping inside her. She welcomed the hard, solid length of him and felt at peace. He withdrew and entered her again, spiraling her higher, faster. His touch gentle, his kisses madness, he relentlessly drove her as she moved with him, her hips rocking to the rhythm he set.
She watched his face and knew he was feeling everything she did. Knew that this time, things were different. There was a tenderness here that surprised them both and fed the flames already engulfing them.
Stevie wrapped her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers through his hair, and whispered, “I need you, Paul.”
He stilled briefly, bent his head to give her a too-brief kiss, and then pushed himself deeper inside her. “Come for me, Stevie. Let me watch you go over.”
His hips swiveled and a dazzling sense of expectation lit up her insides. Tingling nerves shot arrows of sensation to every corner of her body. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held him to her, moving her hips, feeding those tingles.
He moved again and she gasped, spreading her legs wider, more open, giving herself to him, freeing her body to take its pleasure. Surrendering to the magic she’d only found with Paul.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Let go. Let me have you.”
With her surrender came the first small explosion. She felt it cascading through her. Her fingernails dug into his back. Her hips lifted and she rode the wave of completion with a soft gasp and a shudder that rippled through her and entered him. And only then did she feel him give himself up to the wonder—as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, murmured her name, and joined her in the clouds.
* * *
A few minutes later, the phone rang and Paul groaned. Reluctantly rolling off of Stevie, he pulled her up close to his side as he reached for the cordless on the bedside table. She snuggled into him, pillowing her head on his shoulder.
That insistent ringing came again and the shrill tone invaded Paul’s brain. He jabbed the TALK button. “What?”
“Hey, that’s friendly.”
Nick.
Paul tensed and wrapped his free arm even tighter around Stevie’s naked shoulders, as if somehow defending her from prying eyes. “What’s up?”
“Just something amazing, that’s all,” Nick was saying, and now that the head rush Paul had experienced in Stevi
e’s embrace was fading, he heard the excitement in his twin’s voice. “I had to tell you.”
“I’m listening.” He glanced down at Stevie, but she wasn’t paying attention to him. Good.
“I’ve got an interview,” Nick said, practically crowing into the phone. “CBS. I’d do color commentary for their football coverage.”
“That’s great,” Paul said, and meant it. Though he damn sure wished Nick had found another time to call.
“Yeah, I know. I’d be perfect for this, Paul.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You sound weird,” Nick said, suspicion coming across the phone line clearly. Then a second or two later, he chuckled. “Oops. Called at a bad time, did I?”
“You could say that.” Paul winced as Stevie moved her head to look up at him.
“Who is she? Anyone I know?”
Damn it. He couldn’t answer. Instead, he dodged and weaved, as if he were running a combat-training course, trying to avoid live weapons fire. “I’ve really gotta go,” Paul said, even as Stevie’s eyes narrowed and she pulled as far away as she could get, considering Paul’s tight grip on her.
“Right, right,” Nick said, but didn’t hang up. “Before you do … you know where Stevie is? I’ve been calling her place and she’s not home. I gotta tell her about this. She’ll be so jazzed.”
Stevie elbow-jabbed Paul in the side and he let her go with a whoosh of air shooting from his lungs. Naked and furious, she sat straight up in his bed and glared at him.
Shit.
“No, Nick, I don’t know where Stevie is.” The lie tripped off his tongue and he watched it slam into Stevie.
“Okay then, sorry to interrupt. I’ll just hunt her down myself.” Nick laughed again and added, “Give my apologies to your ladyfriend, okay?”
“Right.” Paul heard the dial tone humming in his ear and he knew Nick had hung up. But the damage was already done.
His gaze locked with Stevie’s. Her eyes darkened with fury. He almost couldn’t blame her. He’d lied to Nick about her while she was lying right there in his arms. And he knew the minute he hung up, this pleasant little afterglow was going to explode in his face.
CHAPTER TWELVE
NICK PUSHED THE END button on the cordless black phone, but he didn’t set it back into its cradle. Instead, he held on to it as if it were still a link to his brother. His family. To someone outside this chrome-and-mirrored nightmare that was his home.
He glanced around the room, his gaze drifting across the black leather couch, the glass coffee table, and the bizarre alienlike artificial flower arrangement the decorator had picked out. There wasn’t a rounded corner or a soft spot in the whole place. Even his bed was a futuristic slab surrounded by tall silver spires.
And he hated it all.
Instantly a memory of Paul’s comfortable home leaped into his mind. Funny, how he’d never noticed before just how well Paul had done. Before, Nick had always been too busy enjoying his own life to think about his twin’s. Now that he didn’t have a damn thing to think about, he had more than enough time to realize that Paul was doing way better than he was.
And this god-awful apartment just defined their differences.
Nick couldn’t remember ever actually liking the place. But then, until recently, he hadn’t spent much time here. And in the last few weeks he’d spent entirely too much time here.
Jumping to his feet, he tossed the phone onto the couch as he passed it on the way to the terrace. He stepped through the French doors and instantly squinted into the rising wind.
Three floors below his condo, cars streamed along the street; people strolled and talked and laughed. Restaurants shone brightly in the darkness, lamplight lying like scattered gold pebbles on the ground. The sounds of traffic were muffled three floors up, and the silence was empty.
What he missed was the sound of the ocean. The steady, rhythmic slap of waves on the shore, sounding like a heartbeat. Here in San Jose, the night sounds were so different from Chandler. Here the streets were lit up and people were out on the town half the night. In Chandler, there was … quiet. There was time to think—even when you didn’t really want to be doing any thinking. And at home there was the ocean. Wild, untamed by docks and jetties and tourists on their Ski-Doos.
But he hadn’t lived in Chandler in years. Why was it suddenly sounding so damn great again? Nick bent down, leaned his forearms on the iron railing, and told himself he was really slipping.
“What is wrong with this picture?” he asked himself, his own voice sounding way too loud in the stillness. “Paul’s in bed with some babe, Stevie’s out on the town, and Nick Candellano is sitting home alone.”
Shaking his head, he straightened up, curled his fingers around the cold, damp iron, and tightened his grip. Stevie. Who was she seeing? Why did he care? It wasn’t any of his business what Stevie did. Hell, she’d made it plain enough that they were in the past. He knew it as well as she did. But even after two years without her, he couldn’t help wondering what his life would have been like if he hadn’t fucked it up so badly.
And he wondered if whoever she was with realized what a lucky bastard he was.
* * *
“Okay,” Paul said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Before you say anything…”
She swung her hair back out of her eyes, sat straight up, and folded her arms beneath her breasts. Blue eyes narrowed on him, she said, “This sucks.”
He just looked at her. Hell, he’d been expecting a wild fury, judging by the daggers still shining in the depths of her eyes. “Huh?”
“This.” She unlocked her arms and held them out wide, encompassing his bedroom and them. “This whole thing just sucks.”
“Look, it was a little awkward when Nick called,” he said, knowing that didn’t nearly cover it. Christ, he’d almost felt like the “other” man, hiding from a jealous husband. Which was ridiculous, since Stevie and Nick hadn’t been an item in more than two years.
But old habits died hard. Paul had been looking out for Nick most of his life. And he couldn’t just suddenly turn on a dime and say something he knew damn well would puncture Nick’s pride at a time when the man didn’t have much pride left. Nick’s whole life had tumbled down around him. He didn’t have football anymore. He didn’t have Stevie. He didn’t have focus or a challenge or … anything, really. So now sure as hell wasn’t the time for his twin brother to tell him that he’d been sleeping with Nick’s ex-girlfriend.
“It’s not just that,” she said, scooting to the edge of the mattress and swinging her legs to the floor.
“Then what?” Paul asked. “I mean, if you’re pissed off because I didn’t tell Nick you were here … I thought we agreed not to tell anybody what was going on.”
“Oh, we did.” She nodded at him as she paced, her bare feet smacking hard against the wood floor. “And that’s part of the problem.”
His gaze followed her and he told himself to pay attention to what she was saying—not what she looked like. But hey, he was only human. Moonlight streamed in through the skylight over his bed and lit her up like a pale neon sign. Her lightly tanned skin shone with a golden light and her blond hair looked damn near silver.
Arguing with a naked woman took focus, damn it.
He tucked the sheet down over his lap, drew one knee up, and rested his forearm on top of it. “Okay, what’s the whole problem, then?”
She stopped dead and stared at him. Planting her hands on her nicely rounded hips, she tilted her head to one side and said, “Jeez, where should I start?”
“Pick a spot.”
“Fine. How about this?” She took a step closer to the end of the bed. “I don’t want to feel like I’m some high school kid, hiding her sex life from Mommy and Daddy. I’m too old to play this game, Paul.”
“Who’s playing?”
“We are. It’s nuts.” She threw her hands wide and let them slap back down against her thighs. “We keep saying this has got to stop. Bu
t it doesn’t. It just keeps happening. We’re like two sets of hormones on overdrive, for God’s sake.”
She waved one hand at him and the rumpled bedclothes. “Like tonight. I didn’t come over here to get ‘lucky.’ I came over here to see my friend.” She pulled in a deep breath. “I needed to talk to you about something huge in my life.”
“We talked.”
“Yeah. Then we came up here and—”
He pushed one hand through his hair. Guilt roared up and bit him hard. “Yeah, I know.” Hell, he hadn’t planned on this, either. But it seemed that whenever he was in the same room as Stevie, nature took over and to hell with everything else.
“Look,” she said after a long minute of silence had ticked past. “I know this is going to sound a little less than credible, considering that I’m saying it while naked, but I’m not going to do this with you anymore. I can’t. I won’t.”
“Why the hell not?” Jesus. Did he just say that? Where had that come from? Scrambling off the bed, he faced her on his own two feet and tried not to look below her eyes. It was hard enough to concentrate as it was.
“Are you serious?” she demanded.
“Yeah.…” Hell, that sounded real decisive. But it was as good as he could come up with at the moment. All he knew was, he didn’t want this—whatever it was they had—to end.
“There’s lots of reasons why not and you know them as well as I do.”
“Name one.”
“Well…” She groped for it, waving both hands in the air, and Paul realized that she’d spent so much time with his very Italian family, she even thought with her hands, like the rest of them.
“We don’t even have a relationship,” she blurted.
“Sure we do,” he countered. “We’re friends and we have great sex.”
“And that’s enough? That’s good for you?”
He snorted a laugh. “Are you really asking if it’s good for me?”
“Very funny.” She acknowledged that jab with a nod. “I know it’s good for you. I’m not an idiot. I want to know if it’s good enough for you.”
“Why do we have to analyze it?” Man, even he couldn’t believe what he was saying. He was the king of analyzing. Give him any problem at all and he would take it down to the very smallest possible denominator. And now here he stood, arguing to not think? What the hell was going on?
Knowing You Page 15