“You’ll ruin your dress.” Hands in his pockets, he watched her wading deeper. “Crazy broad,” he said. She was in up to her knees, her dress bunched up around her thighs, a section of hem trailing in the water behind her. “Hey,” he said, “that’s far enough. Come on back now.”
Still holding the dress, she braced her legs against the onrushing waves and turned to look at him. And smiled that Mona Lisa smile. “Come and get me,” she said.
He grinned. “Oh,” he said. “You’re wanting to play games now, are you?”
He advanced on her and she backed away slowly, water lapping at her thighs, the white dress billowing and swirling around her. “Fiore,” he said, “you’re about to fall on your pretty little ass.”
“Hah! If I go down, MacKenzie, you go with me.”
“Too bad about the dress.”
He lunged and missed. She shrieked and went over backward, came up laughing, water running off her like Niagara, that dress plastered to her body like a fresh coat of paint. He held out a hand and she took it, and he hauled her into his arms and kissed her.
She gasped and clutched his shirt front in her fists. Heart hammering like a locomotive, he took his sweet time exploring those lush lips. She tasted of salt water and grenadine and warm, willing woman, and this was an even bigger mistake than the dancing had been because she was kissing him back for all she was worth, and he wasn’t sure this time he could let her go.
Oh, Jesus, he thought. And finished it: Help me.
They came up for air, both of them gasping, both of them drenched, both of them suddenly dead serious. That ridiculous Duchess of York hairdo had fallen and was hanging about her shoulders in sodden strings. She lifted a hand and shoved a wet strand away from her face, and he wrapped his fingers in the rat’s nest at the nape of her neck and pulled her back to him.
This time she was ready for him. She uttered a soft sound of pleasure as he teased her mouth open and plunged his tongue inside, and they met in a silken duel of thrust and parry. Her hips moved restlessly against his, and he caught her and lifted her, thrusting her up hard against him.
And she moaned aloud. Her arms went around his neck and they rocked together, straining to be closer, to swallow each other, to become one. He rained a trail of kisses from the corner of her mouth, down over that pretty little pointed chin, inch by inch, kiss by kiss, along the slender white column of her throat. And then he did what he’d been waiting all night to do: he slipped a hand beneath the wet dress and cupped one of those ripe peaches.
It fit his hand perfectly. He held it until the flesh warmed in his hand, and then he found the hard little peak and began to stroke it, gently, with the tips of his fingers. She made a soft strangled sound deep in her throat and went weak against him, head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open just enough for breath, just enough to show a glimpse of white teeth and the pink tip of her tongue. Still stroking, he watched the pained pleasure on her face and knew that she was his for the taking. He could have her right here in the surf, if that was the way he wanted it, like Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in From Here to Eternity. He closed his eyes as an image of her naked and writhing beneath him burned itself into his brain. It would be hot and hard and hungry, and nobody would come away unsatisfied.
And then what?
The thought washed over him like ice water. He opened his eyes and looked at her rapt face. He’d never wanted a woman more in his life. He could give her what she needed tonight, but tomorrow would be a different story. No matter how bad he wanted her tonight, once the deed was done, they could never go back. Was he willing to destroy everything they had for a single night of hot sex?
Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Was this some kind of test?
With overwhelming regret, he released her breast and drew her dress back to cover it. Through the wet fabric, the nipple was still clearly visible. He cleared his throat. “Bad idea,” he said hoarsely.
She opened her eyes. They were hazy and unfocused, liquid and puzzled. She wet her lips. “What?” she said.
He took a step backward. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was out of line.”
She looked at him with those eyes, deep and green and unreadable. Without warning, she placed both palms flat against his chest and shoved him, hard, catching him off guard and nearly knocking him on his ass. “You son of a bitch,” she said.
“Hey,” he said, surprised, “cut it out.”
She advanced on him, shoved him again. “You rotten, cruel, sadistic son of a bitch.”
He held up both hands. “I’m sorry. I said I was sorry. I got carried away.”
She punched his shoulder. Hard. The damn woman had a mean right hook. “How could you?” she shouted.
“What the hell do you mean, how could I? It takes two to tango, sweetheart.”
“How could you do that to me?” She aimed the next punch at his face, but he ducked and she missed.
“Hey,” he said, “you seemed to like it—”
“How could you take me that far—”
“—just as much as I did!”
“—and then just leave me hanging?”
He blinked. Stared at her. Blinked again. He couldn’t believe it. The little witch was slugging him and screaming like a fishwife not because of what he’d done, but because of what he hadn’t. Fury burst in him. “I won’t be a stand-in for any man!” he shouted.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He advanced on her until they were nose to nose. “You tell me just one thing, sugar. If Danny Fiore was standing beside us, right here, right now, would you even remember I was here?”
She stood there in all her drunken splendor, mouth working but no sound coming out. And he bent closer. “You’re trying to use me,” he said. “I won’t be used.”
She seemed suddenly to have shrunk into herself, and he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Let’s get one thing clear right now, Fiore,” he said. “If, by some wild stretch of the imagination, the time ever does arise when you and I take a tumble between the sheets, it’ll be for one reason, and one reason only: because we’re so hot for each other that we’re both half crazy with it. In which case, there’ll only be two of us in that bed. There won’t be any room for Danny Fiore. Furthermore, we’ll both be stone cold sober, because I like my women to remember me in the morning.” He squared his jaw. “And believe me,” he said, “you’ll remember.”
And he turned and slogged his way to shore, leaving her standing there in the water.
chapter twenty-four
So this was how it felt to die.
Every time she had the audacity to move her head, a massive Chinese gong went off inside her skull. Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed a gallon of turpentine, her mouth tasted like old socks, and her teeth were sticky. Moving like a hundred-year-old woman, she followed the bellboy to the elevator that would take them to the lobby. It didn’t look as though she’d be fortunate enough to die, so she would have to settle for second best, a quick, anonymous departure from this insidious hell.
But it wasn’t meant to be. As the elevator doors whispered to a close, she saw Rob sprinting down the hall with his suitcase. He caught the doors with mere inches to spare. “Leaving without me?” he said.
She adjusted her dark glasses. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“A little edgy this morning, are we?”
“Oh, shut up.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Juicy Fruit. He unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth, then held out the pack to her. “Gum?” he said.
She glanced at it quickly, then returned her gaze to an invisible spot between the bellboy’s shoulder blades. “No, thank you,” she said.
“It might settle your stomach.”
“My stomach,” she said archly, “is just fine, thank you.”
“Look,” he said, “about last night—”
“Last night never happened.”
“Funny, but that’
s not how I remember it.”
“Too bad. That’s the way it’s going down in the history books.”
“Well, listen, I just want to say that I’m really flattered—”
“Don’t be. It wasn’t anything personal. You just happened to fit my demanding criteria: you walk upright, you’re breathing, and as far as I could tell, you’re anatomically correct.”
The bellboy cleared his throat. The elevator came to a shuddering halt, the doors scraped open, and Casey adjusted her glasses and strode to the front desk, where she and Rob had a minor squabble over who would pay her share of the bill. Rob won, and she glared at him as they loaded their bags into a waiting cab.
The scenery on the way to the airport was breathtaking. At least she thought she remembered that it was, from their arrival two days earlier. “Sweetheart,” he said, threading his fingers through hers, “you’re missing the view.”
“I’m missing it,” she said, “because every time I open my eyes, shards of pain dance through my head.”
“I told you not to drink so much.”
“Go away. I hate you.”
He leaned back against the seat and sighed. Touched her bare shoulder with one finger. Moved it around a little. “Do you really hate me?” he said.
She rubbed her temples with all ten fingers. Opened her eyes and winced. Closed them again. “No,” she said. “I hate me. I’ve never felt so wretched in my life.”
“Come on, Fiore, it wasn’t that awful, was it?”
“Oh, yes, it was.”
“Thanks for stroking my suffering ego.”
“I didn’t mean that part was awful.” Remembering just how far from awful it had been, she flushed hot all over. “If it had been,” she said, “I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself.”
“You had too much to drink. We all do stupid things when we’re loaded. By the way,” he added, “you hit pretty hard. For a girl.”
She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t even look you in the face, I’m so embarrassed.”
“I’m not. We’re two normal, healthy adults who just happened to spend a few absolutely spectacular minutes sharing some normal, healthy lust. What the hell is so awful about that?”
Silence. Then, “Do you hate me?”
“Come on, babe, this is me you’re talking to. Haven’t we always been honest with each other? You were straight with me last night, and I was straight with you. Now we both know where we stand. Where’s the shame in that?”
“You may know where we stand,” she said, “but I must have slept through that part. Suppose you clarify it for me.”
“Okay. I think the air needed a little clearing, and that’s what we did.”
Dryly, she said, “That certainly clarifies things.”
“It might, if you’d shut up until I’m finished. Right from the start, there’s always been something there between us. And don’t bother to deny it, because you know as well as I do that it’s true.”
She rubbed her temples. “And what might we call this mystical something?”
“Damned if I know. For lack of a better word, let’s call it chemistry.”
She opened one eye. “Chemistry,” she said.
“Right. But it’s not something either of us has ever attempted to act on, because we value our relationship too much. There’s a delicate balance that neither one of us wants to upset. Push a little too far, and we risk losing the most meaningful relationship either of us has ever had.”
She thought it all through. It frightened her that he was making sense. “Then what happened last night?” she said.
“For some reason, the balance shifted. Neither one of us is involved with anyone right now. As you pointed out, celibacy is not a normal condition. We’ve been working together night and day. And we just spent two days together in a honeymooner’s paradise. We’re two healthy, normal, reasonably attractive adults who happen to care about each other. I’d say what happened was inevitable. It had to happen, sooner or later. We don’t have to make a federal case out of it. It’s not that big a thing.”
“It was a very big thing to me,” she said.
“Yeah, well.” He looked out the window. “My mother may have trained me well, but saying no last night wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Then why’d you say no?”
“I already told you. I won’t be a stand-in for Danny. And you’re my closest friend, and that friendship means more to me than any night of spectacular sex could ever mean.”
She zeroed in on a single word. “Spectacular?”
“You know damn well it would be spectacular.”
He was right. She did know it. She’d known it for years. But because she loved Danny, and because she felt that having sexual feelings for another man was somehow inappropriate, she’d refused to acknowledge it, even to herself. But his matter-of-fact explanation had taken away that risqué element and made it seem innocuous. “You know what, MacKenzie?” she said. “You are one incredible human being. And you’re going to make some lucky woman one hell of a husband.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t seem to have much luck in that department. I’ve struck out twice already.”
“You know what they say. The third time’s a charm.”
“They also say that after three strikes you’re out of the game.”
“Hah! Those women out there don’t know what they’re missing.”
“And I suppose you do?”
“Yes,” she said softly, regretfully. “I believe I’m just beginning to understand.”
Their flight to Boston was uneventful. Rob watched the in-flight movie while she nursed her hangover. There was a delay at Logan, and they were forced to circle the city for a half-hour before they could land. At the baggage claim, he said, “I’m not going back to your place.”
She turned to look at him. “What are you talking about?”
He was taking an inordinate interest in the rotation of the baggage carousel. “I’m catching a flight to L.A. I have business to take care of.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Not long. Three, four days. A week, tops.”
“It’s because of me,” she said, “isn’t it?”
He still wasn’t looking at her. “No,” he said. “It has nothing to do with you.”
“Don’t lie to me, MacKenzie. I know you too well. I can see right through you.”
He squared his jaw. “Look,” he said, “I just need a few days away. I have to get my head clear. That’s all.”
She didn’t like what she was feeling. “Hey,” she said softly. “We are going to be all right, aren’t we?”
“Babe, I have to say this. You’re living in limbo. You’re not single, but you’re not married, either. You have to make up your mind what you want. Divorce him and get on with your life. Or if you can’t do that, then go after him and give it another shot. Either way, you have to get off the fence. I can’t stand to watch any longer.”
And for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he walked away and left her standing alone.
It was 42 degrees in Boston, cloudy and dismal. She’d become so accustomed to Rob’s presence that her apartment felt barren and lifeless without him. She made herself a bowl of clam chowder and sat on the couch, listening to his CD and thinking about what he’d said. Fish or cut bait, that was the gist of his advice. But was that all there was to it? She replayed his every word, seeking hidden meanings, finding none. The interlude on the beach had torn away her emotional safety net and turned her perception of the world upside down. Suddenly, she was questioning things she’d spent her entire adulthood taking for granted.
She never finished the chowder. Instead, she went to the phone and called Millie and asked if she could come home for a few days.
The family was thrilled to see her. She made the rounds, visited everyone. She took Mikey to see a re-release of Star Wars, went for a bumpy ride on Billy’s snowmobile, and traipsed t
hrough the muddy snow with Jesse as he tapped maple trees. She spent a day with Colleen, divorced now from Jesse, remarried and living a couple of towns over. In the evenings, she sat by the fire with Dad and Millie, relaxing and indulging in quiet introspection.
On the morning of the fourth day, she drove back to Boston and called Danny. “I think we need to talk,” she said. “Shall I fly out there, or do you want to come here?”
***
She vowed she wouldn’t dress up for him, then changed her mind at least three times before she chose a teal silk blouse and a matching calf-length print skirt. This is not a date, she reminded herself as she tied her hair back with a ribbon and put on tiny diamond teardrop earrings and a matching choker. We’re only having dinner. The irony of it wasn’t lost on her. She and Danny had fallen in love, married, lived together a dozen years and had a child together. But they’d never been on a date.
He showed up twenty minutes early, resplendent in a charcoal tweed jacket over pressed jeans and a dress shirt that precisely matched the color of his eyes. In his hand, he carried a small bouquet of violets. Oh, lord, she thought when she saw the flowers. It is a date. What am I doing?
But it was too late to question her motives. Danny stepped through the door, and instantly her apartment shrank to a third of its size. “I’ll put these in water,” she said. “Take a look around if you’d like.”
While she searched the kitchen cupboards for a vase, his slow, deliberate footsteps made a tour of the apartment. It didn’t take long. He was standing in the kitchen doorway when she returned to the table with the vase of flowers. “This is how you always wanted to live, isn’t it?” he said. “Simply, with no fanfare.”
Her heartbeat accelerated. “Yes,” she said.
“Was life with me so terrible?”
Something tightened in her throat. “Not life with you,” she said. “It was the craziness that surrounded you that I found so hard to live with.”
He helped her on with her jacket, and together they walked the narrow streets of the neighborhood where he’d grown up. There were few places he could walk openly without attracting attention, but on a week night in the old neighborhood, he was just another passerby, greeting in Italian the old men who hovered in doorways, pausing to pet a greyhound tied to a lamp post outside the corner grocery. In North Square, a stone’s throw from the Paul Revere house, they found a quiet restaurant that served them veal piccata and red wine by candlelight.
Coming Home (Jackson Falls Series) Page 29