"Eddie Dolan," he told her with a smile that was dazzling, and really kind of sexy, if you went for that dark, brooding, am-gonna-make-you-an-offer-you-can't-refuse kind of thing, instead of that rumpled, tweedy, Goodbye, Mr. Chips kind of thing.
"Mr. Dolan," she replied with a quick nod, shaking his hand once before releasing it.
She opened her mouth to ask him how he knew her name, but Mr. Freiberger cut her off with a hastily offered, "Eddie is my, uh… my, um… That is, he's… Ah…"
"I'm Leo's astrologer," he announced, his smile growing unmistakably mischievous now.
Lily arched her eyebrows in surprise, then trained her gaze to Mr. Freiberger. "Astrologer?" she asked him. Leo? she asked herself. Then, immediately, she decided she approved of the moniker. Somehow, that name suited him much better than Leonard did.
But instead of answering her, Mr. Freiberger—Leo, she corrected herself—only grumbled something unintelligible under his breath again. So Lily turned her attention back to Mr. Dolan. "How did you know my name?" she asked him.
His dazzling smile dimmed some. "Uh… I… That is…" He furrowed his brow in thought for a moment, then quickly replied, "I'm, uh, I'm Leo's psychic, too. Yeah, that's it."
"A psychic astrologer?" Lily asked dubiously.
The man nodded.
"How extraordinary." And how suspicious. "Do you charge for each service, or is it an all-inclusive package?"
Eddie Dolan shrugged in a way that no self-respecting astrologer or psychic would ever dare. "Depends on the client's needs," he said.
"Really?" she asked. "And just what are Mr. Freiberger's needs?"
The man chuckled. "Oh, Leo. He's got needs, all right, lemme tell ya."
"Eddie…"
The threat in Mr. Freiberger's warning—or was it a warning in Mr. Freiberger's threat? she wondered before completing the thought. Well, no matter. In either case, threat or warning, his intent was unmistakable. Simply put, if Mr. Dolan continued with his description of Mr. Freiberger's needs, then Mr. Freiberger would hurt him. Badly.
"And what have the stars—and you—predicted for Mr. Freiberger's immediate future?" Lily asked, wondering what exactly made her pose the question. Other than her own curiosity about just what on earth the evening ahead was supposed to hold.
Mr. Dolan's smile turned into a supernova at her question. "Lemme think on it a minute," he said. He furrowed his dark brows, as if consumed by great concentration. "Oh, okay. Here it comes. I see a dark stranger."
"Really?" she asked again, running a hand over her—dark—hair once more.
He nodded, then lifted a hand to his head, pressing his fingertips against his temple. "Yeah. Yeah, it's comin' in real clear now. I see a dark stranger about… five-foot-three?"
"Five-foot-four," she corrected him.
He nodded, pressing his fingers to his temple again, feigning a semi-trance. "And I also see candlelight," he continued. "And a bottle of wine—good stuff, not the screw-off-cap kind Leo usually serves—and a cozy little table for two."
"Eddie…" Mr. Freiberger—or rather, Leo—muttered menacingly.
There was that threat/warning again, Lily noted. But just as before, Mr. Dolan seemed not to notice or care. Because he continued in that dreamy, trance-like voice, "A little Johnny Mathis on the stereo—'Misty,' naturally—a couple of slow dances…"
Lily smiled. "Do go on," she told him.
The psychic astrologer closed his eyes, as if it might improve the vision. "And then after that, I see… handcuffs," he said, opening his eyes and dropping his hand back to his side.
"Handcuffs?" Lily asked.
He nodded. "And also a can of Criscoe and a Twister game. But that could be my own immediate future intruding a little there. Sometimes that happens to psychics, ya know."
Lily's eyebrows shot up at that. "My goodness, Mr. Dolan, you do seem to have an amazing gift, to see all that detail."
He shrugged off the compliment. "Yeah, well, I have a lot of free time on my hands, Miss Rigby."
"Yes, well, that's rather obvious, isn't it?"
"Beat it, Eddie," Mr. Freiberger—Leo—said succinctly. "Miss Rigby and I have plans."
"Yeah, I'll say you do. Do you even remember where you put your Twister game? If you want, I could stay and help you out with—"
"Go… away," Leo—yes, definitely Leo—said, more adamantly this time.
Eddie Dolan, psychic astrologer to bookkeepers, lifted a hand to his forehead again, this time in salute. "Miss Rigby," he said. "It was nice meeting you. Leo," he added, turning to his… client. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Now why did Lily suspect that that left the field wide open?
"Have fun tonight, kids," Mr. Dolan tossed over his shoulder as he headed down the steps. And then, singing what sounded like "Strangers in the night, shoobie doobie doobie," he stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and strolled down the street.
And then Lily and Leo—oh, yes, most definitely Leo; how had she missed that before?—were alone. With the sun setting low behind her, he was bathed in a dozen hues of gold and orange, framed by the doorway and, thanks to the raised entry, standing even taller than usual.
Lily inhaled a shaky breath and questioned the wisdom in coming here tonight. She couldn't imagine what she'd been thinking yesterday to be so forward in inviting herself to his house. Oh, wait. Yes, she could, too, imagine. In fact, she could remember quite clearly what she'd been thinking yesterday to be so forward in inviting herself to his house. She'd been thinking that maybe the two of them could engage in some quiet conversation, move a little beyond the "Mr." and "Miss" phase, and then get naked and make wild monkey love.
It was all coming back to her now.
Thinking she should probably just make an excuse to leave and then run away, Lily heard herself ask instead, "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
For a moment, judging by the expression on his face, she honestly thought he was going to say No and slam the door in her face. Then he stood aside. "Of course. Please. Come in."
"Yes. Thank you. I will."
My, but the conversation was off to a good start, she thought. Any time now, they ought to be moving right into the polysyllabic stage, and after that, there would be absolutely no stopping them.
"I wasn't sure what to wear," she began as she moved awkwardly past him, for some reason suddenly unwilling to get too close. "I wasn't sure what we'd be doing." Other than that wild monkey love thing, I mean, and I did put on some lovely underthings for that. "I guess when I—" Might as well just say it. "When I invited myself over, I didn't plan that far ahead. I was just thinking about yesterday afternoon…" Uh-oh. "Um, about yesterday afternoon when… um…" Oh, nicely dug pit, Lily. "When, uh…" she tried again.
"Yesterday afternoon in the pantry when I had my hand up your skirt?" he supplied helpfully. He closed the front door and leaned back against it, his posture seemingly benign, the fire burning in his eyes anything but.
She dropped her gaze to the back of her hand, furiously studying her fingernails. "Yes. Yes, that was it," she agreed, fighting back the heat she felt flooding her face. "I was thinking about… that… and I just sort of, um… arrived early."
"Thirty-five minutes early," he pointed out unnecessarily.
"Well, I did say sixish, didn't I?"
"The operative word here being ish," he said.
"Actually, I don't think ish is a word, is it?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation into another direction. And at this point, any direction would be welcome. Even a silly one.
"Well, no, not a word, exactly," he conceded, still leaning back against the door. "But it does have a certain implication. When you tell someone ish, they form a definite impression."
"Yes, but that implication is ishish, at best," Lily said. Somehow, she found the fortitude to bring her gaze back up to meet his. "So when one uses ish, it means 'not specifically.' Therefore, when I said, 'sixish,' what I meant was 'not specifically
six o'clock."
"Yeah, but you got here even before five-thirtyish," he said.
Lily gaped at him. "I most certainly did not. My arrival was definitely after five-thirtyish."
"But way before sixish."
Lily inhaled a discontented breath and blew it out with much exasperation. "Oh, all right," she finally relented. "I'm early. I admit it. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
He smiled as he pushed himself away from the door and took the single step necessary to bring his body within a hairsbreadth of hers. "Actually," he said softly, "what I'd like to hear is an explanation as to why the memory of my hand up your skirt made you arrive here so much earlier than you said you would."
Gee, Lily would have liked to hear an explanation for that, too. One that didn't make her nipples tingle, anyway.
"But what I'd like even more," he added before she had a chance to say anything, lifting his hand to her sleekly arranged hair, "is to know how long your hair is."
Without even asking permission, let alone waiting for a reply, he found and deftly removed the long clip that held her French twist in place. Lily's hair came tumbling down past her shoulders, between her shoulder blades, to nearly the center of her back, the sleek shafts shining like blue-black satin.
"Wow," he said as he bunched a fistful in one hand. "I had no idea."
"Le—I mean, Mr. Freiberger…" she began.
But anything else she might have said dried up in her mouth, because slowly, leisurely, oh, so leisurely, he began to wrap her hair around his fist. Over and over again he turned his hand, winding her hair loosely about his fingers until they were nearly obscured by the long tresses. And all the while, his gaze remained fixed on the motion, as if he weren't quite sure why he was doing it, or what he would do when he couldn't wind any more around his fingers.
Then, just as she thought he would pull her forward, as quickly as he had begun the gesture, he halted it, lifting his gaze to lock with hers. "Leo," he said softly. "Call me Leo. Please."
She hesitated for a moment, not sure she could say the word aloud, not sure she could say anything out loud, because her entire body seemed to have shut down operation so that the thrill of heat winding through her would have a completely unhampered journey. He had simply been Mr. Freiberger, alleged bookkeeper for Kimball Technologies, for so long, Lily wasn't sure she could view him as anything else.
But somehow, running her tongue lightly over her dry lips, and in a very soft voice, she managed to utter the word, "Leo."
It was, evidently, all the encouragement he needed, because after that single concession to familiarity, he angled his head to the side, tugged lightly on her hair to bring her forward, and covered her mouth with his.
And then, Lily knew he would never be Mr. Freiberger again.
It was an extraordinary kiss, unlike any she had ever received from a man before, at once questioning and commanding, tentative and absolute. Leo kissed her as if he needed her for sustenance, for strength, for life itself. He cupped his other hand over the back of her head to urge her toward him even more, and with one little step forward, Lily was in his arms.
It was, she decided immediately, a very nice place to be, and how wonderfully convenient that she fit so well. She would have thought such a large man would intimidate her, would frighten her, would swallow her in one big bite. But Leo made her feel as if she were a part of him, returning after far too long a separation. Without hesitation, she curved her palms over the planes and angles of his hard chest, relishing every soft quiver of flesh as he moved. Then she pushed her hands up over his shoulders, and looped her arms around his neck. She, too, cupped a hand over the back of his head, threading her fingers through the short, silky strands of his hair, and pulled him downward. Then she pushed herself up on tiptoe, launching herself into the kiss.
Oh, my. It was even better when she helped.
Evidently, Leo thought so too, because a soft, contented sound erupted from somewhere deep inside him. He took another tiny step forward and slanted his head to the other side, to deepen the kiss. Lily opened to him willingly, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her resolutely, thoroughly, wantonly. She heard another soft sound of satisfaction, and, not surprisingly, she realized that this time, it came from somewhere deep inside her. He just made her feel so…
Oh…
And she wanted to keep feeling that way. Forever.
"Leo," she murmured against his lips. She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but instinctively, she needed to slow down some. Not a lot. Just some.
But Leo seemed not to hear her, because he only claimed her mouth again, more insistently this time. He moved the hand entangled in her hair to cup her jaw, skimming the other down to the small of her back to press her against him. Lily indulged in another kiss for some moments more, then remembered that she had been trying to say something.
She just wished she could remember what.
"Leo," she tried again, doubling her fists loosely against his chest. "Please. We have to slow down."
This time he listened to her—sort of. He released her mouth, but left his hands where they were, then dipped his forehead to rest it against hers. He closed his eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths, as if he were trying to level off his heart rate. She knew that, because it was exactly the same thing she was doing herself. For long moments, they only stood there silently, heads touching, hands exploring, trying to match their respiration and steady their pulse.
And then Leo said, "Lily."
It was the first time she had heard her name spoken in his voice, and never before had she realized what an erotic connotation her name had. Of course, had anyone else been saying it, Lily wouldn't have sounded erotic at all. But Leo's dark, rich baritone was a sound that reminded her of good, mellow cognac warmed in a man's palm. And whenever she thought of a man's palm, she thought of his. And when she thought of his palm, she thought about how it would feel on her. And in his voice, her name came out sounding like a promise full of purpose, full of longing, full of impatience.
Instead of looking at him, she fixed her gaze on the hands she had splayed open over the nubby knit of his sweater. "Yes?" she asked quietly.
"Lily, I… I want to make love to you."
So much for slowing her heart rate. "Do you?"
She sensed, more than saw, him nod. "Yes. I do. Very badly."
"How interesting," she managed to reply. "I was just thinking that I'd like to make love to you, too, Leo."
She braved a glance up at his face, only to find him smiling down at her. So she smiled, too, but for some reason, she was sure hers wasn't nearly as confident or as certain as his was.
"Well, well, well," he said. "Great minds think alike."
She chuckled low, but it came out sounding a bit tense to her ears, and she hoped he didn't hear how very nervous she was. "I miss you when you're not at Ashling," she said, wondering why she should confess such a thing.
"Do you?"
She nodded. "The house feels so empty without you there."
He lifted a hand to brush the backs of his knuckles gently over her cheek, and Lily's eyes fluttered closed so that she might better savor the sensation of his touch. Involuntarily, her lips parted a fraction, as if she couldn't… quite… get enough air. Or something. Deep inside her a curl of heat unwound and seeped into every cell in her body, and she found herself wanting him to move his hand lower… and lower… and lower still…
"That house would feel empty if you were entertaining the entire Arab Emirates," he said quietly. "It's much too large."
"Yes," she agreed, turning her head into the soft sweep of his knuckles. "It is."
"I like places that are a bit smaller," he told her.
"Me, too."
"A bit more cozy."
"Yes."
"A bit more intimate."
"Mm-hm."
"Like my bedroom, for example."
"Ah."
"What do you say, Lily?" h
e asked. "Would you like to come up and see my etchings?"
She opened her eyes slowly, taking her time to focus on his face. What she saw there heartened her some—he seemed to be no less nervous about what was happening than she was—but the coil of anxiety threading through her still prevented her from acting too rashly. Regardless of how much she wanted to ignore her troublesome, rational mind.
"I… I…" She inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly. "I don't know, Leo. This is just going so—"
"I like the way you say my name," he interjected. "And I like saying yours, too. Leo and Lily. Our names go together well, don't they?"
She hesitated only a moment before responding, "Yes. They do."
"I wonder if our bodies will fit together as well."
A little explosion went off in her belly at the roughness that edged his voice when he said what he did. He wanted her. Perhaps even as much as she wanted him. But he was leaving it up to her, she thought. Somehow, she knew instinctively that whatever she said, whatever she decided, he would go along with it.
For one long moment, she remained silent, unsure what to say. She opened her hands over his chest again, pressing her fingertips into the soft fabric of his sweater, searching, she suddenly understood, for his heartbeat. When she found it, she felt it racing beneath her fingertips, and she realized that he really was every bit as frightened and uncertain as she was. Somehow, the knowledge made all the difference.
Tipping her head back, she gazed up into his face, then curved her palm over his rough jaw. And then, very, very quietly, she told him, "I guess there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
Leo's bedroom upstairs was furnished in much the same way as the lower portion of his home, Lily noted as she preceded him into the room. Muted earth tones, clean lines on all the furnishings, few accessories. Clearly, he preferred for his surroundings to be uncluttered, minimal, tidy. It was something she'd already noticed about him when he was working at Ashling. Where Schuyler's desk was normally piled high with all matter of unidentifiable refuse, Leo had always kept his things set well apart, and his things had always been stacked in an organized, orderly fashion.
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