Lovers' Reunion (Silhouette Treasury 90s) Page 7

  Their bodies still were swaying, barely, from side to side, and the movement of his hardness, nestled into the gently yielding curve of her belly, had him fighting a primitive urge to drag her to the floor and thrust into her again and again until he found release. Hanging on to control, he ran his mouth on down her neck to press a hot, openmouthed kiss against the warm flesh of her shoulder, noting how the skin gleamed, ivory under the pale light. “If it’s not dancing, what do you call it?”

  She whimpered again, and her head fell back, exposing the long, pale column of her throat to his marauding mouth as her hands clutched at his back. “A problem.”

  He chuckled. “There’s a solution to every problem, baby.” He raised his head then, looking down at her dazed expression, mouth slightly open as her breath rushed in and out, her eyes wide and clouded. “And I can fix this one.” All amusement fled, and he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Sweet. Warm. Yielding. Her lips had been made for kissing him, he thought, angling his head for a better fit as he traced the soft line, slipping his tongue inside her mouth and searching out hers, enticing her into a wordless, mindless mating of their mouths that had the blood rushing to his head and his knees practically shaking. He leaned back against the windowsill and drew her between his knees, still keeping her flush against him, thoroughly enjoying the way her hips cradled his rising flesh.

  He realized he was still rocking her in time to the music’s beat and he lifted his head a fraction, dragging his fingers through her hair to cradle her skull in his hand as he recklessly dropped kisses across her cheekbone, up her temple and down her nose before coming back to the irresistible lure of her mouth and plunging his tongue deeply, possessively, inside.

  “Hey, you two.” The deep, amused voice jolted them both, and Marco lifted his head to see Sophie’s oldest brother, Stefano, standing in the opening to the little corner. “This is a dance, remember?”

  “Go away, Steffie,” he said, cradling Sophie’s head as she turned her face into his shoulder. “We are dancing.”

  “Sheesh.” Her brother’s lips tilted up, and his eyes lit with humor. “If this is what passes for dancing when a guy has a burn leg, I think I’ll try it.”

  “Not with my girl.”

  Stefano’s eyes narrowed, just the slightest bit, and his smile became a baring of teeth. “She’s my sister, and I didn’t know she was your girl, Marc. You broke her heart on your way off to God-knows-where, remember?”

  He shot Stef a look that told him clearly that if he didn’t have Sophie in his arms, he’d answer another way. “I always wanted her. This time, I’m keeping her.”

  Sophie was squirming against him, and he relaxed the pressure of his hand so that she could twist her head around. “I am not a piece of furniture,” she said in a furious undertone. “I don’t need your protection, Steffie.” Then she turned on Marco, poking a stiff and angry finger into his chest so hard it actually hurt. “And no one gets me unless I say so.”

  Stef raised his hands. “All right. I was just trying to help.”

  “Go away!”

  Stef’s face relaxed; he grinned again, throwing an amused look in Marco’s direction. “Yes, ma‘am. Right away, ma’am.” And he turned and plunged back into the crowded party room.

  Before she could start again, Marco slid his hand to the back of her neck. Slowly Sophie turned to face him and leaned back in his arms, and he was struck anew by the beauty of her thick-fringed eyes beneath the silky arches of her eyebrows—although he realized those eyes were regarding him with more than a little annoyance right now.

  “Sorry about that,” he said ruefully. “Your brother—”

  “Is as bad as you are.” Sophie pushed against his chest and almost got away before he hauled her up against him again.

  “I didn’t mean it exactly the way it sounded,” he said, trying to soothe her.

  “I know.” Her voice was resigned and just a little remote. “You were just doing the macho thing, you didn’t really mean what you said. It’s okay. We just got a little carried away.”

  “A little carried away,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I’m not apologizing for kissing you. I’m just sorry your nosy brother interrupted us. And what makes you think I didn’t mean anything by it?”

  “You never did before.” Her hand flew to her mouth as if she could snatch back the unguarded comment.

  “Ouch.” He winced. “I guess I deserved that.” Then he slowly released her from his arms, holding her bare shoulders cradled in his palms as he looked down into her face. “But I do mean it this time, Sophie. I’m back and I’m staying. In Chicago, in your life. So get used to it.” He dropped a quick, hard kiss on her lips and spun her around, giving her a little push back around the pillar, enjoying her wide-eyed speechlessness. “We’ll finish this in a better place, at a better time.”

  But she wasn’t quite the pushover she’d been years ago. As she turned to leave their private corner, she paused at the pillar and looked back, and her eyes were as serious as the tone of her voice. “If we finish it at all.”

  She must have been temporarily insane. There was no other explanation for it. Sophie tossed her dry-cleaning—including Saturday night’s black dress—into her car and shot off to work on Monday morning. But the whole time, she was doing what she’d done for the rest of the weekend.

  Beating herself with a big stick.

  She had known, deep down, that friendship wasn’t all that was on Marco’s mind, from the first time she’d seen him again. She had known she was playing with fire, agreeing to go with him on what he insisted weren’t dates. And she certainly had known, when he took her to the dance, that she should have had better sense than to be alone with him in a secluded place.

  Her body tingled and she squirmed a little in her seat, remembering the heat that had risen the minute he’d begun to kiss her. She had no defenses against Marco Esposito, and still she had gone to him, even encouraged him with that dumb dancing idea because he’d looked so defeated, sitting there on that windowsill all alone.

  Yes, she must have been insane.

  But she wasn’t going to give in to lunacy or misguided compassion anymore. Her heart couldn’t take another bout with Marco; she’d been KO’d in the first round once and she wasn’t getting back in the ring....

  She went with him to the airport the next morning.

  She didn’t know what she’d expected after last night, but impatience mixed with brooding silence was what she got. Marco barely spoke to her as he went through preboarding rituals.

  She trotted silently along beside him until they got to his gate. To her shock, his flight was already being called. She didn’t know what was wrong, but she couldn’t leave it this way. Not after last night.

  “Are you angry with me?” she asked timidly.

  Marco froze. Slowly he turned to her, and a huge sigh shook him. “No, baby,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m angry with myself.”

  She smiled uncertainly. “Why?”

  He took both her hands in his, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles as he spoke, looking at their joined hands rather than at her. “Last night was wrong. I never should have—”

  “I wanted you to,” she said fiercely. “Last night was wonderful. And I’m not sorry.”

  “But I am,” he said gently. “Sophie...I’m not the kind of guy who settles down. My life is a few weeks here, a few weeks there. Mosquitoes, malaria, mudslides. It would never do for you.”

  “I’ll wait,” she said. “Marco, I love you. Please—”

  “Sh-h-h.” He put a finger to her lips. “I’m not talking about a year or two, baby. This is my life. You need a man who can give you security, a nice little house and a few children for your mama to spoil.” He swallowed. “I’m not that man.”

  She couldn’t prevent the tears that escaped. “You don’t know that. Things could change.”

  He shook his head. “Not that much.” He took her by the shoulders, looking into her ey
es with commanding intensity. “Don’t wait for me, Sophie. I won’t be back again.”

  She was too shocked to respond. He’d used the moment to pull her against him, black flight bag already slung over his shoulder, brushing away her tears with a gentle thumb. “I have to go, baby,” he said. “I should have gone yesterday.”

  With an incoherent cry, she flung her arms around his neck, pressing passionate kisses on him. For a moment his hands had tightened on her shoulders. He’d drawn her in and returned the kiss one last time, and then he was striding away into the tunnel toward his plane.

  He’d broken her heart in two that day. Even so, she hadn’t believed him. She’d waited anyway, sure he would change his mind. A year had passed. Hope had dimmed. At the end of the second year, Kirk asked her to marry him.

  She’d almost refused him, but she was lonely. Kirk offered love and companionship, and finally she’d buried her dreams of Marco and moved on with her life. Only now he was back...and she found she hadn’t moved very far at all.

  Five

  Fortunately, she was too busy during the morning to think any more about him. Her caseload was overwhelming; she simply had to fit some home visits into her schedule somewhere. Maybe after the afternoon infant care class she could slip by and visit the hospital, see the abused brother and sister for whom she was arranging foster care.

  Lunchtime rolled around before she knew it. She’d been rushed because she got up late, so she hadn’t packed anything for lunch. All the other staff members were eating in, but she locked her files and picked up her purse. She could run down to El Milagro, a little Mexican place that served some of the best food she’d ever had.

  It was a beautiful day. The late May sun was warm and the breeze was light. As she closed the door of the Mama y Bebe Center behind her, footsteps came up the steps behind her, and she turned with a smile, ready to explain that the center closed over the noon hour except by appointment.

  But the person now on the porch wasn’t a client. No, the six-foot-plus single-minded Italian male could be only one thing and it wasn’t a client, it was trouble. With a capital T. But it was hard to hear the warning over the sudden thundering of her heart and the roaring in her ears.

  “Hola.” Marco stopped before her, the devilish grin she couldn’t resist quirking his lips. “Is that the appropriate greeting for this neck of the woods?”

  “Sí.” She nodded, determined not to act surprised. “The center is closed for lunch. If you need to see someone, we’ll be open again at one.”

  “Then it’s lucky for me the someone I need to see is standing here in front of me. Going to lunch?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Great. Mind if I tag along?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Okay, if you insist.” He took her hand and tugged her off the porch, heading in the wrong direction from the little restaurant.

  “Wait.” She pulled her hand free and pointed the other way. “The place I’m going is two blocks this way.”

  “No problem.” He reversed course and began to walk along beside her. She kept both hands in her pockets, determined not to allow him to take her hand again. Her whole body was still responding to that simple clasp of his hand from a moment ago. Her clothing felt heavy and clingy against her skin; her thighs brushed as she walked, sending awareness rushing through her.

  “What are you doing here?” Attack wasn’t usually the best strategy with Marco, but she couldn’t believe he’d found her office and come all the way down here.

  “Having lunch with you.” He reached out and brushed away a curl that was flying across her face. “I was coming to the door when you came out. Perfect timing.”

  “For you, maybe.” They crossed the street and started down the next block. “I don’t remember making lunch plans with you.”

  “It was an impulse decision,” he said. “I went to the university library this morning to do some research for one of the classes I’m teaching over at Purdue. I thought I’d swing by here on the way home.”

  That distracted her. “When do you start? What are you teaching?”

  “I’ll be teaching a five-week environmental geology seminar through late June and July. Then I have August off and the fall semester begins after Labor Day. I drew the line at teaching more than one general studies class, so I have an intro course, a glaciology seminar and a third one on crustal and mantle dynamics.”

  She had to smile. “What, you don’t like underclassmen?”

  “Let’s just say I prefer working with students who are interested in their courses,” he said dryly. “And I’m not even sure I’m going to like that full-time. My teaching experience has been limited to fieldwork seminars, speeches and a few minicourses like this thing coming up in June. Teaching a class that lasts an entire sixteen weeks is going to be a whole new experience.”

  “You sound ... less than enthusiastic.”

  “I’m sure I’ll enjoy the students once things get started.” But he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “It’s going to be different from what I used to do.”

  “And you wish it didn’t have to be.” She hadn’t missed the edge in his voice, though she doubted he was even aware of it.

  “Being forced out of your occupation by a physical inability to make the grade isn’t exactly a great feeling,” he said, shrugging. “But there’s nothing I can do about it, so there’s no sense thinking about it.”

  Maybe not, but she suspected he thought about it a lot more than he wanted anyone to know. “So instead, you’re down here harassing me.” But she said it with a smile.

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “My second-favorite occupation.”

  Hurt sliced through her with an unexpected ferocity that momentarily robbed her of speech. Then she mentally shook herself. He was not going to get the chance to hurt her again, and she forced a teasing lightness into her voice. “That’s me—second runner-up.”

  There was a small, telling silence, and she knew he had realized what he’d said. “Sophie, I didn’t mean that you aren’t as important to me as my work.”

  The restaurant was just two doors down, and she quickened her pace, aware that he would have trouble keeping up with the faster stride. “It’s all right, Marco. Fortunately, I stopped worrying about my place in your life plan years ago.”

  She pulled open the narrow door with more force than necessary, taking deep, calming breaths as they approached the counter, behind which three women in black dresses wearing hair nets buzzed around preparing food, while a small, dark man watched every move with an eagle eye as he made the cash register sing.

  Then she turned to Marco, needing him to see how little the conversation had affected her. “What do you think?”

  He looked around slowly and she saw the familiar eatery through his eyes. The menu and other signs were in Spanish, and the tiny, crowded room was scrupulously clean. The small tables with their cheap plastic chairs sported squat vases of faded plastic flowers and the walls were hung with vivid oil-paint-on-velvet creations, many of which bore price tags. In a corner hung a picture of the Madonna with red and white felt roses.

  “It’s got ... atmosphere,” he said, and she was relieved to see amusement return to his eyes as he studied their surroundings. She found it unnerving when he turned the intensity of those dark eyes on her.

  “Just think, that one of the matador could be yours for a modest sum.”

  “No,” he said hastily. “It looks perfect in here. I wouldn’t think of taking it.” He turned and smiled down at her, but in the depths of his eyes was a seriousness that warned her the previous discussion hadn’t been forgotten. “So what do you recommend, señorita?”

  She considered a moment. “The chile rellenos are excellent.” Even if the dish did tend to burn right through your stomach lining. “I’m having the bistek.”

  “That would be beef and cabbage, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll try the rellenos,” he decided
. When it was their turn to order, he stepped forward and ordered for them both before she could insist on paying for her own food. She protested, but the man at the counter looked as if he was only too happy to ignore her and deal with Marco, and she finally gave up.

  “I owe you money,” she said when he brought the food to the little table she’d chosen.

  “We’ll work something out.” His words were conventional but something in the tone made her glance up sharply. He was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

  It raised her hackles, and she steamed silently while they ate. She realized Marco was devouring his meal, and she couldn’t resist asking, “Is it too bland for you?”

  But he didn’t give any indication that he was bothered by the spicy meal. “No, it’s pretty darned good. Mexican food in the States usually doesn’t resemble the real thing very much, but this is almost as hot as the kind I enjoy.”

  Oh, well. So much for inflicting pain.

  Then she realized his eyes were gleaming with suppressed laughter. “Hoping to make me suffer a little, sweetheart?”

  The heck with being polite. He’d barged in on her lunch; he could listen to what she’d decided. “I don’t want to do this again.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Eat Mexican food? I think it’s pretty good.”

  Frustration rose. “You know what I mean. Seeing you, as a friend or a date, isn’t going to work for me. I’m sorry, but—”

  “Why? Because we’re attracted to each other? I know I rushed you the other night. Baby, you can have all the time in the world to get to know me. I can wait until you feel comfortable again.”

  “It’s not a matter of feeling comfortable,” she protested. “Things didn’t work out between us years ago and I can’t imagine that they’ll work any better now.” She looked across the table at him, wondering how she could make him understand. “I cared for you. A lot. And you left. I had a husband I loved. And he died. I’m just not sure I can deal with another relationship, of any kind.”