Blame It On Paris

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Will didn't usually shop at sex-toy stores before a date. In fact, he'd never shopped at a sex-toy store, ever, but after trying two drugstores and a department store for the item he needed-an item he'd have thought would be easy to find-he gave up and went to a source he knew would carry it.

Come to think of it, he'd never gone to this much trouble for any date, ever.

Not that he minded. Not for Kelly. But he was edgily aware that the stakes were damn high-and increasing by the day.

When he pulled into Kelly's driveway, he remembered how she'd described the confrontation with her mother. All this time, she'd been too upset to bring up the subject. All this time, she'd felt so wounded that her mother had lied to her about keeping her father's existence and identity a secret.

Thunder grumbled in the west. Clouds scudded overhead like tumbling balls, one falling over the other, each darker than the last. The first fat drop of rain splashed on his head, but he was prepared for that, too, and put up an umbrella before he climbed the steps to Kelly's door.

He rapped. Waited. He was still thinking about what she'd said about her mother, that her mom had lost her head in Paris, believing Rochard had loved her, then had become disillusioned.

Somewhere in her mother's story was the reason for Kelly's fears. Though he didn't totally understand it, he sensed the bottom line-that the only thing really keeping Kelly from taking off with him to Paris was this. She needed to feel sure of herself and what she felt for him. with him.

Sure that he wasn't a guy like Rochard. Sure that he wasn't feeding her a fantasy.

He was about to rap on the door again when it abruptly swung open.

His mouth framed a hello, but no sound emerged.

It was the yellow that locked up his vocal cords.

He'd never seen her in yellow before. And this wasn't yellow-yellow, more like a pale butter color, and he wasn't dead sure if it was a dress or underwear. The indefinably dangerous garment had tiny shoulder straps. After that it was simply silky fabric that fell from a bodice to above her knees.

He would have bet-even in Vegas-that she wasn't wearing a bra.

Or underpants.

He opened his mouth to greet her again, and again lost his voice. This time, though, his gaze narrowed on her face.

Smoky eyes met his. Of course, Kel had always had smoky eyes, but tonight the lashes looked long and sultry, the brows arched with a delicate curve. Her lips had this…this red on them. Not siren-red. Just…sex-red. Her hair was scooped up in a messy little heap on top of her head. And the expression on her face was pure…tease.

"I got a little dressed up," she murmured.

"I can see that."

"You said this was a payback dinner. That you owed me. So I figured I'd make you pay back big."

"I'm already paying," he assured her drily, making her laugh.

"Not that kind of paying, you nut. I meant…a seriously good dinner. Like lobster or something."

"Trust me," he said in the same dry voice, "you can have whatever you want for dinner. Lobster. Me. Steak. Ribs. Me-"

She rolled her eyes. "You are so easy…and speaking of sex objects, you look edible yourself."

He'd tried. His sisters were responsible for anything decent in his closet, since the girls had told him from birth that he had no taste and they did. So the dark blue shirt and black summer slacks were supposed to be the right thing.

As long as Kel liked them, that was all that mattered. "You're going to get a fancy dinner, I swear. But the place we're going is a surprise."

"What kind of surprise?" she asked suspiciously.

"The kind of surprise you can't guess."

As expected, she looked completely bewildered when he turned into a neighborhood near the Notre Dame campus, and even more confused when he pulled into the driveway of an unfamiliar house.

"We're eating with friends of yours?" she asked.

"Nope." The street was shaded by fat, old maples. Most of the homes were brick with landscaped yards, the tip of ND's golden dome visible in the distance. "An economics professor used to live here," he said as he opened the car door and motioned her toward the front.

"And now who lives here?" she asked.

He grinned. It wasn't a big house, just one of those English Tudor bungalows-redbrick with a high-peaked roof and dormer and a pretty oak door. When he unlocked the front door, she stepped inside.

The foyer was a semicircle of cherry paneling. The paneling was unique, but the wood floors definitely needed a refinish. A thin set of stairs led to a single giant bedroom and bath upstairs, not that Kelly could see those from here.

The immediate view showed a small living room with a bay window and white stone fireplace. Beyond was a dining room, looking over a shaded backyard, and beyond that was the kitchen. The kitchen had old appliances, but the room had been renovated fairly recently with cobalt-blue counters and white trim.

Kelly glanced around, then back at him. and when he didn't produce immediate answers, she started ambling around. The more Ms. Curious poked and prodded, the more confused she appeared. Apart from a full downstairs bathroom, done in a ghastly shade of pink, the downstairs held two more rooms- one long, narrow family room, and the other a medium-sized den. where she paused in the doorway.

The den had ceiling-to-floor bookcases and a corner fireplace. Dusty, long drapes fell to the floor.

"There's no furniture in this place," Kelly said bewilderedly.

"I know."

"Except that I smell food in the oven."

"Yup, you're right again."

When she looked back into the den, it had to be pretty obvious where they were eating. On the carpet. He'd been here ahead, of course, set up an old blue blanket, opened the merlot to let it breathe, absconded with major-size pillows from his sister's place and a tray of vanilla candles. Late-afternoon sun was still filtering the west windows for now, though, making candlelight a little premature.

"Okay," she said. "Cut out the suspense. You know I can't stand it. You said an economics professor used to live here. But who does now?"

"You do. If you want."

"Huh?'

There. The look of stunned surprise was worth all the running around he'd done to put this together- and of course, this was just the first part of the evening, and not the end of the surprises. But it was a pretty good zinger for an opener, if he said so himself.

Dinner wasn't too challenging. Wine. Strawberries dipped in cream cheese and brown sugar. Fresh bread, just baked. A crab salad and some sushi and other delicacies he knew she liked, followed by a complete tray of desserts. It wasn't exactly his kind of meal, but when he'd called his favorite restaurant to cater, he was thinking of what worked for her. Chocolate. French pastries. The ease of bread and fruit and all, where they wouldn't need knives and spoons, so much, just an occasional fork.

By the time he had her shoes off-which didn't take long-she was sitting cross-legged on the blanket, the silky yellow dress bunched between her legs for modesty. She was still trying to absorb what he'd told her, but it was uphill getting her to accept this particular gift.

"Maguire's owns the house. Actually, the family owns a fair amount of real estate around the university. Anyway, the economics professor who lived here got a divorce, moved away in the middle of the semester. That left us stranded in more ways than one. You'd be doing me a favor if you lived here."

"In a pig's eye," she said. "A favor is when you need to borrow a cup of sugar. Or a ride to the airport. It's not giving someone a place to live."

"No. no, this is for me. Not you. See…the guy had the place forever, so some things need updating before it's rentable again. Like…the wood floors need sanding and varnishing. The downstairs bathroom needs somebody to pick out a different color and do something with it. Several appliances need an upgrade. Almost all the rooms need fresh paint."

"Will, I'm not exactly sure where you're going with this, but I'm way, way smarter than I look. You're not going to sell me roses in the desert."

"Would you listen?' He put some petulance in his voice as he stacked the dishes on the tray and poured her more wine. Her second glass.

"I am listening, but I'm not a charity case, buster."

"I keep telling you, this is a favor to me. It's one of my dad's messes. There's more to Maguire's than just the manufacturing facilities. The company has real estate. Houses and office buildings, and other holdings beyond that. And the thing is, to get this place ready to rent-or sell-someone has to oversee the renovations. Make the choices about paint and colors and crap like that. Report if the workmen aren't up to snuff. I can't be ten places at once."

"Your sisters could do it. Or your mother."

This was a lot trickier than he thought it was going to be. "Yes. They could. But their taste is in their creditcards, if you know what I mean. They'll spend more than the house is worth. I need someone to look at the house, update where it needs updating, choose what makes sense for the place. Someone like you. And in the meantime-" he raised his voice, because he could see she was about to make another protest"-you could live in the place. It'd be disruptive, but it'd be all yours. That way, you'd get out of that wreck you're in. It's still close to your job. It's a good neighborhood. And…"

He popped the last strawberry in her mouth just to keep her quiet for a moment longer.

"And, when you come to Paris with me, when we have all our messes straightened out-which, I admit, is taking a tad longer than I expected-it'll be easy for you to get out. Besides which-"

"I didn't realize you had this whole con-artist side to your character," she said darkly.

"This isn't con-artist stuff. If you like the house, you could either rent it or buy it when all the reno's done. Say, September. So see? You're not tied to any decision whatsoever. You have all your freedom, all your choices. And I get somebody supervising the update on the place. Everybody wins."

She hesitated. Then hesitated some more, searching his face, obviously thinking hard. "There's something wrong about this deal. I just can't figure out what it is."

"God, you're suspicious. Of course, maybe you don't like the house."

"Of course I like the house! It's adorable! Two fireplaces and this great den and a blue-and-white kitchen? What's not to love!"

"You haven't seen the upstairs. Look…" He did his best to sound apologetic. "I realize it'll be a lot of trouble. A lot of dust. Workmen in and out. A bunch of crappy shopping, picking out colors and appliances and that tedious stuff-"

Possibly he'd laid it on a little thick, because she pounced. "Quit trying to be so damned nice or I'm going to smack you," she warned him. Only then she really did pounce, in a flurry of yellow silk and wine-wet lips. He'd been sitting there, with one knee up, but when she hurled herself at him. he fell back onto the picnic blanket.

All right, all right, so maybe he could have kept his balance. It wasn't as if she was remotely heavy. But she leveled him with a kiss. Her landing on top of him was ideal, after all. And in seconds, they were all tangled up, her bare legs tucked around him. the yellow dress dipping beautifully at the bodice, revealing the bare rounded breasts he'd been so close to seeing before.

It had been a long time since they'd made love.

Too long.

He needed to keep his head a little longer, and he gulped for oxygen before he was completely sucked into that taste, that texture, that look in her eyes. "You forgot underwear," he told her.

"It was a choice," she assured him.

"What happened to sin and guilt and all?"

"There's a time for that. And a time for no underwear," she explained. "Were you objecting?"

"No." He cleared his throat. "Definitely no. But-"

Sprawled on his chest, her elbows digging into his shoulders, rubbing against him with deliberate, manipulative, disgraceful invitation, she was obviously determined to destroy him. "If there's any 'but.' that's it. I'll get up and put on some good-girl underpants and a nice, thick, wired-up padded bra."

"No. Please. No." He got it, that she was enjoying torturing him. But he couldn't take much more teasing. "I need to do something."

"I know," she said smugly.

"Something first."

She was still smiling, but it was that bad-Kelly smile. It was a smile he didn't trust, couldn't trust. An unpredictable, worrisome, adorable smile and, damn, but he loved Kel when she was feeling full of herself and high on being a woman.

He fumbled, fast as he could make his thick fingers work, and finally yanked the blindfold from his back pocket and whipped it over her eyes.

"What's this?"

He didn't answer directly, because she had to know perfectly well what it was. "I figured a silk scarf wouldn't hold for long. Or else you could peek. So I needed a real-life blackout blindfold, which was harder to find than I could believe. But just so you know-this is not for fun."

"Sure it's n-"

Her tone was teasing again, as if she assumed he was handing her nonsense. So he kissed her.

Only this time, he kissed her differently than before. He closed his eyes, because he wanted to be immersed in her, wanted to be blind to everything but her. aware of only the world between them, the world where only their senses alone communicated to each other.

He eased her back down to the blanket, taking her lips, skimming his tongue inside, offering a soft, dark, openmouthed kiss that silenced her. And him.

Her hair had started tumbling from its updo, loosened when he put on the blindfold, and loosened more now when he threaded a hand through those silky strands, just because it felt good. Good the way touching Kelly, any way, anyhow, always felt.

Her heartbeat quickened when he shifted, sliding a hand from her head to her bare throat, down to the loose drape of fabric at her neck. That damn dress was soft, but not as soft as her skin. Nothing was as soft as the swell of her breast. One stroke, and the tip pebbled for him. One stroke, and he was harder than stone. Hot stone.

Somehow he didn't think he'd be able to talk for long.

"Kel?"

"Hmm. I think we have an awful lot of clothes on."

"Yeah,. I'm about to take care of that. In two seconds. But I need to tell you something." He tried talking again and found his vocal cords malfunctioning. A guy had priorities. Obviously before trying to complete the conversation, no matter how critically important it was, he wasn't going to be able to concentrate until he'd taken care of other pressing business first. So easily, smoothly, he shifted her to a semisitting position so he could pull that sweet wisp of yellow silk over her head.

She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

He'd guessed that from before. And she'd admitted it. But it was another thing to actually find her body completely naked, her breasts already swollen tight, her skin flushed with warmth. Her breath was so quick…for him. Her body hot…for him.

"Kel, the thing is. I didn't know you were going to show up with no underwear."

"Good. Surprises are good."

"Yes. But I'm just saying I thought I'd have to do the seducing."

"You do. Go to work, boy."

He smiled, kissed her again, but he wasn't suck-ering into that wicked mouth of hers quite yet. "I will, I will. But I want you to know that I specifically picked this house because you'd never seen it before. And I wanted you to wear the blindfold so everything else would be unfamiliar, too."

She stopped stroking him. as if finally hearing the seriousness in his voice. Her palm touched his neck, then his chin, then his cheek, reading him like Braille, studying his expression through texture. "Why?" she murmured. "Why did you want everything to be unfamiliar to me?"

"Because you've been so worried. About all the unfamiliar things in your life. Discovering you had a father. Discovering the beliefs you grew up with were partly lies. Discovering that you felt different- about yourself-since Paris."

"Yes," she whispered.

"And because of all that, you've felt really thrown. As if you didn't know who you were anymore."

"Yes," she whispered again, sounding fierce, sounding grateful that he'd listened to her and really heard her.

"Well, this was the point of the blindfold and the unfamiliar place, Kel. No matter what's unfamiliar to you, no matter what's throwing you, I'm here. And I know who you are." In moments, he'd pushed off the slacks, unshackled the buttons of his blue dress shirt.

"Who you are," he said, "is my lover. Just like I'm your lover. And this is the thing." He took a long, slow breath. "I love you, Kelly. I want you. All of you. Whoever you are, whoever you were. I love the before and after. I love the during. I love the everything about you."

She ripped off the blindfold and faced him with fierce eyes. Just like that, there was a power shift. He'd tried to direct this whole thing, for her. because he believed she needed to hear not just that he loved her, but that he loved all the incarnations and reinventions of Kelly Nicole Rochard.

Even when she was aggravating the hell out of him. he loved her. She was suddenly winding around him. The seducee turned seducer. The cherishee became the cherisher.

Soft hands stroked him closer. Dark eyes took him in. looking at him-at his face, at his nakedness, at his erection, at all of him. "You are," she murmured, "everything I ever dreamed of in a lover."

Well, hell times three. If she expected him to have any self-control after that, she was dreaming.

But then she didn't seem to have any self-control after that, either. She loved his body as if she owned it, as if she'd never met an inhibition.

An hour later, an eternity later, he lay on the blanket. Kelly curled naked next to him. She'd dozed off like a baby-her own fault, for turning making love into a marathon. He was just as whipped, just as wiped. But he couldn't erase the smile off his face. Didn't want to give in to sleep.

Will didn't care what was rational or irrational, what the world thought or didn't think.

He knew, in his gut, that everything in his world was right as long as Kelly was with him.

Nothing could stop him when they were together.

They could go anywhere, be anything, do anything. He'd gone into this night with Kelly, knowing his dad wasn't going to be laid up forever-knowing that his chances of being able to stay here were steadily deteriorating.

But he had to believe Kelly valued who they were together. She'd come to see it his way-that it didn't matter where they were, as long as they were together.

And for the first time in years-maybe in his whole life-he really believed that things were going to turn out okay. They'd go to Paris. Be together. The rest didn't matter, it would sort itself out.

"Will," Kelly murmured.

"Hmm?"

"Go to sleep."

All it took was her permission. He draped his arm and the blanket over her, then dropped off into deep sleep.