Why Not Tonight?

7

Saturday, 9:00 p.m.

“HEY, WHO TURNED OUT THE lights?” Adam asked, mourning the fact that the best view in all of New York had disappeared from right in front of him in the blink of an eye. He moved to stand directly behind Mallory, his chest pressed to her back. Settling his hands against her smooth stomach, he lightly brushed his thumbs along the soft undersides of her breasts. “Did you forget to pay your electric bill?”

She leaned back against him, raising her arms up and back to encircle his neck. “Nope. Power must have gone out. It’ll probably come back on in a minute. Mmm…” Her voice trailed off as his fingers lightly teased her nipples.

“In the meanwhile, I’ve got you all to myself in the dark.”

“So it would seem.” She wriggled her bottom against his straining erection and a low growl rumbled in his throat.

“If you keep doing that, we won’t make it to the bedroom,” he warned, nuzzling her soft nape. A delicate shiver ran through her and he inwardly smiled. Ah, yes, she still liked that particular spot. And she was still as incredibly responsive. Uninhibited. Fascinating. Exciting. But then, everything about her had fascinated and captivated him, in and out of bed. Her laughter. Her spirit. Her kind, generous nature. Based on all the magic she’d made him feel, there was no need to question why so many songs and poems were devoted to the wonder of first love.

“We might not make it from this very spot.” She turned in his arms, one hand skimming into his hair to urge his mouth to hers while her other hand glided down to stroke him through his jeans. “I don’t suppose you have a condom handy?” she asked in a breathless whisper against his lips.

He instantly cursed the fact that he hadn’t slipped one into his back pocket. “In the bag I brought.” Which meant his supply was less than ten feet away-which at the moment seemed like ten miles.

Her fingers slipped beneath his waistband and brushed over the head of his penis through his boxer briefs. Heat shot through him and he sucked in a hissing breath.

“Hmm. You brought wine, a rose and condoms,” she murmured in a smoky voice. “Good combination.”

Trailing his hands up and down her bare back, he said, “I thought so. But I’m thinking maybe I didn’t bring enough condoms.”

“Oh? How many did you bring?”

“Only a dozen.”

She chuckled and grazed her fingertips over him again, dulling his vision. “That should last us till dinner. After that we can dip into my supply. Of course, if the power doesn’t come on soon, cooking isn’t going to happen.”

“No problem. I’m happy with the cooking that’s going on right here. Kitchen-not necessary.” He slid his hands beneath her skirt, loving the way her breath caught at the gesture. “It’s not what you have for dinner, it’s who you have it with.”

“Glad you think so, although I had planned to impress you with my pasta.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve already impressed me. I’d be happy with peanut butter. Believe me, the way to a man’s heart isn’t through his stomach-it’s farther south.”

“I see.” With a flick of her fingers, she opened the button on his jeans, and a breath of relief escaped him. “You’re going to get hungry eventually, Adam.”

“I’m hungry right now.” He leaned down and lightly bit the side of her neck. “Starving, in fact.”

She slowly lowered his zipper, and he went still in an agony of anticipation for her touch.

“So…do you prefer the bedroom, or the sofa?” she asked. Her fingers wrapped around his erection and lightly squeezed, derailing his entire train of thought. After several seconds of stroking him, she made a tsking sound then said, “You seem to be having difficulty making a decision.”

He said the only word he could manage. “Huh?”

His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and he saw the sexy smile that curved her lips while she continued her driving-him-insane caress. “Bedroom or sofa?”

For an answer, he swung her up into his arms and carried her toward the den’s long sectional sofa as it was closer-only a room’s length away.

“My choice is you,” he muttered, nipping kisses along her jaw as he crossed the room. “On the sofa. In the bed. I don’t care. As long as it’s you. Now.”

“Now sounds good to me.”

He deposited her on the plush cushion where she landed with a gentle bounce. Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking the arousal glittering in her eyes. His gaze skimmed over her, taking in her lush mouth, her full breasts topped with aroused nipples and her hiked-up skirt that revealed the triangle of dark curls at the apex of her thighs. His temperature jumped up a few more degrees and he clenched his hands to keep from reaching for her. Much as he hated to leave her for even an instant, he knew he’d better get a condom now. Once he touched her again, all bets would be off.

He quickly strode back to the shopping bag in the foyer and rummaged through the assortment of things he’d purchased. He’d just snatched up the box of condoms when a sharp knock sounded at the door.

For several seconds he remained still, breathing hard, then his gaze jumped to Mallory, who looked startled. Before either of them could say anything, or even move, another series of sharp knocks sounded.

“Mallory?” came a muffled female voice accompanied by more insistent knocking. “Are you there, dear? It’s me, Mrs. Trigali. Hellllooooo. Are you there? Oh, I hope you are. Please answer the door.”

Based on the way Mallory jumped to her feet and struggled to pull up her top, Adam suspected that he unfortunately wasn’t going to be needing a condom quite as soon as he’d thought.

His suspicions were confirmed when she called out, “I’m here, Mrs. Trigali. Just give me a minute.”

Still adjusting her straps, she hurried over to him, and said, “I’m so sorry… If it were anyone else, I’d ignore it.” She reached down and scooped up her panties and his shirt. “But she’s my next-door neighbor and she lives alone and she sounds worried.”

He dropped the box of condoms back into the shopping bag, torn between the desire to yank out his hair in frustration and an inexplicable urge to laugh. Jeez, some things never changed. Clearly the timing curse that had plagued them in the past was still alive and well in the present.

“No problem.” Wincing, he zipped up-very carefully- then took his Polo shirt from her. He slipped the soft cotton over his head, leaving it untucked. “But I’m gonna want a rain check.”

“Me, too.”

“All right, two rain checks.”

She laughed, and stepped into her panties. “I meant I’m going to want a rain check also.”

“Heeelllooo,” came Mrs. Trigali’s muffled voice, accompanied by more knocking. “Mallory?”

“Coming,” she called out. Then she stood on her toes and brushed a quick kiss against his mouth. “I really am sorry. I owe you one.”

“A second ago you said two.”

“Okay, two.”

“How about three?”

“I’ll think about it. Why don’t you go in the den and have a seat?”

“’Fraid sitting wouldn’t be comfortable yet. You want me to make myself scarce?”

“Only if you want to,” she said, heading toward the door. “But if you stay there, brace yourself for a barrage of questions.”

Before he could reply, she pulled open the door. The beam of a powerful flashlight arced into the foyer and he raised a hand to protect his eyes.

“There you are, my dear,” said Mrs. Trigali, crossing the threshold, her flashlight beam bouncing around before finally settling on Mallory.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Trigali?” Mallory asked.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I was just worried when you didn’t answer right away that you’d started the meeting without me.”

“Meeting?”

“Why, the block captains’ meeting. Surely under such circumstances we’ll be having one.”

“Circumstances?”

“Why, the blackout, of course.”

She stepped farther into the foyer and her flashlight beam fell on Adam. “Ah, I see I’m not the first to arrive.”

First to arrive? Adam thought. Oh boy, that didn’t sound good.

Mrs. Trigali moved closer to him, peering over the edge of gold-rimmed bifocals. “You must be new to the neighborhood.”

“Actually, I don’t live in the neighborhood. I’m a friend of Mallory’s.” Adam extended his hand. “Adam Clayton.”

Mrs. Trigali narrowed her eyes and gave him an assessing look his grandma Amy would have called “the once-over twice.” His lips twitched as he realized that this petite woman dressed in a crisp sleeveless blouse, khaki shorts that reached her knees and canvas sneakers reminded him of his grandmother. Her short, snow-white hair was cut in the same no-nonsense style, and she pursed her lips the same way as Grandma Amy. He figured he must have passed muster because after her scrutiny, she nodded then shook his hand. “Sophia Trigali.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“What’s this about a blackout?” Mallory asked.

Mrs. Trigali’s eyebrows shot up and her gaze bounced between her and Adam. “Didn’t notice that the lights went out, huh?”

Mallory felt a heated blush creep all the way up to her hairline and was grateful that the foyer wasn’t illuminated by anything brighter than Mrs. Trigali’s flashlight. Her gaze flicked to Adam, but he looked supremely calm and even a bit amused at her neighbor’s not-so-subtle question.

“We noticed,” Mallory said, “but figured it was just a momentary power failure.”

“Nothing momentary about it,” Mrs. Trigali reported. “Will you hold this for me, young man?” she asked Adam, handing him her flashlight.

“Sure.” He guided the light as Mrs. Trigali slid a canvas tote from her shoulder, setting the bag on the floor. Then she pulled a black object the size of a hardback book from the bag.

“My emergency radio,” Mrs. Trigali said, turning one of the dials. “It runs on batteries. Always Be Prepared, that’s my motto.”

“Actually, I think that’s the Boy Scout motto,” Mallory said with a grin.

“And smart young men those Scouts are.”

She made an adjustment to a knob and an announcer’s voice boomed, “…have confirmed that the power outage, which affects all of New York state, New Jersey and parts of Connecticut, is the result of a system failure. The exact cause of the failure is not known at this time, but authorities do not believe that foul play was involved. Officials and technicians are working to restore power, but have not yet announced any estimates as to when the system will go back on line. This station intends to return to our regular broadcast schedule, with frequent updates between dedications to keep you apprised of all the latest developments. Again, authorities believe that-”

Mrs. Trigali muted the volume and shook her head. “System failure. You can bet that’s not going to be fixed in the next few hours. That’s why I figured we’d be having an emergency block captains’ meeting.” She nodded toward her bag. “I brought my emergency kit-citronella candles, waterproof matches, three more flashlights, extra batteries, a box of crackers, some ham and provolone, a jar of olives, a loaf of semolina from Luigi’s bakery, a bottle of Chianti and some cards in case anybody’s up for a little canasta.” She shot Adam a piercing look. “You know how to play canasta, young man?”

Mallory watched Adam’s lips twitch with obvious amusement, and a feeling of gratitude washed through her for his patience with both the ill-timed interruption and her talkative neighbor. She knew damn well certain men-like Greg-wouldn’t have been such good sports under the circumstances. But his kindness and patience had attracted her from the day she’d met him.

“Yes, ma’am, I know how to play canasta.”

“Humph. You any good?”

He smiled. “My grandma Amy taught me everything she knows-and now she has a hard time beating me.”

Mrs. Trigali’s expression turned fierce. “You mean to tell me you don’t let your poor granny win?”

Adam laughed. “If Grandma Amy even suspected that I’d purposely tossed a game, she’d whack me upside my head with her purse-and that purse of hers could cause a concussion.”

“Sounds like my kind of gal,” Mrs. Trigali said with a grin. “We’re looking for a fourth for our Thursday afternoon game. She live around here?”

Adam shook his head. “South Carolina.”

She heaved a mournful sigh. “Drat. You don’t live in South Carolina, do you?”

“No. Manhattan.”

“Your grandma coming up to visit you any time soon?”

“In November. For her birthday. She’s turning seventy-five, but last time I saw her, she informed me that seventy-five is the new sixty. Based on how active she is, I believe it.”

Mallory was about to interrupt, suspecting by the speculative look in Mrs. Trigali’s eyes that Adam was about to be bombarded with a barrage of personal questions of the “are you married, what do you do for a living, how are your finances” variety, but before she could say a word, a loud knocking sounded on the door.

“Anybody home?” came a muffled masculine voice. “Don’t start the meeting without me.”

“Oh, it’s that pest Ray Finney,” Mrs. Trigali said in an undertone, her features pinching with clear displeasure. “I should have known he’d show up. Well, if he thinks he’s getting any of my ham and provolone, he’s mistaken.”

Mallory pressed her lips together to hide her amusement and headed toward the door. From the first day Mr. Finney had moved into the small ranch next door to Mrs. Trigali three months ago, they’d rubbed each other the wrong way. She complained that he made too much noise with his power tools, and he thought she was a busybody.

When she opened the door, she was greeted by a heat-wave induced blast of hot, humid air and Mr. Finney who carried a flashlight in one hand and a large canvas tote similar to Mrs. Trigali’s in the other. As always, his full head of white hair was neatly combed and his tortoise-shell-rimmed bifocals rode low on his nose. He wore his usual summer attire of rumpled, short-sleeved tropical-print shirt, wrinkled khaki shorts and battered deck shoes.

“The meeting hasn’t started yet, has it?” he asked with a smile, stepping into the foyer.

Before Mallory could answer, he caught sight of Mrs. Trigali and he froze, his smile faltering. He jerked his head in a nod. “Evening, Sophia.”

Mrs. Trigali raised her chin. “Ray.”

Mallory introduced Adam and the two men shook hands.

“What do you have in that tote bag, Ray?” Mrs. Trigali asked, eyeing the canvas bag as if it contained snakes.

“My emergency supplies.” He ticked off items on his fingers. “Battery-operated radio, extra flashlights and batteries, candles, matches, a bottle of single-malt scotch, a deck of cards and poker chips, Oreo cookies and canned spaghetti with meatballs-and a can opener.”

“Canned spaghetti and meatballs?” Mrs. Trigali said, her nose wrinkling with obvious distaste. “What sort of man eats canned spaghetti and meatballs?”

“The sort of man who doesn’t know how to cook something unless he can slap it on a grill.” He turned his attention to Mallory. “Carl and Tina Webber are out of town, so they won’t be coming to the meeting. I’m not sure about Wanda Newton.”

“Wanda’s in Jersey this weekend visiting her son,” Mrs. Trigali said. “So it’s just us,” she and Mr. Finney said in unison. They turned and glared at each other.

Wanting to forestall an argument and get her evening with Adam back on track, Mallory quickly interjected, “Mrs. Trigali, I keep my emergency supplies in the kitchen. Do you think you could bring your flashlight to help me find them?”

“Of course, my dear.” She directed her beam of light toward the archway that led to Mallory’s kitchen and moved forward.

“We’ll be right back,” Mallory murmured, shooting Adam a quick smile. To her relief, his good humor was clearly still intact as he smiled in return and shot her a wink. To her further relief, there was no missing the desire banked in his eyes.

As soon as she entered the kitchen, Mrs. Trigali grabbed her hand and pulled her to the farthest corner. The low murmur of male voices reached them, indicating Adam and Mr. Finney were chatting.

“Okay, tell me everything,” Mrs. Trigali whispered.

“Everything about what?” Mallory whispered back.

Mrs. Trigali looked toward the ceiling. “About your new young man. You can start by telling me what happened to your other man, Greg.”

“We’re no longer together.”

Mrs. Trigali nodded, her sharp eyes alight with…something. “Aha. I knew something wasn’t right there.”

“You did?”

“Of course. You dated him for months, yet you still weren’t in love with him. If you haven’t fallen in love after all that time, it’s never going to happen.”

Well, hell. Now she gets this great advice. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Mallory asked, half-joking.

“You didn’t ask me. Besides, that’s the sort of thing a woman has to find out for herself. Now tell me, when and where did you meet this Adam?”

Mallory suppressed a knowing grin. She’d known the questions would come and it occurred to her as it often did that her neighbor would make a fine newspaper reporter. She had a nose for a story and an uncanny knack for ferreting out information. Some people, namely Mr. Finney, found that trait annoying, but Mallory found Mrs. Trigali’s ways endearing and motherly. Her husband had passed away five years ago after forty years of marriage, and Mallory knew the woman suffered from bouts of loneliness. At least once a month they had dinner together to swap stories and recipes.

“Adam and I have known each other for years, even dated briefly, but we lost touch about five years ago. We bumped into each other last week and-”

“And here he is. So he’s ‘The One Who Got Away.’” Mrs. Trigali’s dark eyes lit up with unmistakable excitement. “I just read an article about this in Metro Chick magazine. Did you know that eighty-eight percent of women who meet up again with ‘The One Who Got Away’ discover that he’s ‘The One’? Eighty-eight percent, my dear.”

Mallory couldn’t help but chuckle. “So I’ve recently heard. When did you start reading Metro Chick?”

“Just started. My fifteen-year-old granddaughter bought me a subscription saying I needed to ‘get more hip’ and ‘check out the hotties.’ I must say, after just one issue, I’ve learned a lot. Who knew lip gloss came in so many flavors? And did you know that two out of three men prefer the cherry-flavored?”

“To wear?” Mallory teased.

“No, my dear. To kiss. I drove right over to Walgreens and bought some.”

“Oh? Who are you planning to kiss?”

Mrs. Trigali became visibly flustered. “No one. But you know my motto-Always Be Prepared. But back to your new young man-now he’s what Metro Chick would call a hottie. Wanna borrow my lip gloss?”

Smothering a laugh, Mallory reached out and hugged the woman. “That’s very sweet, but I already have some.”

“Good. Make sure you use it. I like your Adam. He’s a fine young man, I can tell. He’s polite and he clearly loves his grandma. That counts for a lot.”

“We’re only friends.”

“Perhaps for now-but don’t forget. Eighty-eight percent.”

“We have…very different lives. I’m not planning that we’ll even see each other after tonight.” She firmly ignored the unsettling flutter her words caused in her midsection.

Mrs. Trigali studied her over the rims of her bifocals for several long seconds, then said, “That may be your plan, my dear, but I don’t believe it’s his.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw how he looked at you.” She leaned closer and her voice dropped even lower. “He’s very interested.”

Yes-very interested in picking up where they’d left off. As was she. But there was nothing more to it than that. Of course, she wasn’t about to share tidbits that personal with Mrs. Trigali.

“He’s leaving for an extended trip to Europe the day after tomorrow, and after that he’s off to God knows where for who knows how long. Then there’s a good chance he may move away from New York. We’re only getting together this evening,” Mallory repeated as firmly as a whisper would allow. “And that’s it.”

Mrs. Trigali’s jaw sawed back and forth several times, the way it did when the wheels in her mind were furiously turning. Finally she nodded decisively and said, “Well, if you only have tonight, then you certainly can’t waste your time with a block captains’ meeting. As soon as we’ve gathered your emergency supplies, I’ll hustle that pest Ray Finney out of here so you and your young man can enjoy your one evening together. I’ll leave you my ham, provolone and Chianti.” She shook her finger. “Mark my words-the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Mallory pressed her lips together to hold in the laughter that threatened to escape. No way was she going to tell Mrs. Trigali what Adam had said about that particular theory. “Thanks, but I have plenty of food and wine here,” she said.

“What kind of food? Not canned spaghetti, I hope.” A visible shudder ran through Mrs. Trigali.

“Nothing canned,” Mallory promised with a smile. “I made antipasto.”

“Ah. Excellent choice. It’s hearty and offers a selection of things to nibble on. According to Metro Chick, men like that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They spent the next few minutes locating candles, a half-dozen of which Mallory lit, along with her pillar candles, casting the kitchen in a cozy, golden glow that spilled out into the breakfast room and foyer. After putting fresh batteries in two flashlights, she and Mrs. Trigali headed back to the foyer where Adam and Mr. Finney were deep in conversation.

“Now that I’m retired, I have the time to indulge my hobbies,” Mr. Finney was saying. “Be happy to show you the shop I’ve set up in my garage any time you’d like to stop by.”

“Thanks,” said Adam with a smile. “I’ve always had a weakness for power tools.”

“Typical man,” Mallory teased, handing him one of her flashlights. “Likes anything that goes ‘vrrroooom.’”

Their fingers brushed when his curled around the light’s handle and a barrage of tingles jittered up her arm. Ridiculous. Or maybe it was more the way he was looking at her that caused the tingles.

“Not just any power tools,” he said. “Mr. Finney has a top-of-the-line, model XJ586 power saw.”

Mrs. Trigali fixed a laserlike glare on Mr. Finney. “Is that the thing you use in your garage that makes all that racket?”

“It makes some noise,” Mr. Finney said calmly, “but it’s music to my ears.”

“Then you must be tone-deaf,” Mrs. Trigali said with a sniff.

“Can’t cut the wood to make furniture without making a little noise,” he countered.

“A little noise would be fine. And a huge improvement. But we can argue about it later. Let’s go.”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Sophia-” Mr. Finney’s brows snapped down. “Go?”

“The meeting’s been canceled.”

“What do you mean, canceled? There are issues that need to be discussed-”

“Fine,” Mrs. Trigali broke in, picking up her belongings. “It’s not canceled. But it’s being relocated. To my house.” She set her radio on the small table near the door. “I’ll leave this with you so you can keep up with the blackout news.”

“But what about you?” Mallory asked.

“I have another one at home.” She flicked a glance at Ray. “Let’s go.” She headed toward the door, her flashlight beam dancing in front of her.

Mr. Finney’s confused gaze shifted from Mrs. Trigali to Adam to the radio to Mallory. “You’re not coming to the meeting?” he asked Mallory.

“No, she’s not,” Mrs. Trigali said in a tart voice from the door.

“But why…?” Mr. Finney’s voice trailed off as his gaze again bounced from Mallory to Adam. Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a flicker of amusement. “I see.”

“About time,” Mrs. Trigali stated. “Since I’m not getting any younger, let’s get this show on the road. I don’t suppose you know how to play canasta?”

Mr. Finney turned and stared at her. “I don’t suppose you know how to play poker?”

Mrs. Trigali muttered something under her breath in Italian. Mallory wasn’t sure what the translation was, but based on the woman’s expression it wasn’t complimentary. They all walked to the door where Adam shook hands with both Mr. Finney and Mrs. Trigali and Mallory gave them quick hugs.

“Be careful,” she called from the open doorway, watching them make their way down the short cement path leading to the sidewalk. Mr. Finney gallantly took Mrs. Trigali’s arm.

“I can walk by myself, you old coot,” Mrs. Trigali said, but Mallory noted with amusement that she didn’t pull her arm away. Chuckling softly, she closed and locked the door. When she turned around, she discovered Adam stood directly in front of her, highlighted by the pale golden glow spilling from the kitchen where the candles she’d lit burned.

Before she could so much as draw a breath, he dipped his knees and scooped her up into his arms.

“Now…” he murmured against her lips. “Where were we?”