Why Not Tonight?

13

Sunday, 9:00 a.m.

LYING ON HER SIDE, Mallory came awake slowly, each of her senses stirring to life to discover something lovely. And realized that Adam was the cause.

His body spooned snugly behind hers, surrounding her, his skin touching her from her shoulders to her feet, his strong arm wrapped around her waist. His large hand curved over her breast. His deep, even breaths warming the back of her neck.

She blinked her eyes open. Ribbons of sunshine filtered through her sheer cream curtains, which ruffled with a slight breeze. Birds chirped and the crescendo rattle of cicadas floated in the air. She inhaled and smelled a hint of bacon. Which meant that Mr. Finney had fired up his cast-iron grill for his usual Sunday breakfast.

Her gaze tracked around the room, noting her unlit digital alarm clock, indicating the power was still out. Her gaze continued, passing over the candles they’d blown out, then resting on the empty ice-cream container. A flood of sensual memories washed over her and her lips curved upward.

Last night had been…incredible. She’d wanted Adam to reassure her, to help her get her groove back, and he’d succeeded on every level, and then some. Not only had he given her almost more pleasure than she could stand, but his undeniable reaction to her had filled her with a sense of empowerment she’d only ever experienced once before-and that was with him. The fact that their lovemaking was as explosive now as in the past, that she still turned him on as much as he did her amazed and delighted her. That she could make him lose control, could excite and arouse him to that degree…well, she’d certainly never had that effect on Greg.

Her gaze fell on Adam’s jeans and shirt haphazardly draped over the chair in the corner, and it hit her that she liked the way they looked there. Liked the feel of waking up with him. Just as she’d liked the feel of falling asleep in his arms. Very much. Too much.

Don’t get used to it, her inner voice warned.

Right. Because he was leaving tomorrow. Would be gone for three months on his sojourn across Europe where he’d meet dozens of interesting, sophisticated, gorgeous, exciting women who would no doubt be delighted to show him the sights-and anything else he’d care to see. Maybe he’d love it so much, he’d just stay over there. It wasn’t as if he had a house or job here to tie him down. Maybe he’d open his tiki bar on the French Riviera instead of Hawaii. Maybe he’d find the woman of his dreams in Europe.

Her heart stuttered at that thought and she fought to beat back the wave of jealousy that threatened to drown her. When she’d buried the emotion, it was immediately replaced by a dose of self-directed annoyance.

What on earth was wrong with her? This interlude with Adam was a one-nighter. Nothing more. Good grief, she was probably the one hundredth woman who’d wanted to sleep with him-this week alone. The same timing problem that had plagued them in the past still applied-they were heading in opposite directions, both personally and professionally.

Still, she couldn’t deny the extraordinary way he’d made her feel. And not only with his lovemaking, although on a scale of one to ten, he’d rated a 5,867. She’d enjoyed talking with him. Walking beside him. Laughing with him. Just as she always had. Being with him had filled her with the same heady, breathtaking, intoxicating excitement she’d experienced during their previous affair.

Yet surely all these warm, fuzzy feelings were simply the result of great sex. Nostalgia. Rebounditis. What woman who’d just discovered her boyfriend cheating on her wouldn’t dream of having a sexy guy like Adam swoop in to bandage her wounded pride with a night of unbridled sex?

But had he swooped in? Actually, no. She’d approached him. Not that he’d been at all unwilling, but still, last night had occurred at her initiative. Which made her question her motives. Why had she approached him? Was it only to assuage her battered pride? Or was it to exact some sort of revenge on Greg? Or to act on every woman’s fantasy that when she gets cheated on she can have a man at her calling? Or had it just been an impulse?

What difference did it make? He was leaving tomorrow and would no doubt promptly forget all about her and their night together as soon as he boarded the plane. His unsettled future plans were just the sort that made her queasy. Her life and career were right where she wanted them.

He may be leaving, but he’ll be back, her inner voice slyly reminded her.

Yeah, probably with some exotic supermodel glued to his side. And then he’d be jetting off to some other far-off locale, planning to relocate to God knows where. She wasn’t about to put her life on hold even if he asked her to-which he hadn’t.

No, she and Adam were like two trains traveling in opposite directions who’d just happened to stop briefly at the same station before continuing on their separate journeys.

He stirred behind her, and his arm tightened around her waist, his fingers flexing on her breast. She heard him inhale then he nuzzled the back of her neck with his warm lips, while his morning erection nestled more firmly against her bare buttocks. With a smile, she reached back and ruffled his hair.

“Good morning,” she whispered. “Or is it good afternoon?”

“Uh-oh,” he said in a sleep-husky voice. “A pop quiz. And I didn’t study.” With a smooth motion, he rolled her onto her back, then settled himself on top of her, bracing his upper body on his forearms.

She looked up at him, his blue eyes still hazy with sleep, his dark hair mussed and spilling onto his forehead, whiskers darkening his jaw. He looked decadent and delicious, like a man who’d spent the night making love then falling into exhausted slumber after the last orgasm was fired.

Brushing back his hair, she huffed out a short laugh. “How is it that a man wakes up as good-looking as when he went to bed, but a woman somehow deteriorates during the night?”

His gaze roamed over her and he shook his head. “No deterioration on you, sweetheart. In fact, you’re even more gorgeous.” He lifted his head and sniffed the air. “And you smell like bacon. God, I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“That’s not me. It’s Mr. Finney. He cooks up a full breakfast on his grill every Sunday morning. Bacon, eggs, pancakes. I have a standing invitation, one which includes bringing a guest.”

“Tempting. But the bacon’s not ready yet, and, um, I am.” He gave her an exaggerated leer and a suggestive nudge with his hip.

She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing. “Don’t tell me you’re all ready already.”

“Okay.” He rocked against her again, shooting sparks of pleasure through her. “But something tells me you’re going to come to that conclusion all on your own.” He bent his head and slowly drew her nipple into his mouth.

“Hmm. How do you know the bacon isn’t ready yet?”

“My keen sense of man-smell,” he said, his voice vibrating against her breast. “I know fully cooked bacon when I smell it, and that bacon has another…” he lifted his head and sniffed “…at least another four minutes to go.”

“Oh, good,” she said, reaching for a condom. “And here I thought we’d be rushed.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, fresh from a very delicious orgasm and a very fast, very cold shower, Mallory and Adam walked up Mr. Finney’s driveway.

“Let’s not stay too long,” Adam said in a low voice. “I feel my second wind coming on.”

“Second?” Mallory asked, trying not to laugh. “I think you’re on at least your fourth or fifth wind. We can’t just eat and run.”

“I really think we’ll have to. I’m discovering that when it comes to you, I’m sharing impaired.”

Before Mallory could think up a reply to that startling statement, they’d arrived at the cedar gate leading to the backyard. Mr. Finney, busy at the grill and wearing a festive red apron emblazoned with the slogan Kiss the Cook over his tropical-print shirt, caught sight of them and motioned them in with a pair of tongs.

“Good morning,” he said, his face lighting up with a smile. “You’re just in time for breakfast.”

Surrounded by air redolent with the smoky flavor of bacon, they walked across the deck to the grill. After exchanging greetings, Mallory held up the bag she carried. “We brought eggs, sausages and bagels.”

“Great. I’ll put them on the grill. Make yourselves at home. We’re having mimosas.”

“We?” Mallory asked, setting down the bag near Mr. Finney.

“Sophia and I.”

Mallory peeked at Adam over her shoulder, raised her eyebrows and silently mouthed Oooooh…Sophia?

At that moment, the back screen door opened and Mrs. Trigali stepped from the house onto the deck.

“Good morning, Mallory, Adam,” she said, her face wreathed in smiles. “I see you survived the blackout. Would you like a mimosa?”

“That sounds lovely,” Mallory said, smiling in return. “I’ll help you.” She looked at Adam then pointed to the bag of eggs, sausages and bagels. “Men cook with fire on grill while women prepare festive drinks.”

“Okay, but I did warn you that I don’t know how to cook.”

“Oh, Ray will show you,” Mrs. Trigali said, nodding toward Mr. Finney, who was turning slices of bacon. “The man’s done nothing but brag about that grill all morning. ‘This baby can do anything,’ he says. Ha! I say. If it could vacuum and do dishes, then I’d be impressed.”

“I’ll check it out,” Adam said, shooting them a thumbs-up.

Mrs. Trigali took Mallory’s arm and led her to the patio table in the far corner where a carafe of orange juice and an open bottle of champagne stood.

After taking two plastic cups from the supply on the table, she looked at Mallory over the edge of her bifocals. Then she smiled and said in an undertone, “No need to ask how your evening with Adam went, my dear. You’re practically glowing.”

“We had a nice time,” Mallory managed to say with a straight face, although obviously the heat scorching her cheeks gave her away. Sitting in one of the patio chairs under the large umbrella, she handed Mrs. Trigali the carafe of orange juice. “How did the block captains’ meeting go?”

To Mallory’s surprise, Mrs. Trigali’s face turned bright red. “It was…fine.”

“Oh, boy. Did you and Mr. Finney argue?”

“Not…exactly.” She turned toward Mallory and bit her lip. Then she said in a rush, “As a matter of fact, we got on rather well together.”

“You did? Well, that’s great.”

“I taught him how to play canasta. He’s really awful, but since I like to win, that worked out fine. Then he taught me how to play poker. I won at that, too, but he claimed it was only beginner’s luck and he’d win next time.”

“Next time? That sounds promising. I must admit I was surprised to see you here for breakfast.”

Mrs. Trigali lifted her chin. “A woman’s gotta eat.”

Mallory laughed, but her amusement faded as her gaze riveted on Mrs. Trigali’s neck. She cocked her head to get a better view, then her eyebrows shot up. “Why, Mrs. Trigali,” she whispered, “is that a…hickey?”

Mrs. Trigali’s hand immediately fluttered to her neck and her blush deepened. “Oh, dear. I told him to have a care, but heavens, who’d have thought that a man who was such a pest could kiss so well?” She leaned toward Mallory and confided, “I’ve decided that I misjudged him. He’s not such a pest after all. And he’s very fond of my cherry lip gloss.”

At that moment Mr. Finney looked toward them from the other side of the deck where he stood in front of the grill with Adam. He sent Mrs. Trigali a broad wink and she fluttered her fingers at him in return.

Mallory smothered a laugh. “I’m glad you two have become, um, better friends.”

“Well, it’s all the fault of the blackout, my dear. Being alone with someone in the dark can put things in an entirely different light-so to speak.” She handed Mallory her mimosa then sat down across from her. “Did a night alone in the dark with Adam change your mind about not seeing him again?”

No, her better judgment shouted. Yes, her heart hollered. She sipped her drink, then shook her head. “We had a great time, but nothing’s changed.”

Mrs. Trigali reached out and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, dear. You two seem so well suited. Life’s a dance-you should find a partner.”

“True. But I need to choose a partner who enjoys the same type of music I do.”

“I suppose. But half the fun is learning new dance steps. I sense some fireworks between you and your Adam.”

Your Adam. How was it that two simple words could make her feel so unsettled? “So do I. And I don’t like it.”

“Why not?”

She heaved a sigh. “Because I don’t want to get burned.”

Mrs. Trigali nodded slowly. “I understand. When I first met my Lou, he made my heart beat fast and my knees feel like overcooked pasta. It was thrilling, yet almost frightening. Luckily I don’t scare easily, and for forty years that man weakened my knees. Never forget, my dear, that life isn’t measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. If this young man takes your breath away, think twice before you let him get away.”

A lump formed in Mallory’s throat and she sipped on her drink to dispel it. “Adam’s made a number of plans for his immediate future that make it impossible for us to get together anytime soon, if ever.”

Mrs. Trigali waved her hand. “You can’t expect that it would easy, Mallory. Remember a woman’s rule of thumb-if it has tires or testicles, you’re going to have trouble with it. No man is easy. It’s just that some are worth the effort.”

Tires or testicles? Mallory choked back a laugh and nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She was saved from further comment when Adam and Mr. Finney approached the table bearing two heaping platters of food.

“That grill is incredible,” Adam said, sitting down next to Mallory. “Like something out of a restaurant. With that large, flat cast-iron cooking surface, I’ve never seen anything like it. I made the scrambled eggs,” he said, sounding extremely proud.

“Those crispy black ones?” Mallory teased.

“Ha. Taste this.” He held a forkful of fluffy yellow eggs to her lips.

“Delicious,” she said after she swallowed the sample. “You’re a regular Emeril.”

“Who?”

Everyone laughed, then filled their plates. Talk turned to the blackout and speculation as to when the power might come back on.

“Last I heard on the radio was they were hoping everything would be back to normal by this afternoon,” Mr. Finney said.

The back gate opened and several more neighbors arrived bearing food. “Hey, Ray,” said Bill Porter who lived across the street, “got room for a few more? We come bearing Danish and doughnuts.”

“The more the merrier,” Mr. Finney said, waving them in.

After performing quick introductions to Adam, Mallory rose and said, “You can take our seats. Adam and I need to get going.”

“So soon?” Mr. Finney said.

“I’m afraid so,” Mallory said. “I have to call the clients I was supposed to meet today and figure out what we’re going to do. Thank you for breakfast. It was delicious.”

“Same time, next Sunday,” Mr. Finney said, saluting them with his grill tongs. “I’ll give you another lesson, Adam.”

An odd look passed over Adam’s features, but was gone so quickly Mallory wondered if she’d imagined it. “Thanks, but I’ll be away.”

“Oh, right,” Mr. Finney said. “The trip you mentioned. Well, maybe when you get back. The invitation is open.”

“Thank you.”

They said their goodbyes, then departed through the gate leading toward the driveway. After closing the gate behind them, Adam clasped her hand, entwining their fingers.

“Good breakfast,” he said, patting his stomach with his free hand.

“Very good.”

“And enjoyable company, although your exit strategy came at the perfect time.”

“Actually it wasn’t a strategy. I really do need to call the clients I have appointments with this afternoon and check in at my office. Realtors don’t get Sundays off.”

Adam didn’t need a magnifying glass to read the fine print beneath her words, and disappointment rushed through him. Keeping his voice perfectly neutral, he said, “So I guess that means you’ll want me to get going.”

“I’m afraid so. But you know what they say about all good things.”

Yeah. They came to an end. Who the hell had made up that crappy rule?

“Besides,” she continued, “I’m sure you have a lot to do before leaving on your trip tomorrow.”

He did. Laundry. Packing. Putting stops on his mail and newspapers. Dropping by Nick’s place to give him spare keys to his apartment and car. Lots of little details. All of which he’d been looking forward to in anticipation of his trip. None of which he now had any desire to do.

That’s because you’re not currently thinking with your big brain, man, his inner voice said with a smirk.

Very true, that.

But surely as soon as he got away from this woman he’d feel differently and his enthusiasm for his trip would return. It was just the sex that was messing with his mind. And making him reluctant to get away from her.

“Did you pick up on the vibe between Mrs. Trigali and Mr. Finney?” she asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah. Hey, you don’t think we were only talking about bacon and eggs over at the grill, do you?”

She turned her head to look at him and raised her brows. “Actually, yes, that’s what I thought. What else did you talk about?”

He shook his head, giving her his best regretful look. “Sorry, babe. Male confidences exchanged over grilling meats are sacred.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“How would you know this? By your own admission, you don’t know the first thing about grilling meats.”

“It’s instinctual to the male of the species. Laws of nature, laws of the jungle and all that.”

“Uh-huh.” They arrived at her house and after closing the door behind them, she leaned against the oak panel and kicked off her flip-flops. “I have ways of making you talk.”

Cocking an eyebrow at her discarded footwear, he asked, “You planning to smack me with a flip-flop?”

“Oh, no.” She shot him a blatantly suggestive look that traveled upward from his feet, lingering on his crotch, before finally meeting his gaze.

He crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to look fierce but was really to keep him from grabbing her, and narrowed his eyes. “Are you suggesting that you think you can simply exert your feminine wiles upon me and I’ll spill my secrets?”

“I’m not suggesting it-I’m flat-out saying it.”

“Ha. I’d like to see you try.”

“If I did try, you’d fold like a house of cards.”

In a heartbeat. “No way.”

“You’re really tempting me to prove you wrong.”

He slanted a crooked grin at her. “I’m trying my best.”

“In that case, I’d hate to disappoint you…” With her gaze steady on his, she slowly unbuttoned her sleeveless top, then let the garment slide off her arms and fall to the floor.

Forcing himself to remain still and not erase the arm’s length distance between them, he watched as she reached behind her and unhooked her lacy pale blue bra. His gaze tracked the path of the thin straps sliding down her arms and the bra falling to the floor to land on top of her shirt. She then settled her shoulders against the door and skimmed her hands slowly down her body.

He felt his vision blur. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he watched her cup her breasts, teasing her nipples into hardened peaks.

Her gaze dropped to the very obvious bulge behind the zipper in his jeans, a look that felt like a caress, and affected him as surely as if she’d touched him. Then he damn near forgot how to breathe when she glided her hands down her torso and slowly shimmied her shorts and panties down her legs. After flicking the clothes aside with her foot, she leisurely straightened, tracing her splayed fingers back up the length of her body.

“Are you ready to give up your secrets?” she asked, dragging a fingertip over her nipple.

“Sure. As soon as I can think straight again.”

Reaching out, she hooked her index finger into the waistband of his jeans and pulled him closer, until his pelvis bumped hers.

“That’s not going to help me think straight, sweetheart.”

Tunneling her hands into his hair, she slid her leg up his and hooked her thigh over his hip, then dragged his head down for a lush, intimate kiss.

Damn, neither was that.

With a deep groan, his arms went around her, crushing her to him, his tongue deeply exploring her luscious mouth while his hands explored her soft, fragrant skin. Somewhere in what small portion of his brain she hadn’t liquefied, it occurred to him that after they made love it would be time for him to leave. Which meant that this was the last time. The last time.

Need clawed at him, his body screaming as if he hadn’t touched her in months, and he ached to simply yank open his jeans and bury himself in her wet heat. But they needed a condom, and damn it, they were in the bedroom. Bending his knees, he scooped her up and headed swiftly toward the hallway, making a mental vow never to approach her again unless he had a condom within reach. Better make that two. Okay, three.

Two or three isn’t necessary, his inner voice whispered, since this is the last time.

That reminder brought on an ache of an entirely different sort, one he could neither name nor wished to examine right now.

“Your conversation at the grill?” she prompted, brushing her lips against his neck.

“You’re expecting a lot from a guy who can barely form a coherent thought-your fault by the way.”

“Just give me the condensed version.”

“Right. He said something about women wearing cherry lip gloss and how unexpected things happen in the dark. I agreed. That’s all I remember-again, all your fault.”

He entered the bedroom and set her on the mattress with a gentle bounce. Leaning up on her elbows, her eyes glowing with arousal, she watched him undress, an exercise in torture that took him an interminable twenty seconds, a feat he could have accomplished in considerably less time if his damn hands had been steady.

Once undressed, he quickly rolled on a condom, then moved between her splayed thighs. Everything in him demanded a wild, fast ride and a quick, fiery finish. But those words one last time echoed through his mind, compelling him, forcing him to slow down. To savor when he ached to rush. To linger when he wanted nothing more than to bring a quick resolution to the desperate need clawing at him. To memorize every nuance, every touch, every look, every sound she made. One last time.

He entered her slowly, gritting his teeth against the intense pleasure of sinking into her tight, wet heat. Something flickered in her eyes, and she caught on to his shift in tempo. Was she thinking about this being their last time together?

“Give me your hands,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She slipped her hands into his. Entwining their fingers, he settled their joined hands on either side of her head. With his weight braced on his forearms, he stroked her with long, deep thrusts, withdrawing nearly all the way from her body, then slowly burying himself again. Her gaze never left his as she moved to meet each stroke. Mesmerized, he watched her pleasure build then her orgasm overtake her, her back and neck arching, her body clenching his, her long purr of pleasure, her fingers gripping his. Dropping his face in the curve of her neck, he thrust a final time and his climax shuddered through him.

When he could move, he raised his head. And looked down into the most beautiful, chocolaty brown eyes he’d ever seen. And his inner voice reminded him, That was the last time.