Together Again: Book 3 in the Second Chances series (Crimson Romance) (3 page)

By the time she got there, she’d regained some control. “I was just about to pour myself a drink. What would you like? I have a bottle of my favorite single malt Scotch and I have a mini-bar, your choice.” She brought out two glasses, removed the lid from the ice bucket and started putting ice cubes in the glasses.

But when she turned to get his answer, she felt the floor give way and with it, her control. He was leaning on the counter, looking at her with his pools-of-chocolate eyes as if she was the only thing he wanted to see.

Now if only she could remember how to put square ice cubes into round glasses.

“ … single malt?” His words began to come back into focus. “They must pay DAs better in Portland than they do in Philly.”

“Ah … no. No, not really.” Unsure what else he’d said, she grabbed onto the last part of his sentence. “But since I never seem to do anything except, you know, work, I splurge occasionally on good Scotch.”

“I’ll take advantage of your splurge, then.”

She finally managed to get both the ice and the liquor into the glasses, spilling only a little. When she’d handed his to him, she led him to the living area. He settled back at one end of the sofa while she sat at the other, sipping carefully at her drink, caught again by his candy bar eyes and hesitating to mix too much Scotch with all that chocolate.

“How was your day? You spend it with your mom?” he asked.

“Some of it. We had lunch, did a little shopping. Before that, I worked on a speech I’m giving next week. Didn’t get very far, but it was better than yesterday.”

“What happened yesterday? Bad flight?”

“The flight was fine. It was this Asshole in a Blue Blazer. He bugged me in the airport when I was drinking my coffee. Kept up such a racket on the plane I couldn’t work. Then, when I hauled my suitcase off the luggage belt, I accidently hit him with it, so he swore at me and pushed me aside to get to the taxi stand.”

“Yo, welcome to Philly.” He raised his glass in a mock toast.

“My thoughts exactly. But as long as he’s somewhere in the Delaware Valley other than here, I’m good.” She took another sip of her drink. “That’s enough about him. Tell me how your family is.”

For most of the next hour he entertained her with stories about the antics of his nieces and nephews and they talked about their jobs. Then, looking at his watch and their empty glasses, he said, “We’ve got time for a short refill. Want me to pour?”

“We may need more ice.” She went to the bar and checked. “If you’ll get some, I’ll pour. It’s down the hall to the right,” she said as she handed him the ice bucket.

After he left, she propped the door open, dumped the melting ice out of their glasses and pulled out the Scotch bottle. When he returned, she heard the door close and felt him come up behind her.

“You shouldn’t leave a hotel door open like that, Margo. It’s not safe.” He rested his hand on her back as he reached around her to put the container on the bar.

“Oh, I’m perfectly safe,” she said, tilting her head back so she could see him. “I know people in law enforcement.”

“Lucky you,” he said. With his forefinger he moved a few strands of hair aside and kissed her shoulder at the base of her neck. His mouth was still cool from the drink and it made her shiver. At least, that’s what she blamed. At first. But when he slid his hands around her waist, and her pulse spiked, taking her breathing along for the ride, it was obvious that it wasn’t just ice making her tremble. And she was sure if he did what she thought he was about to do, they’d never make it to the reunion on time.

“Maybe,” she said, “we should skip the second drink and leave?” She took a deep breath and faced him. “So we’re not late?” She could hear the lack of conviction in her voice and wondered if he could, too.

He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “If that’s what you want, sugar,” he murmured, “we’ll go.” He leaned in and brushed his lips across her cheek. She was left holding an empty glass, surprised at how disappointed she was that he’d agreed and wondering why the hell she’d objected anyway.

Two steps into the restaurant where the reunion dinner was being held and Margo was sure she’d gone through a time warp. The smells of tomato sauce, oregano, garlic and yeasty bread brought back long-forgotten pizza dates. Music she remembered from the senior prom was playing. The place was full of vaguely familiar-looking people with very familiar names on their nametags.

At the registration table, Joe delGiorno and Mary Margaret O’Brian delGiorno were checking people in. They’d married right after graduation and overseen every reunion, as well as a family of five kids, ever since. After Joe handed Tony his nametag and checked his name off a list, Tony asked “wine or Scotch?” and headed off for the wine she requested. Margo searched for her nametag in the middle of what was once apparently an alphabetized display, now not so organized.

“I’m sorry,” Mary Margaret said, offering a marker and a blank nametag, “you’ll have to make your own. Tony didn’t tell us he was bringing someone.”

“It’s Margo Keyes, Mary Margaret.”

“Oh my God! It is!” She tapped her husband’s shoulder. “Joe, look. Margo’s really here.”

Joe came from behind the table with her nametag, gave her a hug and said, “We were so happy to hear you were coming. And you’re with Tony? He never said.”

“Hey, Joe, nice to see you, too. It was a last minute thing. You know, Tony and I are old friends, practically brother and sister.”

“Tony’s never had a brother-sister date in his life,” Joe said, patting her arm. “Why would he start with you?”

Her not-so-much-brother returned and handed her a glass of white wine. Margo began to take a gulp, but had second thoughts. Instead, she swirled the wine around in the glass, took a small sip and followed Tony inside.

The cocktail hour was winding down as people began to find seats for dinner. Thanks to her date, the basketball-star/class-officer, Margo, the newspaper-editor/head-of-the-debate-team, was at a table with people she’d never hung out with in high school: the head cheerleader, the football quarterback, the class president, the prom queen. She was back in the high school cafeteria, except this time she was at the table with the cool kids.

Seeing classmates after fifteen years wasn’t as hard as she’d feared. Everyone asked about Portland. There were no awkward mentions of her father or the disaster he’d caused in her life. And, perhaps more immediately important, no one commented on Tony having his arm around her or the back of her chair any time he wasn’t actually eating his dinner. At the moment, Margo was more relieved about not having to explain that.

After the tables were cleared, a DJ played more music so they could dance. However, after a couple fast dances, a slow song came on and he started toward the table.

“Let’s sit this one out,” he said, rather abruptly, it seemed to Margo.

“Something wrong?”

“No, I’d like to wait for a song I like better.”

She thought she saw him glance across the room where his former fiancée and her husband were doing what, apparently, passed for dancing with them. And because what was playing had all the earmarks of an “our song,” Margo figured she knew why they were sitting it out. On an impulse, she reached for his hands. “Maybe it’s time you disconnected the song from her.”

“That’s not it,” he started. A look that somehow combined irritation and amusement played across his face. When he raised an eyebrow, his expression went completely to amused. “On second thought, do you think you and that dress could do something like that?”

“I’m willing to try, if you are.”

He held out his arms to her, she slipped into them and he drew her close. At five-feet- seven, and in four-inch heels she almost matched his six-feet-one height. Effortlessly he moved them across the floor in time with the music. At least, she assumed the song was still playing. With his arms wrapped around her and the smell of that damn cologne filling her senses, the only thing she could really hear was the sound of his heartbeat.

After a few moments of silence, he whispered, “You were right. I’m not thinking about the song at all.” His warm breath feathered over her ear, sending goose bumps down her neck to her arms and breasts.

“Good,” she managed, hoping he hadn’t noticed that her nipples had hardened into tight buds against his chest. She’d certainly noticed it. Just like she’d noticed the erection he had pressed against her. An erection that seemed to get harder by the second, even though it was trapped behind several layers of clothes. Clothes she was beginning to wish they could get rid of. Right now.

He slid his hand down her back; his hold tightened; her body instinctively arched toward him. Every inch of her body was aware of every inch of his. How was it possible to be so close to him and not stumble over his feet? Or — an even better question — how was it possible not to completely melt from the sheer pleasure of having his hard, muscled body pressed so tightly against her soft breasts and hips?

“This dress,” he said, “no zipper, no buttons. Are you sewn in?” He rested their clasped hands against his shoulder and with a slight increase of pressure on the small of her back led her smoothly in half-circles, first one way and then the other. It was as if they were one body, joined somehow.
Stop
. She couldn’t think about having their bodies joined. Not here, not in public.

“No, I just, you know, pull it on over my head.” She’d had to swallow a couple times to get enough moisture in her mouth so she could answer because all the moisture in her body had taken up residence between her legs.

In a low, husky voice he said, “Off the same way, I take it?”

Holy hell, he was not only turning her body to jelly, he was reading her mind. This was not good. At the rate they were going, they’d be making this reunion memorable for everyone there by tearing each other’s clothes off on the dance floor.

Then his pager beeped.

He broke his hold to retrieve it from his jacket pocket. “Goddamn.
Figlio di puttana
,” he said when he saw the number. She knew he only swore in two languages when he was really pissed.

“Work, I take it.”

“What else? I’m sorry, Margo. I have to answer this. Meet you back at the table.” He pulled out a cell phone and walked away, punching in a number as he went.

When he returned, the expression on his face said their evening was over before he spoke a word. They made their excuses to their classmates and headed for the valet stand to get her car.

Although she protested that he needed to get to wherever he’d been called, he insisted on walking her from the hotel garage to the door of the suite. Much to her relief, nothing was said on the way up to her room about what had happened on the dance floor.

She opened the door of her suite and started to say goodnight.

“Before I go,” he interrupted, “what’re your plans for the rest of your visit?”

“I’m at a conference for most of the week, then a couple days hanging out before I go home.” Somehow, changing her reservation to an earlier flight had slipped off her “to do” list.

“Why don’t I make dinner for you at my apartment next Friday to make up for our short evening tonight?” He reached over and picked something she couldn’t see off the top of her dress where it skimmed one breast. Her skin retained the heat from his fingers when he moved his hand.

“Oh,” she said, “you cook.”

“My mom taught us all to cook, you know that.”

“Right. I forgot.” She glanced down, then back at him. “What about our mothers?”

“I didn’t plan on inviting them, sugar.” His smile almost melted the heels on her shoes.

“I didn’t mean that. It’s just that if either of them knew we were having dinner in your apartment we’d never … I’d never … hear the end of it.”

From the half-smile on his face, he was enjoying the conversation way too much. “As far as I can tell, the neighborhood grapevine doesn’t extend to this part of the city but I appreciate you trying to protect my reputation.”

She gave him what she hoped was a withering look. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

With an expression still too amused for her comfort, he asked. “So, is that a yes or a no?”

“If you’re sure, I guess dinner at your place would be okay.” She realized how tentative that sounded and backtracked. “I mean, it sounds good. Should I give you my cell number? Or you can leave a message here for me if you have to make a change. I’m at the Convention Center all next week.”

“That’s where your conference is?”

“Yeah, I’m doing a presentation with some police captain on ‘Law and Order’ … ”

He laughed, then asked, “‘Law and Order: The Working Relationship Between the Police and the DA’s Office’? I won’t have to leave a message anywhere. I can hand it to you while we’re standing at the podium.”

“What’re you talking about?” she asked.

“We’re doing that presentation — you and me.”

“How come I didn’t know this?”

“No idea. About five days ago, the captain scheduled to be the speaker had to cancel. For reasons I have yet to be told, I got tagged. But I thought I was with a
guy
from the West Coast.”

“Jeff Wyatt, my boss, was supposed to do it. But his trial ran long so he asked me to pinch-hit for him. That’s how I ended up with ten days here. What do you plan to say, anyway?”

“Not sure yet. Maybe we should work on it together. How about we have lunch or something tomorrow and figure it out? About ten?”

“Ten sounds good. Don’t push yourself if you have a long night. I’m around all day.”

“Great.” He bracketed her face with his hands and brought his mouth to hers. His lips were soft and warm, the kiss the same. But when he circled her waist with his arms and she sank into his embrace, her muscles seemed to dissolve, out of her control, as she molded herself against him and he deepened the kiss. She didn’t resist when he brushed her mouth with the tip of his tongue, letting him explore the inside of her mouth at his leisure. Then he slowly drew back, until he was kissing her gently again. He ended with a kiss on the tip of her nose.