Читать книгу Out of Hours...Boardroom Seductions - Janette Kenny - Страница 10

“YOU look bright,” Sophy studied Natalie with unabashed interest when she walked into the office the next morning.

“Glad to be back,” Natalie said airily. It was partly the truth, but not the part that was making it a struggle to keep the grin off her face. Even though Christo had been gone when she got up, she hadn’t been able to stop smiling.

The memories of the night before had a lot to do with it. But even more was the note on the dining-room table that said in Christo’s spiky neat writing, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Things worked out okay with Christo, then?”

Natalie did a momentary double-take, then realized Sophy had no way of knowing anything about last night, that it wasn’t what had happened between her and Christo that her cousin was talking about.

“Um, at work, you mean? Yes. Yes, they did.” Natalie busied herself unpacking her laptop, setting it up, plugging in the power cord.

Sophy regarded her speculatively. “And what about not at work?” she ventured after a long moment.

Natalie felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “Fine,” she said shortly. “He’s fine.” But she didn’t meet Sophy’s gaze, though she could certainly feel her cousin’s curious eyes on her.

Then there was a sharp intake of breath. “You’re not telling me something,” Sophy said.

“Nothing to tell. I finished work for him yesterday. His old temp is back today.”

Sophy didn’t say anything.

Natalie looked over at her. Sophy’s gaze was narrow, assessing her every move. And clearly detecting the hint of a smile that Natalie couldn’t quite hide.

“You did it,” Sophy breathed. “Didn’t you?” she pressed when Natalie didn’t immediately reply.

In fact, Natalie had no intention of replying. She didn’t kiss and tell. Or do anything else and tell about it, either.

“I just said he was fine. That’s all I said.” She fixed a glare on Sophy.

But whatever subtle signs the other woman was reading, she had no doubt. “Wow,” she said softly. Then she leaned toward Natalie, her dark eyes gentle and concerned. “So, who changed? Christo? Or you?”

There was no point in pretending she didn’t know what Sophy was talking about. But Natalie sat down and booted up her computer before she answered.

Then she said with quiet honesty, “I don’t know.”

“Oh, dear. You be careful. Those Savas men are hell on hearts.”

Sophy knew that better than almost anyone, having been married to one of Christo’s cousins briefly a few years ago.

“Christo’s not at all like George,” Natalie protested. George was a physicist, for heaven’s sake.

“He broke my heart,” Sophy said flatly. “Just don’t let Christo break yours.”

He was on her doorstep shortly before seven.

Natalie had glimpsed Christo as he crossed the garden to come up the stairs, and she felt an immediate impulse to fly to the door. Not a good idea, she told herself.

The momentary panic she’d felt at awakening and discovering he was gone had evaporated during the day. She’d slept in.

Be honest, but not insane, she counseled herself. And so she waited until he knocked. Then she ran her hands down the sides of the casual yellow canvas pants she wore, and far more calmly and sedately than she felt, opened the door.

“Hey.” He smiled at her. “Are we okay?”

She blinked at the seriousness in his eyes, despite the smile on his lips. “Okay?”

He lifted one broad shoulder, and his mouth twisted a little wryly. “I thought you might regret it.”

Natalie swallowed. “Regret? Should I?”

“You know what I said about commitment, promises, the way I feel about long-term commitment…” Christo’s voice trailed off and he looked at her expectantly.

“I know what you said,” she agreed, keeping her voice even, betraying as little emotion as she could.

She didn’t quite feel the equanimity she hoped she was expressing. But Christo wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t heard from him already. He’d made no promises—except perhaps for promising that he would make none.

She’d assured him that she could handle it.

Now she reminded herself firmly that she could handle it. “I’m okay,” she said and smiled at him, giving him her heart in her eyes whether he chose to see it or not.

What he saw she wasn’t sure, but when she opened the door wider and waved him in, he entered, only pausing to give her a long and amazing kiss that had her bones melting before he moved on to the living room.

“Gotta finish these,” he said, nodding at the bookcases they’d abandoned half in and half out of their spots on either side of the fireplace. “Then I thought we could grab a bite to eat. Yes?” He slanted a glance her way and the seriousness in his gaze had faded now. Only the smile remained.

“Yes,” Natalie agreed. “Sounds good.”

She helped him finish shifting the bookcases, and today as they bumped and touched, they laughed and gave in. They paused to touch, to kiss, to stroke, to stoke the fire building between them.

By the time Christo had the bookcase backs screwed into the wall studs and the shelves in place so that Laura’s birthday bookshelves were a reality, the meal they were ready for had nothing to do with food.

“We can eat later, can’t we?” Christo murmured, and Natalie nodded, taking his hand and starting toward the bedroom.

But, still holding her hand, he drew back, looking at her from beneath hooded lids. His skin over his cheekbones was taut and his face flushed. “Come to my place,” he said. “Bigger bed. More room.”

And one more demon to vanquish, Natalie thought, memories of that earlier disastrous night flitting across her mind. But she nodded resolutely. “Yes,” she said.

The bedroom was much the same. The time of day—early evening—was the same. The setting sun spilled its light through wide slanted wooden blinds across the room, and the sun and shadow gave Christo tiger’s stripes as he pulled his shirt over his head and then drew her into his arms.

Now she had new memories in the making, erasing the old as Christo touched her gently, almost reverently, kissing her shoulders, her neck, then, stripping her shirt off her and removing her bra, he kissed his way down across her breasts and abdomen, kneeling before her, heading south.

Natalie’s knees shook. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, then clenched in his hair as he skimmed off the rest of the clothes she wore and bore her back onto the bed. He shed his jeans and boxers, then nudged her knees apart and settled between them.

She reached for him, stroked him, made him catch his breath. His jaw tightened. A muscle ticked in his temple. A fine tremor seemed to course through him as he slid in. Easily. Perfectly. As if he were coming home.

This was the way she had dreamed it. The way she’d imagined it those three long years ago—she and Christo lovingly entwined, their bodies moving in unison as they gave each other the passion and love they shared.

After, he rolled off to lie on his back beside her, one arm over his head, the other outflung. His eyes were shut and she got another look at those glorious long lashes. She memorized them as well as the faint hint of evening stubble shadowing his cheeks and jaw.

She watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest, thought she could even see the way his heart hammered so strongly that the beats were visible against the wall of his chest.

Instinctively she reached out to lay a hand over it, to stroke his chest.

His eyes flicked open. His hand came up to wrap around hers, to hold it, still it, as he turned his head to meet her gaze.

“We need to talk.”

“I thought we needed to eat,” she said, smiling at him, trying to deflect the seriousness she saw in his eyes. “I’m starved.”

“In a minute. Or two.” He gave her hand a squeeze, held it a moment, then let go, his eyes never leaving hers. “I have something I need to say.”

“Something I don’t want to hear?” Natalie guessed. It didn’t take a mind reader to figure that out.

“No. Well, maybe. That’s up to you.” He gave his head a little shake. “What I need to say is, I know you still believe in marriage, that some day, fool that you are, you’ll probably even want one.” He looked at her for agreement.

Natalie gave an infinitesimal nod, waited, didn’t say a word.

“And that’s your choice,” he went on. “Not mine. But yours. You want to get involved that way, go ahead.”

“What?” She stared at him, certain she’d heard all the words, but still not sure what he’d said.

“If you meet a guy you want to marry, go for it,” he said gruffly.

She blinked. “While I’m sleeping with you?”

His mouth twisted. “I expect you’d stop sleeping with me.”

“I certainly would,” Natalie said, annoyed.

“Don’t get ticked,” Christo said, rolling over onto his side, shoving up on one elbow and propping his head on his hand. “I’m just saying you should go for it. Don’t let me—this—” he gave a wave toward their naked bodies “—get in your way.”

“Of course not,” Natalie said, wondering if wringing his neck would be too good for him.

He didn’t detect the sarcasm in her voice. Just as well, probably.

“Well, good,” he said, looking relieved. “I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated. Just because I don’t do entanglements and involvements, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t—if the opportunity arises.”

He sounded as if he were giving a summation in a courtroom. Yes, wringing his neck was too good for him. “Well,” Natalie said wryly, staring up at the ceiling, “that’s good to know.”

Christo sat up, looking cheerful, bright-eyed and eager. “Glad we’ve got it out in the open. I’m starving, too. Let’s go eat.”

She’d made a pact with the devil.

At least that’s what it felt like.

But how could she change the rules now when she’d agreed to them at the outset? They weren’t really rules, she supposed, but they were certainly expectations—or, in Christo’s case, a complete lack thereof.

He was just making things clear.

He wouldn’t have made love with her in the first place if she hadn’t insisted that she didn’t need protecting from her feelings for him. So she shouldn’t be surprised to discover that he believed she was no more committed than he was.

She supposed she should consider him generous for telling her she could walk whenever she felt like it, no hard feelings.

Maybe someday she would.

Right now she was in a quandary. A part of her wanted to insist she cared as much as she ever had, that she loved him now with a far more honest and adult love than the infatuation she’d felt three years ago.

And another part didn’t see any point in rocking the boat. She’d made her bed. Now she would lie in it. With him.

And if he didn’t love her now or ever come to love her, she would have loved him—as her mother had loved her father—and she would learn to deal with it.

She offered to cook something for dinner, but he said there was a little place in Hermosa that had great seafood. They should go there.

A date? She almost asked. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to push her luck. She nodded. “Sounds good.”

They took his Jaguar to the restaurant in Hermosa Beach. The food was great, Christo’s company was every bit as enjoyable as she’d ever imagined it would be. They talked about everything from the law to fishing to the Dodgers’ chances to win the pennant to when her mother was coming back.

“Another week, I think,” Natalie said. “Can you manage?”

“Oh, yeah. Lisa’s competent. Not as good as your mother—or you, for that matter,” he said, his eyes warm as they met hers over the candle on the small restaurant table, “but I’m not having you back.”

“Don’t want me in your office?” Natalie teased.

His smile broadened. “Rather have you in my bed.”

She was in his bed again, scant hours later. She went home to feed Herbie when they got back, but then Christo said, “Come to me.”

And she did.

They made love once, twice. And once more before morning. Natalie stayed the night because she wanted to, and because Christo never indicated she should go.

When she opened her eyes in the morning, it was to find him already up and out of the shower. He was buttoning a long-sleeved dress shirt as he stood at the foot of the bed, but his eyes were not on the buttons. They were on her.

“Good morning.” She smiled sleepily up at him and was gratified to see him smile in return.

“Morning. You going in to your office this morning?”

“Yes. But first I have to stop by Scott’s and see how the new ‘wife’ is working out.”

He nodded. “I was thinking I might try to get home a little early. Maybe we could go down to Redondo to the pier, catch a bite there, then go to a movie.”

“I—” Natalie’s reply caught in her throat “—can’t.”

Christo’s fingers stilled on his shirt. “Can’t?”

“My niece is spending the weekend with me. She’s coming this evening.”

“For the whole weekend?”

Natalie gave him a helpless shrug. “I didn’t realize when I said I’d take her that I’d have a better offer. I think we’ll go to the beach. You could join us.”

But Christo shook his head. “No.” He shoved his shirt into his trousers, then fastened his belt and looped a tie around his neck.

Putting on his armor, Natalie thought.

“I’ve got plenty to do,” he said, his tone dismissive now.

“But—”

He knotted the tie, then turned to face her. “Don’t worry about it. Enjoy yourself. How about Sunday night?”

“For us, you mean?”

He nodded.

“Yes. I’ll be having dinner with them when they come to pick her up. But after—unless you want to come along.”

Once more he shook his head. “Have fun. Gotta go.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Friday night with Jamii meant non-stop chatter and homemade tacos, baking cookies and watching DVDs.

Jamii wanted to invite Christo.

Natalie blanched, imagining what he would say to that. “You don’t even know him!”

“Of course I know him,” Jamii said huffily. “He’s my friend. Me an’ him an’ Grandma go bowling together.”

“Bowling?” Natalie simply stared at her niece.

“Uh-huh. So I do know him. Sometimes I eat breakfast with him when Grandma fixes it. An’ he has good cereal. Cap’n Crackle.”

Natalie hadn’t noticed that when she’d been in his kitchen yesterday. But she began to realize that Jamii really did know him. Still he hadn’t accepted her invitation this morning.

Which meant what? It wasn’t too hard to figure out when she let herself think it through. Christo was fine relating to Jamii when she was with Laura. He liked Jamii and the relationship then, but not when it involved Natalie. Natalie, as the woman he took to bed, belonged in a different box in his life.

So she didn’t expect to see him until Sunday night.

She and Jamii went to the beach Saturday afternoon. They spread their towels out at the top of the rise of the sand where it was still damp from the highest tides, but where at this time of day the water never reached. Unlike the old Jamii who used to make a beeline for the water, this one lay face down on the sand and began to dig a tunnel and make a castle. Natalie left her to it, picking up a book and trying to read.

The stream of chatter didn’t let her get much read. But she kept her eyes on the pages, so she was unprepared for Jamii’s sudden yelp. “Christo!”

“Hey, Jamii. What’s up?”

Natalie’s gaze jerked up to see the man himself standing there with his surfboard under his arm, dripping his way up from the water.

“Wanna build a castle with me? I’m making a whole city with lotsa tunnels, but I need a longer arm.” She looked from his face to his arm hopefully.

“Jamii—” Natalie began to warn her off, not wanting her niece disappointed.

But to her surprise, Christo, after only a brief moment’s hesitation, stuck his board in the sand and dropped down beside her.

“I could do that.” He glanced at Natalie, but she couldn’t read anything in his expression besides simple friendliness. “Hey.”

“Er, hey.” What else, after all, was there to say?

It was the most bizarre afternoon Natalie could ever remember.

On the surface it looked perfectly straightforward and normal. Anyone seeing them would just think that they were a family—two parents and a child, enjoying a Saturday afternoon on the beach together.

Of course, they were anything but.

In fact, she kept expecting Christo to finish whatever bit he was doing, then get up and leave. He didn’t do “entanglements,” after all.

But he stayed on. He was totally engaged in working with Jamii, talking to her, listening to her, patiently showing her how to create stability in the walls they were making.

“You could help,” he said to Natalie once.

So she did. Some other children came by and wanted to help, too. Christo welcomed them all. He was like the Pied Piper to all of them. Jamii wasn’t the only one who would have followed him anywhere by the time they had finished.

Even Natalie went down to the water with him to wash off the sand, then came back and dropped down on the towel. “Don’t you want to rinse off?” she asked her niece.

Jamii just shook her head no.

“Suit yourself,” Natalie said, resigned to getting Jamii to take a shower when they got back to the apartment. She tried to focus once more on her book when a shadow fell across her lap.

Christo, still sand-covered, had come back and stood frowning down at them. He flicked Natalie a puzzled look, then turned his attention to Jamii.

“What’s up?”

“Nothin’.” She didn’t look at him, then, just started to dig again.

Once more Natalie thought he’d leave. Instead he dropped down to sit beside the little girl. “Why aren’t you coming?”

Jamii shrugged. “Don’t want to.” She turned her face away.

Christo frowned, then looked to Natalie for the answer. “What’s going on?” he asked her.

Natalie hesitated, then decided that Jamii’s fear wasn’t likely to go away until someone actually acknowledged it. So she told him what Dan had told her last night.

“Jamii went out in a boat with some friends. No one checked that her life preserver was on right. They hit some rough water and she tumbled out of the boat. The preserver came off and she nearly drowned.”

“I did not!” Jamii protested, mortified.

But Christo’s jaw tightened. “You could have,” he said fiercely. But then the look on his face gentled. “That’s rough.”

“I like it okay,” Jamii protested stubbornly. “I just don’t wanta go in right now.”

“I don’t blame you.”

He sat for a few more minutes in silence, his knees pulled up, his arms wrapped around them, as he sat and stared out at the water. The silence in him, the containment that accepted and absorbed the feelings of the other person reminded Natalie of how he’d been with the children in his office.

He’d had infinite patience with them. Now he showed the same patience to Jamii.

Natalie watched him warily, wondering what he would do.

He didn’t talk now. Not for a long time. He never looked at Jamii either. Or at her, for that matter. Then, quietly, he began to speak.

“When I was your age,” he said quietly, “I spent summers in Brazil at my grandmother’s. It was winter there, but it was still warm, and some of my friends and I built a tree house. It was way up high and it swayed in the wind, and we thought it was the coolest place in the world. We rigged a pulley between two trees and did the Tarzan thing swooping between them.” His mouth tipped at the corner and, from his expression, Natalie could see that he was remembering the time with fondness.

She thought Jamii, her attention caught now, her gaze fastened on him, could see that, too.

“It was great. I loved it,” Christo went on. “But once when I was climbing up with some supplies, my hand slipped.”

Jamii sucked in a sharp breath. “What happened?”

“I fell.”

“A long way?”

He nodded. “Pretty far.”

“Were you…okay?”

“I broke my arm,” Christo said matter-of-factly. “Cracked a couple of ribs.” He shrugged lightly. “Nothing too terrible. They all healed in a couple of months. But I couldn’t go up in the tree again while I was healing. And then, when I had healed, I wouldn’t go.” He picked up a handful of sand and let it drizzle slowly out through his fingers. “I thought I’d fall.”

“But if you hung on—” Jamii protested.

“I know. But I didn’t think about that. I just kept remembering the falling. And I wouldn’t go up again, even though my friends did and I could see all the fun they were still having. They tried to get me to come up, but I said I wasn’t interested anymore.”

Jamii’s gaze narrowed, but she didn’t say anything.

“I wasn’t about to tell them I was scared.” His voice was low enough that Natalie had to strain to hear. She shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but she couldn’t help it. Her fingers tightened on her book and she kept her gaze on the words, but she wasn’t seeing them. She was totally focused on Christo.

So was Jamii, raptly. She chewed her lip. “And you never went up there again?”

“I wouldn’t have,” he admitted. “But one day when my friends weren’t there my grandmother said, ‘I’d like to see that tree house of yours.’ I told her no. I said, ‘It’s not that great.’ I said, ‘It’s too high up for you to get to.’ And she said, ‘It’s pretty high, but I want to see it. I think I can do it if you’ll go with me.’”

Jamii’s mouth was open. She stared at him. “Did you?”

“No. But then she went over to it and started up the ladder by herself. So—” he took a breath “—I went after her. I had to make sure she didn’t get hurt.” His mouth twisted in a small self-deprecating grin. “And I discovered I could do it again after all.”

“Which is what she wanted you to discover,” Jamii, no fool, finished for him.

Christo nodded. He sat back on the sand, bracing his body with his hands. “Yep. And she was right. I could. Just like you can go in the water again.” He looked at her now. “You know that, right?”

In the silence between them, Natalie heard a wave break, then another. Slowly, lips pursed, Jamii nodded. She hunched over her own upraised knees and wrapped her arms around them, too.

“Just like I knew it,” Christo agreed. “But sometimes it helps to have someone to go with who understands.”

“Like your grandma,” Jamii said in a small voice.

“Uh-huh. So—” he slanted her a glance “—if you wanted to try sticking a toe or two in, I’d go with you.”

Natalie held her breath.

Jamii squeezed her arms around her legs. She chewed her lip. She didn’t speak.

Neither did Christo. He just sat there, staring out at the horizon, completely unhurried, as if he had nothing better to do than wait for an eight-year-old girl to make up her mind.

“Could I ride on your shoulders?” Jamii asked him at last.

Christo flicked her a quick glance. “Down to the water? Sure, if you want.”

“And you wouldn’t drop me?”

“Never.”

“We wouldn’t go out far, right?”

“Just as far as you want.”

“And you’ll bring me back when I want?”

“I will.”

“Even if I change my mind?”

“Even if you change your mind.” He didn’t move. Only waited.

So did Jamii. Then, slowly she unfolded herself and stood up, then squared her small shoulders. She looked at the ocean, then back at Christo and gave one quick nod of her head. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

He stood up and held out a hand to Jamii, then swung her onto his shoulders. Then he looked back over his shoulder at Natalie and held out a hand to her as well.

She thought the hand was just to pull her to her feet. But when she was upright, he didn’t let go.

He didn’t do anything else. Didn’t brush his hand across her arm. Didn’t come close enough to touch her cheek with his lips. It was very circumspect.

And intimate. Because it was not simply sex. It was a connection outside of bed. The two of them together were a couple, walking hand in hand down the beach toward the pier.

While they walked through shin-high waves that broke and foamed around their ankles, he talked more to her than to Jamii. In fact, Jamii might as well not have been there at all.

The conversation was casual—about the weather, about the water. About ideas for more woodworking projects he had. It was for Jamii—Natalie knew that. And yet, as their fingers were laced and his thumb rubbed against the side of her hand, and neither of them glanced up at Jamii on his shoulders, Natalie couldn’t help believing it was about something else.

A wave surged against their knees, rocking them a little, and Natalie heard Jamii suck in a sharp breath. Christo kept right on talking without missing a beat. His fingers tightened on hers, but he never faltered, never misstepped.

Only when they reached the pier and turned to walk back the way they’d come did he actually address a comment to Jamii.

“Want to go back to your towel now or do you want to get your feet wet?”

There was a long pause—long enough for Natalie to imagine Jamii was going to opt for going back to the towel. She might have done so, at Jamii’s age.

But Jamii, bless her heart, was made of sterner stuff. And had Christo in her corner. “I guess I could stick my toes in.”

Christo smiled. He turned his head to look up at her. “Do you want me to put you down here or do you want to walk in?”

“Here. With you.”

He let go of Natalie’s hand to reach up and lift the little girl off his shoulders, but he didn’t set her on the ground. Instead he walked back to where the water was just beginning to lap against the shore, and he sat down on the sand, with Jamii on his lap. Natalie sat down beside them.

Foamy water from broken waves rushed up alongside and lapped at their legs. Natalie expected Jamii to go rigid. And she saw the instant of fear in Jamii’s eyes, the sudden tension.

But Christo had her securely wrapped in his arms, and he didn’t let go until the water had receded again. Then he scooped up a handful of wet sand and drizzled it on Jamii’s legs.

She laughed. Then, to Natalie’s surprise, Jamii wriggled off Christo’s lap onto the wet sand so she could do the same to him. Another wave broke while she was scooping up the wet sand, and she tensed momentarily, then continued.

Natalie’s gaze met Christo’s over Jamii’s head. He smiled. So did she. It was a moment of perfect communion.

He stood up then and held out a hand to Jamii. “Come with me?” It was an offer. An invitation.

Jamii, after only the briefest of hesitations, put her hand in his. Then, standing together, they faced the waves.

Jamii was not an easy sell when it came to feeling comfortable in the water again. But for the rest of the afternoon Christo persevered. He acted as if he hadn’t said he wouldn’t spend the day with them. He acted like he was perfectly happy to be there.

When at last they called it a day and walked back across the sand to the apartment, he walked with them.

“Say thank you for everything,” Natalie prompted Jamii when they reached the garden. “Christo did you a great favor today.”

Jamii nodded. “Thank you,” she said to him, and Natalie could hear the sincerity in her voice.

“You’re welcome,” Christo said gravely. “But you know you could have done it on your own.”

Jamii bobbed her head. “But it helps to have someone there for you, like you said. Will you come down with me tomorrow?”

“Jamii!” Natalie protested.

But Christo nodded. “Sure.”

“And will you have pizza with us tonight?”

Natalie’s face went scarlet, imagining that Christo would think she’d given Jamii the idea to try to create entanglements where he didn’t want them. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Jamii, you mustn’t presume—”

“He has pizza with Grandma and me sometimes. Don’t you, Christo?” her niece demanded.

“Sometimes I do,” Christo agreed. He lifted his gaze and met Natalie’s almost defiantly. “Laura considers it her duty to feed me when I seem at loose ends.” There was a hint of something in his face that she couldn’t read.

“Are you at loose ends tonight?” she asked warily.

“I am.”

“Then I guess you’d better have pizza with us.”

“I guess I should.”

It was like having one of her long-ago fantasies come to life—opening the door of the apartment and having Christo leaning against the doorjamb smiling at her, then holding out a bottle of wine.

She took it wordlessly, the mere sight of him robbing her of words. He was freshly shaved, the stubbled jaw of this afternoon smooth now. His hair was damp but freshly washed and combed. He wore a clean pair of faded jeans and an equally faded red T-shirt. Nothing special.

But in Christo’s case, it definitely wasn’t the clothes that made the man.

And all the desire she’d assured herself she intended to keep well tamped down and controlled seemed to rise right up and smack her. She stared wordlessly at him.

And, heaven help her, Christo stared back.

It was the way he looked when he made love to her. His eyes darkened. His smile faded. He took a step toward her—and Jamii appeared.

“Hi, Christo! Come see the book I’m writing?”

Christo blinked, then dragged his gaze away from Natalie and focused on her niece. “Sure.”

While Natalie tore up greens for a salad, she listened to Christo and Jamii talking in the living room. He paid just as much attention to Jamii’s literary efforts as he had to making her comfortable in the water. He listened intently as Jamii told him all about the care and feeding of hamsters and guinea pigs.

Natalie marveled at his focus. But then, when she called them to come and eat, she felt that his focus had shifted to her. Or maybe it hadn’t—it was just her oversensitized nerve endings and imagination.

Whatever it was, every time Natalie looked up, it seemed that Christo did, too. Their gazes would connect and sizzle, then slide slowly away. When he passed her a glass of wine, their fingers brushed and it felt as erotic as when he’d learned the contours of her naked body. And from the speculative look he gave her, she dared to imagine he felt the same way.

Watching him eat the pizza was worse. It had the effect of making her remember vividly the scene of the young gorgeous Albert Finney in the old film Tom Jones, eating the chicken and licking his fingers, and causing every woman who watched it to experience a serious spike in her heart rate.

Not that Christo was licking his fingers. He was perfectly well-mannered. It was her fevered brain that was working overtime.

In desperation, she shoved back her chair and stood up. “I’ll just go make some coffee.”

But the moment she was in the kitchen fumbling with the coffeemaker, he was there behind her and she spun around, nearly knocking the dirty dinner plates he carried out of his hands.

“What are you doing?” she demanded sharply.

He raised a single brow. “Setting a good example?”

He put his plate and hers into the sink, and immediately behind him, Jamii appeared carrying her own, which she deposited there also.

“Oh.” Natalie felt idiotic. And ridiculously aware. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Do you want me to do that?” He was looking at the coffeemaker, with which she didn’t seem to be making any progress. “Let me,” he said, and took the basket out of her hands. He filled the reservoir with water, then opened the cupboard and got out a filter, which he fitted into the basket.

She opened the cupboard to get a grip on her sanity and, incidentally, to find the coffee. It wasn’t there.

Christo just went to the refrigerator—since when had her mother kept the coffee in the refrigerator?—and took out a bag. He measured some beans into the electric coffee grinder she didn’t even know her mother had, then pressed it with the heel of his hand until the redolence of fresh-ground coffee filled the air.

Dumping the coffee into the basket, he put it back into the coffeemaker, then flicked on the switch and leaned back against the cabinet, folding his arms across his chest. He smiled at her.

“I don’t…make coffee here often,” she mumbled.

“I do,” he said. Then he leaned forward and, very gently, kissed her on the lips.

He was melting her right where she stood. She couldn’t move. Stood mesmerized by his kiss. Wanted it to go on and on and on. Wanted him to wrap his arms around her as he’d done before. Wanted to wrap hers around him.

She leaned into him.

“Wanta watch a movie, Christo?” Jamii’s voice floated in from the living room causing them both to jump back.

Christo cleared his throat. Adjusted his jeans.

“We’ve got The Bad News Bears and Cinderella,” Jamii called.

“Cinderella?” Natalie arched a brow at him. She still trembled. Still felt the shivers of unrequited desire running up and down her arms and legs.

Christo gave her a wry smile. “I’m hoping for the other one.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m staying.”

Their gazes met, locked.

“It’s ready,” Jamii called.

“Go on,” Natalie said. “I’ll bring the coffee.”

One more kiss that left her weak-kneed and then he joined Jamii in the living room. Natalie stood gripping the kitchen countertop, taking deep breaths and praying for a little sanity. When the coffee was ready, she poured them each a mug full and carried it into the living room.

“Sit here,” Jamii wriggled over next to Christo and left Natalie the spot on the end.

She sat down, and with Jamii between them, they watched the movie. Or Jamii watched the movie—not Cinderella, thank God.

Natalie watched Christo’s hands as they cradled his coffee mug. She watched him stretch out his legs and could not tear her gaze from the flex of easy muscles beneath the soft denim of his jeans, unless it was to contemplate his bare feet.

She was aware of the couch shifting every time he moved. She knew when he stretched one arm along the back of the sofa. Close. But not close enough to touch. Did he know how close?

The movie was funny. Jamii was in stitches, giggling madly. Christo laughed, too. Then he shifted again and his fingers brushed against her neck. They played with her hair, they made the nape of her neck tingle and sent involuntary shivers down the length of her spine. She was so exquisitely aware of him that she couldn’t think of anything else at all.

She turned her head to look at him. And he looked back. Their eyes met. His fingers brushed lightly along the back of her neck. She trembled. He smiled.

Exactly when Natalie realized that Jamii wasn’t laughing now but was asleep between them, she didn’t know. But Christo obviously knew. He moved carefully, easing himself up and scooping the sleeping child into his arms. “Where do you want her?”

And Natalie tore her gaze away from his to clamber to her feet and lead the way into her mother’s bedroom. She pulled back the covers on the bed and Christo bent to lay Jamii down. He brushed the little girl’s hair away from her face, then stepped back.

Christo was so close to her—and she was so aware of him—that she could hear the soft intake of his breath. And her own caught in her throat as he turned to face her, touched her arm and began to guide her backwards out of the room.

It was as if they were dancing, his hooded gaze hot and hungry as it met hers. His fingers slid up her arm and over her shoulder to the nape of her neck, echoing his earlier touches, heightening her awareness.

They were in the hallway now, and her back was against the wall, and he bent his head, his lips coming down inexorably to meld with hers.

They parted under his touch, opened to him as they had last time, as she longed to do. She slid her arms around him, drawing him closer, pressing against him, reveling in the hard strength of his body against the soft curves of hers. He slid his hands under her shirt, caressed her back, cupped her breasts.

“Aunt Nat!”

Christo jerked back, chest heaving. Natalie straightened sharply, and looked around, relieved not to see her niece standing there staring at them.

“What?” She tugged her shirt down, then slipped past Christo to go to Jamii. “What’s wrong?”

“I fell asleep! We didn’t get to see the end of the movie!” Jamii sat up in the bed, staring up at her, crushed. “Can I see it now?”

“Not…now,” Natalie said, wishing her heart would stop hammering so frantically. “Tomorrow. In the morning.”

Jamii sighed and slumped against the pillows. “Is Christo still here?”

Before Natalie could answer, Christo said from the doorway, “On my way home.” He sounded calm and steady, and Natalie wondered how he managed it.

“Will we go swimming tomorrow again?” Jamii asked him.

“I’ll come and get you in the morning. Go to sleep now.”

“But—”

“You heard him. Sleep,” Natalie commanded. “Or you won’t go.”

Jamii made a face, but she lay back down. Natalie bent and kissed her good-night, then turned and followed Christo back into the living room.

The needs were still there, thrumming inside her, even as she spoke. “We can’t—” she said almost apologetically.

“I know.”

He sounded terse. Tense. Dissatisfied. All of the above.

He gave her a hard, fierce, almost angry kiss and stalked quickly out the door.