Count on Me (Bayview Heights Trilogy) (25 page)

Straightening, he said, “You take my breath away.” He nodded to her outfit. “You went back and got that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad.” The significance of the gesture touched him, deep inside.

She stepped closer, gave him a siren’s smile. “It’s been too long,” she said, sliding her hands up his chest, around his neck, whispering against his jaw.

Intuitively he understood what she meant. Their intense mating a month ago had been frenzied and desperate, the fulfillment of a need clawing at them both. Tonight, in the dreamy intimacy of this room, a new kind of bond would be formed, even better than the one he’d so foolishly destroyed a year ago.

He skimmed her cheek with his knuckles. “Zoe,” he whispered, “I love you so much.” They were words he’d never said directly to her before.

She startled and he felt the delicate connection between them change, as if a bolt of reality had struck it. She turned her face into his palm. “Come to bed.”

He ignored the stab of pain her response, or lack of it, caused. He knew deep in his heart she loved him; if it took her time to rebuild her faith in him, he could wait.

With Circe’s smile, she reached for the hem of his sweatshirt and drew it over his head. A clumsy lassitude overcame him as he unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor. She leaned over and placed her mouth on his chest. Gently she grazed her lips back and forth.

“I missed this so much,” she told him, stopping to kiss his pectorals. His body lurched when her tongue circled his nipple. “How you taste. Her hand came up and threaded through the springy hair on his chest. “How you feel.” She stood on her toes again and buried her nose in his neck, inhaling him. “How you smell.”

His hands dropped to her waist and flexed there. He tried to still his trembling fingers, calm his thrumming heart, but he’d wanted this for so long he was overcome with emotion.

Her fingers were sure as they tugged at his belt, pushed down his slacks and boxer shorts. Slowly she ran her palms up and down his hips, refamiliarizing herself with his body. She slid them to his buttocks, caressed him there, then around front, and cupped him boldly.

He drew back. “Oh, baby, no, no, not yet.”

It was his turn.

She felt as if she were weightless when he picked her up. Snuggling against him, she steeped herself in the play of his muscles against her limbs and the erratic tempo of his breathing.

It was unlike the last time. Then, their lovemaking had been an explosion. This was more like a smoldering flame. She tingled with a craving so intense it consumed her.

He placed her on the bed and ran his hand down her hip, then up to her breast, which he cradled in his palm. He sat beside her, leaned over, and through the silk, took a nipple into his mouth. She arced off the mattress and grasped his shoulders.

Bracing his arms on either side of her shoulders, he asked, “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve dreamed about this?”

“Yes.” She had, too.

Even his smile was sexy. He tracked little kisses from her neck down to her chest, nosing the fabric of her nightgown away. The hot brush of his lips on her skin made her tense.

“Shh. Easy,” he said as he drew down the straps. His eyes narrowed on her as he bared another inch. And kissed what he exposed. He bared another inch. Kissed that, too. He repeated the ritual all the way down her body until she was writhing.

“Kurt, I need you.”

“I need you, too, love.”

His caresses became bolder, but no less gentle. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel what she had missed more than anything else in her life: the rasp of his knuckles over her nipple, then the scrape of his teeth; the curving of his palm over her, then his fingers sliding into her.

“Please,” she whispered when his mouth met hers with edgy need.

He drew back and stared down at her. Never unlocking his eyes from hers, he fumbled on the dresser, found a condom she’d put there, sheathed himself and finally, finally stretched out on the bed.

She felt the tears come. Her eyes closed as he slid into her. Then he stopped, leaned over and sipped the moisture off her cheeks. “Ah, love, he whispered. “Don’t.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said against his skin.

Burying his face in her neck, he said, “I’ve missed you, too. He began to move inside her. “I love you, Zoe. Love you...love you.”

o0o

KURT ROLLED OVER in bed and opened his eyes. Bright sunlight peeked through the curtains, disorienting him. Then he remembered and reached for her.

She was gone.

Sighing, he settled back into the pillows and glanced at the pretty teakwood clock on the wall. Nine. He hadn’t slept this well or this long in fourteen months. They’d made love last night, exquisite, tender, all-consuming love.

And she’d cried.

And she hadn’t said she loved him.

He’d brushed aside the disappointment then; he’d been on fire for her. Now, in the brittle light of day, it hurt.

 Be thankful for what you have.

Things were going to be all right, he told himself as he got out of bed. Nothing mattered except that they were working their way back together. He was still chanting that mantra in his head when he went downstairs a few minutes later, dressed in the navy terry cloth robe she’d left out on the bed. It was his; obviously, like the flannel shirt, she hadn’t thrown it away.

She stood by the kitchen window sipping coffee. He smiled at the picture she made. She wore a long thermal yellow one-piece pajama thing, so different from the silk of the night before.

“Hi,” he said softly.

She turned. “Hi.”

He’d slept deeply, but she obviously hadn’t. There were circles under her eyes and a weariness about her mouth. He crossed to her. When he reached her, he cradled her cheek in his palm. “Didn’t sleep?”

Her eyes wide and sad, she shook her head. “You did, though.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “Nothing to talk about. Just a bad night.” She poured him coffee and added some milk. When she handed it to him, she smiled. It was a strained smile. “What time do you have to pick Lauren up at Mitch’s?”

“Eleven.”

“Well,” she said, glancing at the clock, “I have to be at school by ten.”

“School? The day after Thanksgiving?”

“Uh-huh. We’re setting up for the festival on Saturday.”

“The festival?”

She busied herself like little Suzie homemaker, straightening the dish towel, wiping up the counter. “Yes. We started it last year. The festival’s a whole day of carnival-like activities. Teachers and kids volunteer to man the booths. The idea is to raise money for the Good Deeds Christmas project.”

Cautious, he leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee. “Will you be able to celebrate Lauren’s birthday with us tonight?”

“No, I don’t think so. I promised to take the girls out to dinner afterward, and I told Erica we could see a movie. You know how worried I am about her.”

“What about tomorrow? Will you be busy all day at this festival?”

“Yes, I think so. It’s, um, been planned for a long time.”

“And Sunday? Have you found something to do so you can’t spend the day with me?”

“You’ll be taking Lauren back to—” She stopped when she must have realized what she’d admitted. Her eyes flicked guiltily to his. “I’m not searching for excuses.”

He stared at her intently. “Making love with me scared you last night.”

She nodded, looking so much like a lost little girl that his heart broke. The sun slanted in through the blinds, highlighting some red streaks in her hair and accenting her luminous eyes.

“Why did you do it, then?”

For several seconds she said nothing. Just watched him. “I wanted to. I remembered what you said, about not fighting for you before. When Elizabeth barged in, I decided to fight.”

His smile was loving. “Thank you for that.”

“I thought I was ready to break the rules, Kurt.” She turned to rinse out the perfectly clean sink. “But now I’m confused. And frightened.”

He came up behind her. “Is that why you cried?” he asked gently.

She shook her head but didn’t face him.

“Zoe?”

At last she pivoted around. His hands loosely grasped her hips. “I cried because it hit me how much we’d lost. How much time had passed and how much damage we’d done to what had once been so perfect.”

“It can be rebuilt.”

“Can it?”

Stark fear hit him like an emotional sledgehammer. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Now that he’d had her again, he didn’t think he could let her go.

Again the delay in answering was long and disconcerting. “No,” she said at last. “I haven’t changed my mind. But...”

“You don’t trust me yet.”

She was silent for a moment, then said. “All I know is I’m afraid. I need to step back a bit.”

“I see.” He strode to the counter and picked up his coffee.

She said, “Look, I have to go shower. I’ll be late meeting the girls.” As if she knew she was dismissing him, she added, “Don’t hurry. You can let yourself out.”

He said nothing.

With a torn look, she studied him for a minute, then headed for the door. When she reached it, he called out to her. “Zoe?” She turned. “Would it be all right if I attended the festival tomorrow?”

The flicker of unease in her eyes told him she didn’t want him there. “Of course. We’re hoping the whole community comes.”

That zinged his heart. But he only nodded, and she left then.

He tried to talk himself out of being hurt, that he’d made more strides, more quickly, than he had any right to, that she was just trying to protect herself.

But it didn’t work.

She wasn’t the only one who was terrified of getting hurt in this relationship. Not by a longshot.

CHAPTER TWELVE

FROM HER PUBLIC-RELATIONS booth in one corner of the gym, Zoe surveyed the Thanksgiving Festival with pride. The gym was filled with the mouthwatering smells of the freshly baked goods being sold at the food concession. Several booths lined the perimeter, some staffed by her kids. Julia, assisted by Rachel, operated a tarot-card-reading booth decorated with stars and moons. Julia looked sad today, and last night, too, when Zoe had seen her. Zoe guessed it had something to do with Dan Caruso.

A giggle drifted from the roped-off area next to the tarot-cards booth. Zoe smiled at Shelley Marco, who laughed as Alex Ransom threw her a basketball; they were running a free-throw game and were shooting some hoops themselves as they waited for customers.

Across the gym was the children’s area, a new addition to the festival aimed at enticing parents with small kids. Dan was patiently helping Josh Taylor make sand art, but both boys were getting more colored crystals on themselves than in the bottle. Ashley and Shondra supervised another activity for youngsters-face-painting. Currently Shondra worked on Alexandra Lansing, while Johnny held the little girl on his lap. Shondra laughed girlishly at something Johnny said. Joe Taylor, who was covering the festival for the
Herald
, looked on.

As she watched them, Kurt entered her peripheral vision. Though she tried to stop herself from staring at him, from
drooling
over him, she couldn’t. He’d arrived with Mitch, Lauren, Johnny and the Lansing girls shortly after the festival opened at eleven. Leaning against the wall, he sipped coffee and talked with his daughter.

He was dressed in tan jeans and a light green chamois shirt she’d bet made his eyes glow like marbles. Where yesterday morning, fresh from her bed, he’d been rested and happy, today his shoulders slumped with fatigue. She hadn’t seen him since she’d left her place yesterday morning.

 I want to be cautious.

By closing yourself off so I can’t hurt you?

Disgusted with herself, she turned away to fiddle with some papers. She’d never realized she was such a coward. She’d been totally unable to contain her fear of getting close to him again. And he’d been hurt. Damn.

Her gaze drifted over to Erica, who was also working the PR booth. There was another problem. Zoe knew Erica’s friends were worried about her, too. Julia, especially, had dropped some broad hints that Zoe should talk to Erica, but when pressed, Julia wouldn’t come right out and tell Zoe why.

She and Erica had gone to see an old Robert Redford film last night, then stopped at Pepper’s where they’d arranged to meet the other girls for something to eat.

Again Erica hadn’t ordered food...

“All right, something’s got to be done about your not eating,” Zoe had said. “And not sleeping. You know I’m worried about you.”

Erica had stared at her with sad blue eyes. “I’m having a rough first semester, is all.”

“Why?”

“I’m worried about getting into Georgetown. My dad says it’ll be a disgrace if I don’t, since all the Cases went there.”

“Well, first off, your chances of getting in are astronomical. And second, you’ve applied to other good Ivy League schools that have indicated they’d take you in a minute.”

Erica had only shrugged.

“Look, I know you’re not telling me everything. And that’s okay. But I think you should talk to a professional counselor. Dr. Sheffield, maybe.”

“Maybe.” The other kids had come into Pepper’s then, and she and Erica hadn’t had a chance to resume the conversation...

“Ms. C?” Zoe turned to face Erica. Today she wore the deep-rust T-shirt all the workers had donned; it had been designed, surprisingly, by Dan Caruso. Zoe had had no idea the boy had artistic talent. The front read, “Be thankful for what you have.” On the back it said, “And give some of it back to others.” Children of various ethnic origins composed a sea of faces under the sentiment.

“You did a good job with the Down to Earth display, Erica,” Zoe told her.

“Did I?”

Zoe scowled at the unusual lack of confidence. “Uh-huh.”

The girl scanned the gym. “A lot of people are here already. Why’d Dr. Lansing come, do you think?”

 To see me
. But she didn’t say it. Again,
coward
came to mind. “Because of his brother. And his daughter’s visiting for the weekend.”