Heart Craving (12 page)

“Now,” he said, still embedded in her.

She nodded and slowly undulated her hips. Expertly, her slick sheath stroked him, building the fires of his molten desire.

He wanted to make it last forever.

It was over in minutes.

But they were the best damn minutes of his life.

Breathing raggedly, he wrapped his arms around her waist and feathered kisses over her lips and neck and shoulders, whispering soft endearments between each kiss. His love flowed over them both, and her eyes grew large and liquid with emotion.

When he felt himself begin to thicken again, he stood abruptly, with Paula still riding his sex, and laid her on the table, sweeping aside the placemats and napkins. He climbed up with her and reached down and behind to grip her ankles and pull them up and out. This time, his body hammered its need into her welcoming folds. Penetrating deep, he used his body to show her how very much he loved her.

When the first tingles of his impending climax flash-flooded through his body, he laced his fingers with hers, holding her to the table, and pummeled her with rapid-fire, mind-blowing strokes. Her eyes gazed up at him, unfocused and misty with passion. She made soft, mewling sounds of entreaty, “Please, Nick . . . oh, no . . . oh, yes . . . now . . .
now!
”

He slammed into her one last time, crying out his triumphant release.

And she wrapped her legs around his waist, yielding to the uncontrollable convulsions of her own climax which alternately clasped and unclasped his sex.

When he was finally able to breathe, he rolled off Paula and tucked her under his arm. He kissed her softly, smiling against her lips. “That was some appetizer, babe.”

She slanted him a look of disbelief, then answered saucily, “Wait till you see what I have for the main course.”

That was when he remembered his good intentions. There was going to be no main course for them.

But Paula had other intentions.

And Nick’s willpower seemed to have taken a leave of absence, he learned, as Paula served him one delicious “main course” after another, each wrapped in a different Victoria’s Secret outfit. Nick swore he was going to buy stock in the company first thing Monday morning.

About 2:00 A.M., they finally decided to eat dinner.

“Nick, why is that sock sitting on the kitchen counter?” Paula said as she prepared to put the food on the table.

“It’s my potholder,” he said distractedly as he soaked in the remarkable view of Paula in a red-and-black bustier and garter belt, bent over the oven where a loaf of garlic bread was warming.

“A potholder!” she exclaimed, peering up at him over her shoulder. She tsked her disapproval when she noticed the target of his perusal—her nicely curved derriere.

“I haven’t had a chance to shop lately,” he said sheepishly.

She made another tsking sound and placed the bread on the table alongside the pasta and salad. She motioned him to sit down and commented idly, “And how come your Jockey shorts look so gray? Not to mention the sheets and dish towels.”

“Shampoo.” He was already helping himself to a generous serving of the food, realizing belatedly that he hadn’t eaten all day.

“Shampoo?” Paula blinked at him with confusion.

“Yeah. I ran out of soap powder, so I’ve been using shampoo in the washing machine. Lord, you should have seen all the bubbles. The building manager told me he’s gonna sue me if I ever do it again.” He was eating ravenously the whole time he talked. Finally, he glanced up when he noticed the silence. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, Nick.”

“Now what? You look like you’re gonna cry. Just because I ran out of soap powder?”

“Because I lo—”

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” he interrupted in a panic. He couldn’t let her finish. He just couldn’t. He wanted to believe there was still a chance for them, but he was afraid to hope. And he didn’t want to break this precious bond that connected them tonight.

He searched his brain for a way to change the subject. “Geez, if that’s what turns you on, maybe I should tell you what I’ve been using for a toilet brush.”

She stared at him incredulously, then laughed. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“You know, Skip passes on the best tips to me.”

“I can imagine.”

“Betcha didn’t know what you can do with the crumbs at the bottom of a toaster.”

“Throw them away?” she suggested.

“Nah, they make great croutons.”

They exchanged a smile. Nick wished he could freeze the moment and make time stand still. “God help me,” he murmured under his breath.

When they returned to the bedroom, Nick undressed her slowly, worshipfully. With each garment that slid off her body to the carpet, his lips followed the silken path, whispering soft words of appreciation at the beauty of her smooth skin, the sensitivity of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach, the length of her legs.

Dropping his shorts, he stood before her, inhaling her lemony cologne. “Do you know that I bought a sack of lemons one day and squeezed them in bowls all over the apartment just to remind me of you?” he disclosed as he ran the pad of his thumb over her parted lips.

She leaned closer. “Oh, honey, I—”

“And once I went into Saks and had the clerk take out one perfume sample after another, trying to find yours.”

A sad smile curved her mouth. “It’s Jean Naté cologne. They sell it in the drugstore, silly. Not Saks.” She reached up a hand to cup the side of his face.

He took her hand in his and kissed the palm, then the wrist. He felt her pulse jump against his lips.

Feeling dizzy and intoxicated, Nick led his wife to the bed. Frozen in a limbo of love and pure physical sensation, he pushed all logic aside and wanted to believe that anything was possible.

He would never forget a single detail of this night.
Never!

Forcing her to remain immobile on her back, he paid homage to her body, from scalp to toe.

“Lie still, hon. Let me do the work,” he implored huskily against the soft curve of her throat.

“But Nick—”

“Shhh.” His lips moved lower and covered one breast.

“Oooooh, my God!” she keened and arched her chest up off the bed.

He suckled rhythmically.

And she began to make low, whimpering gasps of need.

He smiled and drew back, examining the wet nipple appreciatively.

“Don’t stop,” she cried out.

He moved to the other breast obediently. “As if I ever could!” he said against the hot, turgid flesh.

By the time he had traveled the slow, slow journey over her responsive body, giving particular attention to the shadowy curve under her arms, the dip of her navel, the backs of her knees, even her delicious toes, Paula was writhing from side to side, begging him to end her torment. “Now, Nick. I want you
now.
”

She tried to reach up for him, but he pushed her back gently and knelt between her outspread thighs. “Uh-uh, babe,” he asserted with a low growl. Placing his palms under her buttocks, he lifted her up off the mattress and nuzzled her hair. “You’ve been providing me with one main course after another, sweetheart. It’s time for a feast of another kind.”

By the time they were both satisfied, Nick lay depleted on his back, his arms thrown over his head, his legs spread with satiety. Sweat coated both their slick bodies, and the only sounds in the deep night were those of their syncopated, ragged breaths.

He pulled Paula into the crook of his arm and kissed the top of her head. “That was sensational, honey.”

“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?”

Paula raised herself slightly and brushed the hair off his forehead. “I know about your childhood, Nick.”

An icy foreboding rippled over him. “What do you mean?”

“Mrs. Chancellor told me about your sister Lita . . . how she died. And about your brother in prison. Nick, why didn’t you tell me? Maybe I would have understood you better. Maybe—”

All of Nick’s newfound hopes for their future came crashing down. “Damn her! She had no right,” Nick exclaimed, trying to push Paula to the side so he could get up.

She wouldn’t let him. “I’m glad she did. At least now we have some logical point where we can start to communicate.”

Pity . . .
Paula had made love with him out of pity. And, oh, God, now she knew how he’d let his family down. How he’d fail her, too. Pain roiled in his head in angry waves. He couldn’t think. “I don’t want to talk about my past, or Lita, or the projects, or—”

“I know, I know, but we will. Tomorrow.” She burrowed closer and chuckled softly.

“What’s so funny? You think the things Mrs. Chancellor blabbed to you are humorous?”

“Of course not. I was just thinking that you must have learned a lot from all those books.”

“What books?” Her change of subject puzzled him.

“When I was looking through those Victoria’s Secret boxes, I saw that pile of books in the back of the closet. Since when are you into how-to sex books?”

Then he remembered.
Oops!
“Since I lost you.”

She propped herself on one elbow and stared down at him. “You’d better explain that.”

He told her all about Madame Nadine, and Paula’s mouth dropped open. “You went to a fortune-teller to get advice on how to win me back?
You?
”

“Yeah. Dumb, wasn’t I?” He felt his face turn hot. “But she’s not just a fortune-teller. She also does tattoos. And other stuff.” He rolled his eyes meaningfully, then told her about the character at the bookstore. She laughed till tears ran down her face.

He kissed them away.

Nestling at his side once again, she yawned and said, “So all these sexual fantasy events were at Madame Nadine’s suggestion?”

“Well, not exactly. She told me I had to find your ‘heart craving’, and I punched in cravings at the bookstore computer, and it came back with all these sexual fantasy titles, and I thought . . .” His words trailed off as he realized how ridiculous they sounded. “Hey, it made sense at the time.”

Paula shook her head hopelessly. “You jerk. The only craving I’ve ever had that you didn’t meet was the need to be free of your obsessiveness.”

“Free?” Nick felt like he’d been blindsided. “I thought you loved me.”

“What does love have to do with it? You’re my husband, not my jailer. A wife shouldn’t feel like a prisoner.”

“I didn’t realize . . . you’ve been miserable, haven’t you, Paula?”

“Very,” she agreed with a yawn. “Freedom, that’s all I ever wanted, but you wouldn’t listen. I’ve been so unhappy for so long. I can’t remember what it’s like to feel happy—and free—anymore.”

Paula didn’t know how her words shattered him. She just burrowed closer and yawned again. “We must have a
long
talk in the morning, Nick. I see so many things differently now. You do, too. I know you do.” And she fell instantly asleep.

But Nick didn’t sleep at all that night. He kept thinking about her words,
I’ve been so unhappy for so long.

Paula loved him. Nick knew that. And he loved her. Too damn much.

Well, it was time to prove that love.

Toward morning, with tears welling in his eyes, Nick kissed his sleeping wife one last time and rose from the bed. Minutes later, he signed a note, which he left for her on the table. Then he slipped out the door, unable to stop himself from double-checking the lock.

“Be happy, Paula,” he whispered in a broken voice.

Chapter Eleven

Women can play fantasy games, too . . .

PAULA OVERSLEPT.

When she awakened, the warm sun already streamed through the open balcony door, portending another hot summer day. Maybe she could talk Nick into going to the beach house with her later. In fact, if he had any vacation time coming, they could spend the week there, sort of a second honeymoon.

She smiled and rolled over to the side, opening her eyes.

Nick was gone.

That wasn’t really surprising, she decided, despite her disappointment. It must be close to 10:00 A.M., and he usually started his shift at nine. She
was
surprised that he hadn’t awakened her to say good-bye, though. Well, he was only being considerate, she concluded.

Stretching languidly, she relished the ache of muscles that hadn’t been exercised in a long time—until the past few days. Looking down, she saw whisker burns on her breasts, a bruise on her thigh, even a faint bite mark on her flat belly.

She felt an odd thrill, seeing those marks of Nick’s fierce lovemaking on her skin. He’d been so hungry. For her. And that was a powerful compliment, in her opinion.

A hazy memory nagged at her of their conversation before she fell asleep. Something about his past and her heart craving.

But it was the strange, forlorn look on his face she remembered now. Hmmm. Shrugging, she figured it would all be cleared up today.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Today was going to be the first day of the rest of their lives
together.
That meant lots of work. She began to make a mental list.

Number one, of course, she and Nick had to talk. Clearly, they loved each other as much as ever. That was the most important thing.

Number two, she had to phone her lawyer and call off the divorce proceedings.

Number three, she and Nick would need to make arrangements to sublet his apartment and sell her condo. She wanted their new beginning to start in a home of
both
their choosing, not just his. Although she would insist on no bars on the windows, she was ready to compromise on some of his safety measures.

Number four, she would call Mrs. Chancellor and withdraw her job application. After her near escape yesterday, she saw the logic in Nick’s concern for her safety. They’d both been at fault over the danger issue, but she could make concessions, if he could.

Suddenly Paula realized how much she’d learned the last few days about Nick and herself. His obsessiveness over her safety had forced her into a corner, but now she saw the reasons for his over-protectiveness.

And he had been trying to change. He really had.

To think that he’d actually gone to a fortune-teller for help! She grinned and shook her head hopelessly. How endearing it was that Nick had staged all those sexual fantasy events just to satisfy her “heart.”

The fool! Didn’t he know that the only thing her heart had ever craved was his love—an unconditional love, free of obsessiveness? The love had never died, for either of them, and she vowed that in the future there would be open lines of communication between them—no more secrets.

She determined to meet this Madame Nadine, too. She had a lot to thank her for, and not just that adorable cat, Gargoyle.

Okay, first things first. Coffee. She needed coffee to jumpstart the day.

After checking to make sure Gargoyle and her kittens were all right and supplied with fresh food and water, Paula headed for the kitchen. Grimacing with distaste, she began to wash last night’s dirty dishes while her instant coffee heated in the microwave.

That was when she noticed the note on the table.

A tingle of foreboding swept her body as she walked closer. With trepidation, she picked it up.

She gasped and pressed one hand over her heart as she began to read.

Paula: I love you. Because of that love, I’m giving you your heart craving—your freedom. It’s the hardest, most heroic thing I’ve ever done in my life. I won’t be at the hearing today, but I’ve signed the papers for you.

Be happy, babe. Just be happy.

Love,

Nick

Tears welled in Paula’s eyes and spilled over.
A hero? The jerk! Now, after all this time, he decides to be noble.

Paula sobbed softly, but more for Nick than for herself. She knew how much Nick must love her to have signed these papers. She knew he’d done it for her. Hot tears burned her eyes, streaming down her cheeks.

They should have talked their problems out last night before falling asleep. But she’d been so confident that their marriage was over the biggest hurdle. Why couldn’t Nick have understood, without the words?

He couldn’t read her mind any more than she’d been able to read his all these years, she immediately chastised herself.

God, I love the man. And, God, how I’d like to whack some sense into his thick skull. He should have talked to me first! How long is it going to take him to learn that communication is our problem, not any “heart craving”?

Wiping the tears from her eyes with a tissue, she stood and lifted her chin resolutely. Oh, she wasn’t going to let the numbskull go, but she decided he needed to be taught a lesson. Tapping a forefinger thoughtfully against her chin, she pondered all her choices.

Finally, she smiled.

After canceling the hearing with her lawyer, who was not surprised at all, she called Skip. He listened as she outlined her plan.

“Stop laughing, Skip. I’m serious.”

“That’s why I’m laughing.”

“Are you going to help me?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Can I follow and watch?”

“No.”

“Dammit, Paula, you guys are no fun. Nick wouldn’t let me stay and watch you ride a camel, and—”

“I did not ride a camel,” she said indignantly.

“—or model Jezebel’s harem outfit.”

Jezebel? I’m going to kill Nick.
“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Okay, but I expect a full report from both of you. I can’t wait to see what you two come up with next.”

Yeah, me, too.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try my idea of being a stripper at the club, and Nick an unsuspecting member of the audience? The owner still hasn’t found a replacement for Lee.”

“Maybe some other time.”

But, officer, I really wasn’t speeding . . . much . . .

NICK HAD GONE into work that morning, but one look at his ashen face and Captain O’Malley had sent him home. Of course, he couldn’t go home yet. Paula would still be there, and he couldn’t face her. Not today when their marriage would be ending.

Instead, he’d gone to Madison’s house and talked to Richie for a long time. Over breakfast at McDonald’s, he’d reassured the kid that moving out of the city would be the best thing, that it had worked for him. And he’d promised Richie that he could call him anytime, that he could consider him a friend.

After that, he’d driven to the projects and stood, leaning against his car in the parking lot, watching the everyday activities. Nothing changed here in the ghetto. Nothing. But he should have put all this behind him long ago. Instead, he’d carried his past around like an albatross.

In a way, he was saying good-bye to his sister Lita, as well as Paula, today. The guilt had somehow slipped off his shoulders.

He looked at his watch and sighed. 1:45 P.M. The hearing was scheduled for 2:00 P.M. Another half hour, and he could go home to drink himself into numbness. Then tomorrow, he was going to have to learn how to live without Paula, one day at a time.

But first, he wanted to stop by Madame Nadine’s and give her a piece of his mind. Some psychic she turned out to be!

Fifteen minutes later, Nick sat in his car along the highway, stunned.

There was no rundown yellow house. No sign that proclaimed, MADAME NADINE: FORTUNE TELLING, LOVE POTIONS, MIRACLES. And in smaller letters, HAIR WAXING AND TATTOOS, BY APPOINTMENT. No giant sunflowers. No herd of cats.

He hit the side of his head with the heel of his palm and looked again. Nothing. Just an empty lot overgrown with knee-high weeds.

He saw a jogger approaching and rolled down the passenger window. “Hey, buddy, what happened to the house that was here yesterday?”

The middle-aged Yuppie in designer shorts and $300 shoes leaned down, wheezing. “What house?”

“The fortune-teller’s house that was sitting right there.” Nick pointed behind the jogger.

The guy backed away suspiciously. “There was no house there. I’ve been running this route every day for the past year, and that empty lot’s always been an eyesore. You must be lost.”

Yep, I’m lost all right
, Nick decided, watching the man lope off.
I’ve taken advice from a psychic who doesn’t exist. I’ve practically kept my wife prisoner for years with my obsessions. And then I almost kill an innocent kid. “Lost” about says it all.

Then he thought of something else. How could he have a real tattoo from an imaginary person?

Another mind picture immediately followed, and he frowned.
Gargoyle.
He had the cat Madame Nadine had given him; so, that must mean she existed. Right?

Nick closed his eyes and pressed his head on the steering wheel. The mother of all headaches pounded behind his eyes. He didn’t understand any of this. Was Madame Nadine an angel or something? Had she been sent here to help him solve his problems? Or was it all a figment of his desperate imagination?

Nick knew his problems were about to get worse when he heard a motor behind him. He raised his head and looked in the rearview mirror.

A police car.

Great! Now everyone will know what a lunatic I’ve become.

The car door opened, and a female officer emerged.

His mouth dropped open, and his heart started beating like a jackhammer.

Paula, wearing a female police uniform, approached his open car window. Stern-faced, she asked, “What are you doin’ here, fella? Admiring the view?” She jerked her head toward the sorry-looking lot.

“Looking for Madame Nadine.”

Paula raised an eyebrow.

“She disappeared.”

“Oh?”

“It appears she never existed.”

That got her attention, but she quickly hid her interest. “It’s illegal to loiter along a public highway, mister. I think I’m going to have to take you in.”

“Listen, Paula, I’m not in the mood for games today. And you could get in big trouble impersonating an officer.”

“You did it,” she reminded him.

“I
am
an
officer, dammit.” Suddenly, he remembered and looked down at his watch. 2:00 P.M. His heart threatened to jump right out of his chest, and his blood began to roar in his ears. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere about now?”

She ignored his question and strummed her fingertips on the roof of the car.

He tried to ignore her puffy lips, swollen from his kisses, or the passion mark on her neck. More than anything in the world, he wanted to pull her into the car, on his lap, and tell her how much he missed her . . .
already.

“I definitely think I’m going to have to take you in for questioning,” she concluded. “Slide over.”

“What?”

“Move over to the passenger side, mister. I’m confiscating this vehicle.”

“Oh, Lord,” he muttered, but inclined his head in compliance. He felt something hard brush his wrist and glanced down, his eyes widening with disbelief. She’d handcuffed his left hand to her right one. “Are you nuts?”

“Maybe.” Then she had the nerve to wink at him. “I’m just making sure you don’t escape this time.”

“Escape? This time? Damn, Paula, would you watch where you’re driving! You almost backended that car.”

“I’m not used to driving with one hand manacled to a prisoner.” She took the berm of the road at sixty miles per hour. Gravel was flying everywhere.

“I’m not your prisoner.”

“Think again, buddy,” she said, slanting him a seductive look, and yanked his chain.

“Ouch! That hurt.”

She zigzagged in one lane and out another. Car horns blared. But she was smiling with unconcern. “Do you want me to turn on the radio?”

“No, I do not want you to turn on the radio,” he gritted out. “Watch the damn road.”

“Tsk-tsk.” She took her hand off the steering wheel for a brief second and patted his handcuffed one. “Don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.”

He closed his eyes, deciding it was better not to see. “Where are we going?”

She began to hum a soft tune, ignoring him.

He decided to ask the important question hammering away in his head. “Why aren’t you at the divorce hearing?”

She flashed him one of those woman looks. The one that said, “Men are so-o-o-o dumb.”

He decided to go with the flow and relax.

His eyes swept her body, assessing her for the first time. In a deliberately lazy tone of voice, he said, “You look pretty good in a uniform.”

“Yeah, I do, don’t I?”

She looked sensational. The shirt hugged her breasts, outlining hard nipples, and the pants gave a clear, enticing view of hips and buttocks. He shook his head hard, mid-thought, and looked again. Yep, hard nipples and no panty line.

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” he accused her.

She winked . . . again.

He almost swallowed his teeth. Especially when she just missed sideswiping a car in the next lane.

Then, completely impervious to the honking cars and cursing drivers, she smiled at him. And he felt warm and suddenly full of hope.

“The uniform does look good, but not as good as that black lace thingee,” he said, trying to disconcert her, the way she had him.

She blushed. “Teddy.”

“Teddy who?”

“Not Teddy who. It was a black lace teddy.”

“Oh.”

“I went shopping today.”

Big deal! My life’s falling apart, and she goes to the mall.

“I bought you some new underwear . . . to replace those yellowed, shampooed ones.”

“Oh.” He tried to sound bored.

“I know you don’t like bikini briefs, so I got boxers.”

Boxers? Hmmm. That sounds safe. Boring, actually.
“Thank you.”

“In the daylight, they have NO imprinted all over them, but in the dark they glow fluorescently with YES, YES, YES—all over.”

“Oh.” Nick looked down and noticed a very unbored part of his body. He hoped Paula didn’t notice.

She did. And she winked . . . for the third time.

“And they’re silk.”

Uh-oh!
What the hell was she up to? Before he had a chance to ask, Paula exited the highway into a residential area of Nutley. She drove confidently down one quiet, tree-lined street after another. He frowned in puzzlement. He couldn’t remember anyone they knew in this neighborhood.