Knowing You (9 page)

He had to have her.

There was no style. No slow build of warmth and desire. There was only frantic need pumping inside him. It was the same every time he touched her. And a part of his brain shouted at him to go slow. To savor. To experience. But that voice was silenced by the roaring in his ears and the driving need to claim her.

Shifting his grip on her, he let his hands drive over her body, lifting the hem of her pale green shirt, skimming up over her rib cage to her breasts, hidden beneath a swatch of lace. Deft fingers unhooked the front clasp of her bra and then his hands were filled with her breasts. His thumbs and forefingers tweaked and pulled at her nipples until she arched into him, offering him another muffled groan of pleasure that darted inside him like a lancing blow.

She tore her mouth from his. “Now, Paul. Now.”

“Now,” he agreed, and dropped his hands to her waistband. Quickly he unzipped her pants and tugged them down, pushing her panties along with them. She kicked them free of her legs and, gasping for air, began tugging at the button-front closure of his jeans. Her fingers moved against his skin, brushed his erection, and drove him to distraction. Finally, when he couldn't stand it another minute, he pushed her hands aside. “I'll do it.”

While he tore his jeans off, Stevie yanked at his sweater. She plucked his glasses free and tossed them onto the counter, then pushed her hands beneath the hem of his sweater. Her palms skimmed along his chest and he sucked in air through gritted teeth as her fingernails scraped across his flat nipples.

At last, he grabbed her waist, picked her up, and slammed her bottom down onto the stainless-steel counter.

“Cold,”
she gasped.

“Not for long,” he promised. Then he parted her thighs and pushed himself into her depths.

Stevie inhaled sharply, deeply, and shifted on the counter, to move closer to him. She wrapped her legs around his middle and hooked her ankles at the small of his back, pulling him closer, deeper.

With their bodies locked together, Paul paused long enough to tear his sweater off, then yank at her shirt, tugging until the tiny pearl buttons went zinging around the room like small white bullets.

She laughed, throwing her head back and offering him her breasts. “My turn to lose a shirt, huh?”

His mouth moved over first one nipple, then the
other, teasing, toying, drawing, suckling. He paused only long enough to say, “Don't think of it as losing a shirt. Think of it as gaining sex.”

“Right,” Stevie murmured, and clutched at him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as he straightened up and rocked his hips, claiming her again and again. Branding her from the inside out with his hard, driving need. With his touch, his heat, his desire that rocketed through her as surely as it did through him.

Over and over he moved, taking her, driving her higher and higher. She held on to him and drew his mouth close for a kiss she needed as desperately as she usually did air. His hands slid over her body. She arched into him and rode the waves of sensation coursing through her. His body slammed into hers and it wasn't enough. She wanted him deeper, harder, stronger. She wanted to feel him slide all the way into her soul. She wanted, needed, all of him.

“Paul … Paul.… ” Words, gasped out on short puffs of air. It was all she had. All she could offer him as he drove her on, his body a driving force that couldn't be denied.

“Let go, Stevie.” His voice came in a groan near her ear. “Come now and let me watch you. Let me see you go over.”

He drew his head back and she stared up into his dark, stormy gaze, losing herself in his eyes. He reached down between their bodies and slid his fingers over one particular spot until skyrockets exploded behind her eyes and, on his next sure thrust, the world followed, dissolving into a shudder of sparks and
splinters of light that dazzled her vision and melted her bones.

She barely heard him call her name before everything went black and she tumbled gratefully into the abyss.

CHAPTER SIX

“I
F WE KEEP THIS
up, we'll kill each other.”

“Not a bad way to go,” Paul said.

“How did we get upstairs?”

“Hell if I know.”

Stevie groaned and rolled off the bed, coming to her feet and snatching up the afghan to wrap around her like some sort of crocheted, holey shield. Déjà vu, she thought, remembering the last time Paul had been here. Still, it didn't matter if he could see through the darn thing or not. Her need for it was more emotional than physical anyway. She scooped her hair back from her face, then wished she'd left it hanging down in front of her eyes. At least then she wouldn't have been able to see naked Paul, leaning back against her headboard like some self-satisfied king.

Of course, why wouldn't he be satisfied? For the last two hours they'd done little more than crawl all over each other. She gave herself a mental forehead
slap. Maybe the road to hell really
was
paved with good intentions.

A cool sea breeze slipped beneath the partially opened window to scatter goose bumps across her skin. Moonlight spilled in through the yawning gap in the plain white curtains, stretching across the bed like some wide silver welcome mat, enticing her back to Paul's side. As if she needed more encouragement.

“What're we doing?” she blurted, mostly to keep her mind from wandering right back to where it wanted most to go.

“Taking a break?” He gave her a slow, crooked smile and Stevie had to wonder why that grin hadn't been driving her insane for years.

“So not funny.” Stevie wrapped that afghan tighter around her and tossed one end of it over her shoulder as if it were an elegant stole.

“You want witty,” Paul told her, “let me get my breath back and I'll see what I can do.”

“I don't want witty conversation, Paul. I don't know what I want. No, wait. Yes, I do. I want to know what's happening here. With us. Between us.” Babble, Stevie. Thatta girl. She pulled in a long, deep breath, and when that didn't help, she started pacing, kicking that afghan out of her way as she moved. “This is just so … weird.”

“Thanks.”

She paid no attention to the insulted tone of his voice. Whether he liked it or not, what was happening between them was
way
out of character.

“It is. Look at us.” She spun around, caught her foot
in the blanket, and staggered before catching her balance again. “We're
friends
. At least, we were.”

He sat up straighter and she refused to glance down to where her flowered sheet pooled on his lap. “We still are.”

“Really?” She moved closer to the end of the bed. Poking one hand out of the folds of the afghan, she waved it at the mattress. “I don't do this with my
friends
, y'know.”

“First time for everything.”

“God!” Angrily she pushed her hair back out of her eyes again. “Are you really so … unbothered by this? Is it really no big deal to you?”

He tossed the sheet aside, swung his legs off the bed, and stood up. “Is that what you think?”

“I don't know what to think. Isn't that what I'm saying here?”

“And you figure I've got the answers?” He bent down to snatch up the jeans he must have carried upstairs. He tugged them on, not bothering with underwear while Stevie watched his every move.

A part of her still couldn't believe Paul Candellano was here. In her bedroom. Climbing out of her bed. But there he stood, in a shaft of pale moonlight that stretched across his broad, well-muscled chest like a stamp of approval.

He didn't bother buttoning the jeans up. He just folded his arms across that impressive chest, planted his feet wide apart in what could only be called a fighting stance, and gave her a look that was so hot, Stevie felt her hair singeing.

“You think I have some plan, is that it?” he asked, his voice growling out into the darkness.

“I don't know,” she said, throwing her hands up, then quickly grabbing at the edges of the afghan again. “I was hoping
somebody
did.”

“Yeah, well, I guess you're SOL.”

“Apparently.” Shaking her head, Stevie shuffled around and plopped down onto the foot of the bed. She didn't budge when Paul came around and took a seat just beside her.

Here she sat, bemoaning the state of her life at the moment, and even sitting beside the man who was making her life bemoanable, if that was a word, was enough to stir things up inside her again. What kind of a sicko did that make her?

He leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees, and asked, “Why do we have to analyze this, Stevie?”

“Why?” She shifted him a look and tried not to notice how amazing his profile looked in the moonlight. Okay,
that's
why. “Because we're friends.”

“You said that before.”

“And you're Nick's twin.”

“Actually,” he said, straightening up and meeting her gaze, “I prefer to think of Nick as
my
twin.”

She gaped at him. “Like that's a distinction?”

“Depends on your point of view.” He slanted her a look. “Besides, this doesn't have anything to do with Nick.”

“Doesn't it?” she argued, then kept talking when his features tightened. “I mean not just Nick specifically, but your family.”

He turned his head from side to side, then shifted his gaze back to hers. “I don't see anyone here but us.”

“Then you're not looking close enough.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“This. This …
thing
we have or don't have, or might have, I'm not sure really, but whatever it is—if anyone finds out—”

“They rarely stone people in Chandler anymore,” Paul said dryly. “And since my brother's the sheriff, I do have a little pull that might save us from a firing squad.”

“You're making jokes?”

“Makes more sense than what you're doing.”

He didn't see it, Stevie told herself. Maybe he didn't want to, but she saw it all so plainly. As if it were playing out in front of her, she saw the Candellano family choosing up sides. Nick or Paul. A family split. Divided. All because of her.

Well, she wouldn't do it. She wouldn't throw a train wreck at the only family she'd ever known. “You should go,” she said, and stood up, deliberately keeping a little distance between them.

“Just like that.”

“Paul, I don't want to lose our friendship. I don't want your family to hate me. I don't want—” Stevie broke off, held up one hand, and shook her head. Though her body was still humming from his touch, misery clouded her mind as she said, “I don't want to do this anymore. I
can't
do this anymore.”

Paul looked up at her and recognized the frustration and confusion he saw written on her features. Hell,
those same sensations were pouring through him, too. He hadn't expected any of this to happen, and now that it had, he damn sure didn't know what to do about it.

He'd actually thought that sleeping with her one more time would “get it out of his system.” Help him get over the feelings he'd carried around for her for years. But that hope had gone down the toilet. Now not only did he have to conquer his old, familiar “crush”, he also had to get past the very real memory of being inside her. Being surrounded by her eager heat. By the taste of her. The scent of her. The look in her eyes when she went over the edge with a gentle push from him.

Oh, yeah. This was working out great.

“You're right. It'd just be too big a mess. For everybody.” Paul stood up and looked around the moonlit bedroom for the sweater he'd been wearing when he got here. He didn't remember coming upstairs. Didn't remember them leaving the kitchen or dragging their clothes along with them. But the evidence was there, hooked over the arm of an overstuffed chair that crouched beside a well-stocked bookcase. Taking a few long strides, he grabbed it, yanked it over his head, and shoved his arms through the sleeves.

“I am?”

She sounded surprised. Hell, he was, too.

“Yeah. You are. But you're also making way too much out of this, Stevie. It's lust, pure and simple.”

She blinked.

He picked up his glasses off the top of the bookcase and slipped them on. As soon as they were in place, he felt the emotional distance they'd always given him
slide into place as well. The only problem was, he could see her even more clearly now. He saw the flash of hurt in her eyes and he knew he'd put it there.

But there was no backing out now.

“Really.”

“Yeah, really.” He pushed one hand through his hair, then buttoned up his jeans and started scouting for his Nikes. When he spotted them on the floor where he'd tossed them a couple hours ago, he scooped them up and clutched them in one tight fist as he turned back to look at her again. “We've known each other too long to be fooled, Stevie. There's no hearts and flowers here. Just a mutual itch getting scratched.”

Her eyes widened briefly, but a moment later she nodded stiffly. “Right. And now that it's been scratched, we can—”

“—go back to the way things were between us,” he finished for her.

“Good,” she said, nodding again, and he wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. “That's good. Better.”

“Yeah. Better.”

“So,” Stevie said, “it'd probably be a good idea if you didn't come around for a while, huh?”

“Yeah. That's probably a good idea.”

Silence dropped into the space separating them and slowly, inexorably, built a wall, brick by brick, as the seconds moved past. He felt it going up and didn't know how to smash it down. Or even if he should. Hell, he didn't want to love Stevie.

He wanted to get the hell over her so he could have a life.

If that meant a wall, then he'd just have to live with it.