Chapter Ten
“S
o, do you want me to call you Don Juan or Casa nova?” Abby asked.
“It's just role-playing. Sir, your honor, or your worship will do just fine.”
She laughed. “No, really, Nick. I need to get into my role. What's my motivationâ”
Nick's glare silenced her. “You're not taking this seriously at all, are you?”
“Neither are you.”
Abby set the pan of chicken she'd just breaded into the oven. She met Nick's phony annoyed gaze and raised him a saucy stare. He was putting the finishing touches on a salad to go with their main course. It had been twenty-four hours since their lovely dateâNo! Not date. Never a date. She wouldn't even think that.
It had been a friendly dinner. One that had gotten a little too personal for her peace of mind. She hadn't meant to blurt out that her parents had been on the brink of a break-up when they'd died in the car accident.
She usually managed to put that out of her mind. Because guilt followed when she recalled her role in that.
But for some reason, after last night, Nick had decided she needed tutoring in what the teenagers called “going out.” He'd called it Dating 101, or the ups and downs, ins and outs and general survival techniques for a single woman in the nineties. The whole thing made her uncomfortable. Especially since they were still alone.
Nick had phoned his parents for information on his brothers' estimated time of arrival, but no one had answered. He didn't seem too worried. He'd said if there was a problem they would get word. So, they continued to be by themselves. Sleeping in rooms that were separated by one, thin wall. If you could call it sleeping. She'd tossed and turned, and when she wasn't doing that she was dreaming about Nick.
That was what had convinced her to go along with his tutoring idea. It could come in handy. For her. She wasn't worried about Nick. He seemed perfectly content to maintain the parameters they'd set up.
And that thought disturbed her more than a little.
But what was she supposed to think? He hadn't even kissed her. The pesky little voice inside tried to warn her that thinking along those lines was one step from disaster. But she tried to be more optimistic. Life was a series of pitfalls. If she kept her eyes wide open and on the road in front of her, she could avoid bottoming out. Since she was already here with Nick, and through no fault of hers they were still alone, she decided to make the best of the best situation she could imagine. Tomorrow she would worry about disengaging herself.
Tonight she could still fret about why he hadn't kissed her.
Right now her modus operandi was teasing him.
“I'm taking this as seriously as you are, Your Worship.” She looked up at him. “Explain to me again what âthis' is.”
“You need an intensive seminar on the dating scene. After last night's dinner conversation, it became clear to me that you need some instruction in this sort of thing. You're a target for every Lothario who comes down the pike.”
“Aha. Your worship isn't good enough for you. Now you want me to call you Lothario. Does the phrase âmultiple-personality disorder' mean anything to you?”
“Seriously, Ab. The longer you go without dating, the more vulnerable you become.”
“Why?” She couldn't help glowing over the fact that he looked really worried. About her.
“Guys will assume you know the ropes. They'll hit on you and figure you know the score and will handle the situation like a woman of experience. Only you've never done it before, so you're a babe in the woods. And every wolf on the make will be after you.”
“Wolf?”
“All guys are half man, half wolf. They're on the prowl, predators who take no prisoners. They'll chew you up and spit you out.” He grinned suddenly. “Unless you follow Nick Marchetti's three simple rules.”
“What if I
want
their advances?”
His smile disappeared, replaced by a thundercloud of a frown. “That's another seminar, entitled Try That Again and You'll Be Singing Soprano.”
She giggled, very much liking his protective attitude. “Okay. What do I say to a guy?”
“No.”
She blinked. “We can't talk about what to talk about? That's my biggest weakness. What do I say to a guy?” she asked again.
“No. I meant you always tell a guy no.”
“Always?”
“No matter what,” he said, slam-dunking the cucumbers he'd just sliced into the lettuce. “Without question. Do not pass go, just tell him no.
N-o.
Period. End of conversation.”
She opened the drawer and pulled out two place mats and arranged them across from each other at the pine table. Turning back she asked, “Then how am I ever going to get a date? If I say âno' when someone asks me out, my footloose-and-fancy-free phase will last about thirty seconds.”
“That wouldn't be so bad,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“That would be so sad.” He began to chop celery with a bit more enthusiasm than the job warranted. He was certainly peeved about something.
“Okay so how do I talk to a guy? What do you like to talk about?”
“Books, movies, that perfume you wear.”
“You like it?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
She met his gaze and the look he sent her made her hot all over. Shaking, she did a quick about-face toward the cupboard to pull out some plates. “I'm glad. It was recommended byâ”
“Never under any circumstances wear it on a date,” he said sharply.
“Really?” His comment froze her and she turned back to look at him. “Why?”
“It gives a guy ideas,” he said.
“Like what?”
He met her gaze and there was an expression in his eyesâa hunger that she would swear had nothing to do with food. “Just never you mind,” he answered, his voice husky and just this side of a growl. “One hurdle at a time. Although if you follow my simple rules, you should sail through without a problem.”
His look made her insides quiver and her heart pound like a stereo with too much bass. “Okay. What are the rules?” she asked breathlessly.
“Number oneâno matter how great a guy seems, he always wants something.”
“Of course he does. A good time.”
“No kidding.” He gave her a wry look.
“I know we're talking about two different things here. But seriously, isn't the whole point of dating to have a good time?”
“Yes. But there's a good time.” He raised one dark eyebrow suggestively. “And there's a good time,” he said, lowering his voice to a seductive growl that sent shivers of delight down her spine.
“Okay.” She swallowed. Kissing would definitely be part of that second “good time” he was talking about. She wanted to know what the rest of it entailed. She desperately wanted Nick to tutor her in all of the above. With an effort, she brought herself back to the conversation. “IâI think I get your drift. What else?”
“Never under any circumstances go with a guy to his place.”
She looked around the well-appointed kitchen and
just couldn't help asking, “You mean like we are now?”
“Yes,” he said automatically. Then he looked startled. “I mean no. This is different.”
“How?”
Abby found that she didn't want it to be different. She wanted to be a couple, like the ones she'd envied when she first started working at Marchetti's. She desperately wanted to
not
feel alone. All she could think about was being in his arms, with his mouth on hers.
“How is this different?” she asked softly.
“My mother told me to take care of you, Abby. Besides, this is you and me. We're just different,” he said with a shrug. “What I meant was after a romantic dinner, if your date asks you back to his place to see his etchings, that's a definite no.”
“Do you have any etchings, Nick?” she asked.
He looked momentarily startled, then shook his head. “Not unless you count the manufacturer's name engraved on my free weights.”
He lifted weights? Moron, she said to herself. Of course he did. There was a reason he had that washboard stomach. She'd felt the strength in his arms as he'd held her when they went careening down the snow-covered hill.
“Can I see them?” she asked. A fluttering started in her abdomen.
“You want to see my free weights?”
She hesitated trying to decide whether to be honest or say no. Finally, she nodded. “And if you showed them to me,” she wondered out loud, “what are the rules about kissing?” She stood several steps away from him with her back to the refrigerator.
“Kissing?” His eyes smoldered as he set his paring
knife down on the butcher-block cutting board and wiped his hands on the dishtowel. He stared at her for several moments and her heart pounded as anticipation pumped adrenaline through her. His long stride chewed up the small distance between them in less than a heartbeat.
“Never let a guy corner you,” he said placing his hands on the refrigerator on either side of her head.
Their bodies barely touched. She wanted more. She wanted to lean into him, press her aching breasts against his hard chest. She was desperate to feel his arms come around her, then pull her closer as if he would never let her go.
“And if he does?”
“If it's me, you do this,” he said, lowering his head.
Abby held her breath, every second exquisite torture, until he touched his mouth to hers. His lips were firm yet soft, sweet but with a hint of fire that stole the air from her lungs. When he traced her upper lip with his tongue, she opened her mouth and he slipped inside to caress the warm moisture. Her already pounding heart increased tempo.
She didn't think her reeling senses could take more, but found out she was deliciously wrong when he shifted his attention from her mouth to her neck. Correction: one hypersensitive spot just beneath her ear. The featherlight brush of his lips sent an arc of electricity zinging through her.
She slid her hands up, over his chest, and wrapped them around his neck, loving the way he feltâstrong, solid, sexy. If there were truly rules to a situation like this, she wanted to break every last one of them with Nick. She trusted him completely. In fact, she tipped her head to the side giving him room to keep on doing
what he was doing because she never wanted the sensations cascading through her to stop.
But he lifted his head and looked at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. How she wished she already had the experience he was trying to teach her. What should she say? “Don't stop” worked for her.
She dropped her arms and laughed a little shakily. “And the rule you were showing me would be?” she asked, desperately trying to keep her voice light.
He stared down at her his eyes dark with intensity. “There are no rules for that It wasn't a game. It was for realâand for keeps.”
She knew exactly what he meant. She felt the same way. But she had no frame of reference that included “for keeps.” Nothing was forever. It was foolish and just asking to get kicked in the teeth to even try.
She couldn't kiss him anymore. She couldn't let this continue. For his sakeâand her own.
Taking two steps away, she turned and reached into the still-open cupboard for the plates. Her hands were shaking. “Thanks for the tips, Nick. When I'm ready to date, they'll come in handy.”
“Abby, Iâ”
“Don't say anything. Please,” she begged, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could close out his sensory barrage and the temptation along with it. “I don't want to talk about this.”
Even with the space between them she felt his tension. Finally he said, “Okay. For now.” There was an edge to his voice that she'd never heard before. “But you can't keep running. Sometime soon, we're going to have to talk about it.”
She turned slowly and met his gaze. The look in his eyes scared her. She never wanted to put into words
the power of what had passed between them. She wasn't even sure she could. They had crossed some kind of line tonight. Stepped off a cliff, free-falling and reaching for each other. If she had to put it into a coherent thought, she would be forced to admit that she was falling for Nick Marchetti.
She absolutely, positively could not love him. Correction: she would not under any circumstances, in any way shape or form, be
in
love with him.
They were so out of sync. He was looking for a till-death-do-us-part relationship. She hadn't yet experienced the hey-babe-what's-your-sign phase. She had already told him she intended to do footloose before settling down. But it was more than that. She wouldn't date until she had the time to participate in single-girl stuff so she would know the right guy when he came along.