Loving You (26 page)

Tasha's throat closed up tight and she was pretty sure she was about to hyperventilate. Wouldn't that be attractive?

Want shimmered between them like a living, breathing thing. Electricity hummed in the air and she wouldn't have been surprised to see lightning arc across the cloud-tossed sky in response.

“Nick … we can't—”

Who knew what might have happened if they hadn't suddenly been surrounded by fifty eleven-year-olds screaming for pizza? The game obviously over, both teams were racing toward the parking lot and their parents' cars and didn't much care who they had to trample along the way. Nick grabbed Tasha's forearm and pulled her up close to him. Holding her back to his front, he wrapped his arms around her and held on tight as the sea of children rushed past them.

She felt his breath on her cheek. Felt his hard, muscled arms resting just beneath her breasts. Felt the thundering beat of his heart against her back. And Tasha's
blood turned to fire. Right there, on a muddy field, with storm clouds overhead and a noisy crowd surrounding them, she felt a quickening inside her that she'd never known before. She felt his erection press against her and she squirmed in his arms, instinctively trying to ease the pulsing ache that had settled low in her body.

“Christ, Tasha,” Nick growled, bending low enough that his throaty whisper rumbled gently in her ear. “If you keep moving like that, we're in deep shit.”

She froze.

He chuckled, his breath fanning against her cheek, dusting her hair. He dipped his head closer and kissed the tip of her ear. She shivered.

“It's no good, y'know,” he said, and his voice was a low hum of sound, carrying just beneath the screams and shouts of hungry children. “Standing still or moving, you do things to me.”

“I'm not—”

“And stop saying you're not trying to.” He cut her off neatly. Shifting one hand, he casually brushed his palm across her breast, scraping gently across her nipple.

She sucked in a gulp of air like a drowning woman.

“It doesn't seem to matter that you're not trying,” he continued, and caressed her one last quick time before turning her loose and taking a step back. “I'm gonna have to have you.”

Everything in her tightened.

Her breath caught in her lungs.

She had to lock her knees to keep upright.

Yet she managed to look him in the eye and meet the hunger there. “I don't think—”

He laughed shortly and shook his head. “Don't say something you're gonna have to take back.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?” Tasha asked, and wondered wildly where the hell Jonas was and why wasn't he racing up to them so they could stop talking about this and she could take a breath without going up in flames? And oh God, there goes the whole hyperventilating thing again.

“Usually, yeah,” Nick admitted, and watched her meadow green eyes turn the color of pine trees in winter. There was passion there. Deep, rich passion, and he knew that if he didn't have her soon, he was going to lose what was left of his mind. “But when it comes to you,” he said, amazed that he was willing to own up to this, “I don't know jack. You mess me up, Tasha.”

“Yeah, well…”

“And I think I'm getting to you, too.” He grinned when she looked away from him. “And real soon we're going to have to do something about that.”

“Hey, Tasha!” Jonas shouted, and her head whipped around to find the boy in the crowd. When she did, a wide, genuine smile curved that fabulous mouth of hers and Nick had to force himself to keep from reaching for her again.

“Hi, kiddo!” She opened her arms for a hug from one sweaty, dirty little football player. And after he'd greeted Tasha, the boy looked up at Nick.

“Are you comin' with us for pizza again?”

“Nick's busy—” Tasha said.

“You bet,” Nick said at the same time.

She frowned at him and Nick grinned. She could try to get rid of him, but he wasn't going to give up and go away. It took a hell of a lot for a Candellano to run up the white flag of surrender. So he'd be around. Close enough that neither one of them would be able
to relax. Oh, yeah. It was at least some comfort to know that he wasn't alone in this twisted little hell of desire. If he was burning …
she
was, too.

Together, they were gonna build a hell of a bonfire.

*   *   *

“Run fast, run far.”

“What?” Nick held the phone to his ear with one hand and shoved his hair back from his eyes with the other. He blinked wildly, trying to focus on the alarm clock alongside his bed. The oversize red numbers stared back at him. Eight-oh-five. Good God. He cleared his throat and gripped the phone receiver in a stranglehold. “Who is this?”

“It's Carla, you idiot.”

His sister's voice registered at last and he pulled the phone away long enough to sneer at it before slapping the receiver back to his ear. “For Chrissakes, Carla. It's eight in the morning. On a
Sunday
.” He rubbed one hand across bleary eyes. “Somebody better be dying.”

Especially after the long, lonely night he'd spent. Sleep hadn't come until four or five in the morning, and even then, dreams of Tasha had tormented him enough that he felt as though he hadn't slept at all.

His sister choked out a laugh that even across the phone lines sounded strained. “Oh, somebody's dead meat all right. And that somebody's
you
.”

Nick rolled onto his back and stared up at the open beamed ceiling over his bed. Thank God the Marconis had managed to fix the roof; otherwise, he'd have awoken in a puddle after last night's storm. Okay, he told himself, you're not focusing. And it was always wiser to pay attention when his sister talked.

“Carla, are you having a breakdown or something?”

“Or something,” she muttered, so low he nearly missed it. Then an instant later, her voice cracked like a whip. “You'd better wake up fast and pull it together.”

“What are you babbling about?”

She took a long breath and sighed it out. “Mama.”

Nick sat up straight, his sheet and blanket dropping from his chest to pool in his lap. “What's wrong with her? Is she all right? Is she sick?”

“Nope. Just pissed.”

Relief swept through his bloodstream. Pissed he could deal with. Besides, she couldn't be mad at
him
. He hadn't done anything, for a change. Then smiling, he said, “Well, that can't be good. Who's she pissed at?”

“You, mostly.”

“Me?” Oh, man, it was way too early for this. A man needed coffee to deal with the Candellano women. “What the hell did
I
do? I wasn't even awake until you called me.”

“She knows.”

Dread coiled in the pit of his stomach like a cobra poised to strike. Nick's mouth went dry and every nerve in his body stood straight up. “
Knows?
Knows what exactly?”

“About Jonas.”

The cobra struck.

Shit.

“Damn it, Carla.…” He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and jumped to his feet. Stalking naked around the room, he waved one hand in the air as if he could reach through the phone, grab his sister, and shake her. “You said you wouldn't tell her.”

“I didn't … exactly.”

“What the hell happened?” Christ, this was all he needed. Mama coming after him with both barrels blazing. Didn't he have enough to worry about?

“I was at Stevie's shop early this morning—”

“It
is
early this morning—”

“Earli
er
then.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “Jeez, Nick, keep up. I went over to help Stevie with the Sunday baking, since I was already up. Reese has a head cold and she kept me up half the night hacking up a lung and—”

“Carla…”
God, his sister's conversations were like runaway trains, jumping tracks at every intersection.

“Right.” She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Anyway, Stevie and I were talking about Jonas and—”

Nick grabbed up his jeans from the floor and tugged them on with one hand. “And Stevie knew about Jonas …
how
?”

“Well, dumbshit, Paul told her. After you told him yesterday.”

Shit. He rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. Should have sworn Paul to secrecy. Then Nick realized that the whole marriage thing probably had a “no secrets” clause. “Fine. And…”

“And…”
Carla said, and he could hear her gritting her teeth. Great.
She
was mad? Then she started talking again and he listened up. “
And
 … we didn't see Mama come in the back door of the kitchen and I guess she was just standing there getting an earful while we talked about Jonas and you and what you're doing and how Jackson said you should get a DNA test, which you really should do, but that you didn't want to yet
because of the media—and is
that
egotistical or what?”

“Thanks for the commentary,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “What'd Mama do?”

“You mean
after
the top of her head exploded and hit the ceiling?”

His chin hit his chest. “Ah, shit.”

“Pretty much.”

Nick opened the bedroom door and headed downstairs. Caffeine. Now. Absently he noted how things had been changing in the house. Like the shoemaker's elves, the Marconis seemed to do magic overnight. He was hardly home anymore, so when he was, he noticed the changes. A new mantel over the fireplace. The piles of crap gone from the middle of the floor. Glass French doors leading to the outside deck. He made a left at the foot of the stairs and walked into the kitchen, the new blue-and-white linoleum cold against his bare feet. The countertop was finished, the blue-flecked granite spotless—but for the coffeepot in a place of honor—and gleaming. The new sink and goosenecked faucet shone in the overhead light.

Nice job, ladies
.

But all he really cared about at the moment was coffee. And heat. Damn, it was cold in here. He backed up into the hallway and tweaked the furnace. From somewhere deep within the house, the heat kicked on in full force, and Nick sent a silent thank-you to Mike Marconi, master of plumbing and heating. Or was that mistress?

He shook his head while he walked back into the kitchen and hit the power button on the coffeemaker. Carla was still babbling, something about Italian curses and Mama planning an execution. He let her go and stared blindly out the back window at the lake while
she rattled on in a stream of consciousness that would have been really impressive if he'd been more alert.

“You are
so
not Mama's favorite person today. All you are today is the son who's been hiding a grandchild. And don't you have anything to say?” she finally demanded, and then went quiet.

The silence got his attention more than anything else.

He shot a glare at the drip coffeemaker and mentally willed it to drip a little faster. Rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, he muttered, “What am I supposed to say?”

“I don't know … a prayer, maybe?”

“Too late for prayers, if Mama's on the warpath.”

“I could send a priest over to give you Last Rites,” Carla offered cheerfully.

“I love you, too.”

“Nick, Mama said I should tell you that she wants Jonas at her house. Today.”

Crap. Reaching into a cupboard, he grabbed down a cup and quickly pulled out the glass coffee carafe and replaced it with the coffee cup. He couldn't afford to wait for a full pot. He'd take the jolt of caffeine in straight sludge.

Sunday dinner at Mama's.

With Jonas.

“I don't know if that's such a good idea.”

“Well,” Carla said, “it's that or hit the road and keep on runnin'.”

She was right, he thought. Mama, now that she knew about Jonas, wouldn't quit until she'd met him and enveloped him with the kind of love only she was capable of. Would it make things tougher for Nick to settle this situation? Oh, yeah. Was there a way out—
short of selling his house and moving to Peru?

Not a chance.

“Mama said to tell you she's having a picnic at her house,” Carla was saying. “She wants everyone there today by one o'clock.”

“A picnic?” He stared out the window again at the drifting wisps of fog clinging to the surface of the lake. Steel gray clouds hovered low overhead and the naked limbs of the trees added to the whole “dead of winter” atmosphere. “It's gonna be sixty today and she's having a picnic?”

“She thought it would be easier on Jonas. Being outside, meeting his cousins—”

“Oh, man.…” Nick grabbed the cup, shoved the coffeepot back into place, and took a long, hot swallow of the poisonous brew. The caffeine hit him like a hammer and he almost wished it hadn't. This whole thing would be a lot easier to take if he could tell himself it was a dream.

“Oh and, Nick,” Carla said, “if I were you … I wouldn't be late.”

*   *   *

“You should have told me all of this before.” Angela Candellano fixed her son with a steely look.

“I know.” Nick finished talking and sat back with a sigh. He'd managed to get the whole story out and he was still alive. A plus.

“Just look at him,” Angela murmured with a shake of her head. Jonas looked so much like her own boys had when they were small, she felt a twinge in her heart as memories flooded her eyes and filled her soul. Oh, his features were a little more refined than Nick's had
been when he was a boy, but that Jonas was her grandson was never in doubt.

Jonas sat across the yard from her, eating a barbecued hamburger and sharing his potato chips with Debbie, Stevie's younger sister. Reese and Tina were sitting close by and Tina had given the boy her favorite dolly to hold. Already he was becoming one of them. As he no doubt should have been for years.