Don't Forget Me (28 page)

She smiled, more relaxed now. “Let’s hear it for compromises.”

He checked the surrounding area as he used the corkscrew on the wine. One older couple at the table to the left, finishing their meal. A family packing up after a couple of kids at a table a little farther on. They should be gone soon too. He covered the wine bottle in a paper sack and grabbed the two plastic glasses he’d picked up before he left the house.

“What are we drinking?” Kit asked.

“Bored Ducks.” Nando shrugged. “Esteban had a couple of bottles sitting around the house. Hope that’s okay.”

Kit’s smile softened. “I remember when they released that wine. Did it do as well as Morgan hoped it would?”

“It’s a big seller, I guess.” He handed her the glass. “I don’t keep track of that kind of stuff usually. That’s my dad’s thing.”

She sighed. “I miss that place. I really enjoyed it, even with all the drama that summer.”

He managed not to grimace. Some of that drama had involved the two of them and their breakup-to-end-all-breakups. “Did you check around out there when you were looking for a job? Morgan might have something available.”

Kit stared down into her glass. “No. That was then, this is now. I wanted to try working someplace different.”

Which probably meant she hadn’t wanted to go someplace that was tied up with him and his family. He did grimace this time, but he hid it by opening the pizza box. “You like working at the Rose?”

Her brow furrowed as if she had to think about it. “The pay sucks,” she said slowly. “My boss is incompetent. I’m run off my feet most days. But…”

“But?” he prompted.

“But it’s a wonderful place.” She shrugged. “Or it can be.
Will
be if we can make Mabel see reason. I feel like I’m in on the beginning of a great restaurant. And I’m making a difference in what happens there.”

He gave her a questioning look. “How?”

Her smile turned dry. “It turns out I actually know a hell of a lot about running a restaurant. More than I realized. I’ve been training the wait staff, or trying to anyway. And I’ve been sort of bowled over by how many things I understand about orders and promoting, to say nothing of customer flow. Joe says I’ve got the Rose almost up to where it should be. All we need to do now is push Mabel to let us order everything else we need.”

“So I guess Joe’s good.” He took a sip of wine to clear the sour taste out of his mouth.

She shrugged. “He’s a great chef. He sucks with personnel.”

Nando managed a half smile. “So you’re the go-between? He probably appreciates that.”

Her eyes were dark in the gathering twilight. “He’s my friend, Nando. I respect him. That’s about it.”

He felt an absurd jolt of relief which he promptly suppressed.
Keep it light, moron.
“So how’s the wedding coming?” he picked up another slice of pizza. “I got my invitation, by the way.”

The wedding conversation took them through half the pizza and most of the wine. The older couple left with their picnic basket. The family left with one kid asleep on his father’s shoulder and the other whining as his mother pulled him along toward the car.

Nando leaned forward on his elbows, watching Kit’s face in the darkness. Shadows from the overhead lights along the park paths picked out the hollows beneath her cheek bones. She turned to look at him, her eyes dark in the dim light, and he realized they’d been silent for few moments. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what she’d been saying before that. He’d been lost in the wonder of her face.

He swallowed hard. “More pizza?”

She shook her head, smiling faintly. “I’ve had all I can eat tonight.”

“Well…” He rubbed his jaw. “We could go dancing—there’s a band at the Faro.”

“We could,” Kit agreed. She didn’t sound too enthusiastic. “I’ve been on my feet all day, though.”

“Or we could stick around here at the park…” he began.

A group of teenagers clattered to a table a few feet away. They watched as the boys set up speakers leading to an iPod dock and then turned up the volume.

Kit grimaced. “Or not.”

Nando didn’t recognize the music that began to play at near-sonic levels, but he hated it instantly. He considered arresting the little pissants for violating the noise ordinance, but it would have meant leaving Kit and doing paperwork at the office. He leaned across the table so that their heads were close enough to let him be heard without bellowing. “Want to go to my place?”

Kit stared at him for a beat, and his heart began to ache in anticipation. Then the corners of her mouth edged up in another faint smile. “Mine’s closer.”

What are you doing? What the hell are you doing?
The voice of her rational self almost drowned out the thumping of Kit’s heart.

We’re just going to the house. It doesn’t mean we’re going to do anything. I can stop this anytime I want.

Do you want to stop?

She’d rushed home from work. She’d put on her red lace lingerie. Clearly, she’d already been thinking about doing this. And stopping didn’t seem to fit into her plans. Kit took another in a series of deep breaths.
We’re going to do this. We’re going to do this now. Even without the Lizzie Farraday conversation we need to have.

She glanced at Nando’s profile in the streetlights as they cruised up Firewheel—his jaw was set, his dark eyes fixed on the road ahead, his hair slightly mussed from the breeze. He looked like he’d focused every particle of his consciousness on getting them to her house as quickly as possible without breaking any of the relevant traffic laws.

If he focused that kind of attention on her, she’d probably be dragging him into her bedroom five minutes after they got in the front door, assuming they made it that far. She closed her eyes.
Dangerous. Really, really dangerous.

Oh hell, what’s life without a little risk? We can always talk later. And we will.

Nando pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition. “Is Allie around? Will I need to move the car?”

Kit shook her head. “Allie’s off playing with Wonder.”

He glanced at her, grinning. “That sounds like a song title.”

“Yeah, well, it may be the only way Steve Kleinschmidt qualifies as poetic.” She sighed. “If you bring the wine and pizza, I can give you a piece of Tupperware or something to put it into.”

He nodded, gathering up the bottle and box from the backseat as she dug into her purse for her keys. She was annoyed to feel her fingers trembling.
Knock it off, Catarina. It’s just a date. With Nando. That’s heading inside toward the bedroom.

Fortunately, he was so busy juggling the pizza and wine he didn’t seem to notice how many tries it took her to get the key in the lock. She stood in the front hall, watching him slide the pizza into the refrigerator, wondering if she should ask him to sit down, maybe search out some glasses for the wine, maybe put on some music.

He sauntered back from the kitchen, looping one arm around her waist as he stared down at her lips.

Maybe not.

Now that it was happening, or maybe about to happen, he had a sudden attack of nerves. Maybe she didn’t want this. Maybe she’d tell him no. Maybe…

Kit stared up at him for a long moment, then wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers. He felt the press of her teeth against his lower lip, the tip of her tongue sweeping along the edge. And suddenly he was pulling her tight, feeling her breasts soft against his chest, her mouth opening beneath his as his tongue plunged deep. He angled his head again, one hand buried in her hair, his palm cupping the back of her head as he deepened the kiss.

His blood roared in his ears as his groin ached with arousal. His pulse seemed to have become a constant beat,
now, now, now.
Now up against the wall. Now on the floor. Now on the kitchen table only a few steps away. But now, somewhere now.

He raised his head, panting, trying to get his brain to function again. She stared up at him with whiskey-dark eyes, her lips full and bruised with his kisses. He could feel the puff of her breath on his chin, see the quick rise and fall of her breasts.

He covered one breast with his hand, feeling the warm weight against his palm.
Now, now, now.

“Kit…” he managed to gasp.

“No,” she said, pulling his mouth down again. “No talking. No.”

His brain was rapidly turning to mush, but he had just enough wit left to know that he didn’t want to do this against a wall or on the floor. He didn’t want to do it anywhere that would let her think she’d made a mistake in doing it at all. He started to pull her down the hall that opened off the kitchen. There were a lot of doors ahead—one of them was probably hers.

Kit slowed and pushed one of the doors open, pulling him in behind her, then slamming the door after him.

He turned and looked down at her again. Moonlight poured through the window next to the bed—her bed, he assumed. Her dark eyes stared back up at him, like dusky pools in the dimness of the room. Her nipples peaked hard against the silk of her blouse.

That was the first thing he needed to do—get that blouse off her. He needed—really needed—to touch her skin. His fingers fumbled at the buttons, finally managing to push them through openings that seemed way too small for the purpose. Then he was pushing the blouse away from her shoulders and down her arms, onto the floor.

His breath sounded loud in the silence of the room, his fingers fumbling again at the opening of her bra. Kit leaned forward, pushing his T-shirt up his chest, running her hands down his body, her thumbs scratching quickly across his nipples.

He was making a mess of the clasp, his fingers twisting the fabric. God, why didn’t lingerie manufacturers think of this when they made the damn things?

She pushed his hands away, lightly, then unfastened the bra and dropped it to the floor with her blouse.

He stared at her, his mouth suddenly so dry he wasn’t sure he could speak, didn’t know what he’d say even if he could.
You are the most glorious thing I’ve ever seen. Please don’t let it be a dream this time. Or if it is, please don’t let me wake up.

He moved toward her again, cupping her breasts in his hands, then bending down to take a nipple in his mouth. He sucked hard, drawing it up against his teeth, feeling it pebble against his tongue. Kit’s breath hissed in a gasp of what he devoutly hoped was pleasure.

His fingers moved to the snap on her jeans, then the zipper pull, pushing them down her hips and then watching as she kicked them aside. He took a moment, just a moment, to look at her, her slender body half in moon shadow. The memory of her as she’d been eighteen months ago, silver in the moonlight, blended with the now.

She was here. Finally, she was here with him as she should be, as he needed her to be. His heart gave a mighty thump.
Please, please don’t let me screw this up.

He touched her hip, running his hand slowly down the slim column of her thigh. Her skin beneath his hand was cool, soft, almost too delicate for his own calloused palm to touch. Slowly, slowly, he let his hand drift around, cupping the warm mounds of her buttocks, feeling them flex beneath his palm. She gasped again, her body trembling beneath his hand.

And then she leaned forward, her fingers stabbing into his hair, her mouth devouring him, teeth, tongue, startled hot wetness. She slid her lips down the side of his throat, leaving a trail of warmth and sensation, then nipped at his collarbone. Immediately, he was granite from the waist down, so tight he wasn’t sure he could lower his zipper without causing permanent injury.

She leaned forward again, her lips brushing against his ear. “Nando,” she whispered, “let’s get you naked.”

In some distant corner of her mind, Kit was terrified. She’d never felt like this with anyone before, not even with him—like she had to get him inside her within the next five minutes or die here in the middle of her bedroom. He had way too much power over her all of a sudden, but she didn’t know how to stop him. And, of course, she didn’t really want to.

Nando, Nando, Nando.
The name kept pounding in her brain, echoing through her body. Eighteen months she’d been without him, telling herself she didn’t care. Now her body was telling her the whole not-caring part had been a lie.

I can do this. I don’t need explanations to do this. I’ll think about that later.

He pulled off his shirt, then began working on his belt, but she stilled his hands. She stood for a moment, looking up at him, the smooth slabs of muscle over his chest, the slender hips, the flat circles of his nipples beneath the slight dusting of dark hair. “Let me,” she whispered and reached for his belt buckle.

He dropped his hands to his sides for a moment as she unfastened the buckle, then reached up again to clasp her shoulders, as if he couldn’t stop touching her.