Ready for You (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Seven weeks. Rocco glanced at his iPhone calendar. Seven weeks to the day since
he
and Chiara made love. He leaned his head back and breathed in the metallic tinged air of his truck. And he hadn’t seen her since the night at her parents’, other than a few lucky glimpses as she got in or out of her car in her driveway.

He shrugged his shoulder. The too-familiar bleakness began to creep in on him. Sabrina was gone, left for San Diego last week with her mom. Shawn drove away this morning for a weekend with an old high school friend at his family cabin near Jamestown. It would be Rocco’s first weekend alone in a while. He hoped his redecorated house would help ease the ache, but as he wandered around it this morning, it only reminded him of Chiara and her absence from his life. He slapped his thigh and jumped out of his truck before sliding his phone into his pocket.

“Hi,” Isabella said through tears as she opened her front door. Oh boy. He’d only come over to her new house as a favor; Faith and Isabella had gotten to be good friends and Faith promised he’d give the house a once-over and see if a half bath could be added on. Isabella shuffled into the living room, her black slippers scuffing the hardwood floor. He walked into the open space and shut the front door behind him.

“Anything I can do?” he said.

Her back shrugged as she sobbed. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table. Her furnishings were modern where Chiara’s tended toward traditional. He shook his head. He couldn’t make it through more than a few thoughts without Chiara intruding. He’d even met women at clubs or bars in the last month--he drank soda--but ended up chasing them off with his talk of her.

Isabella turned and threw herself into him, hugging his waist. He patted her back as he would Sabrina’s or Faith’s. After several minutes, she began to sniffle and quiet. He seemed to have that effect on crying women. Unfortunately, many took this as a sign of some connection, when in fact he just stood there, though he did always feel sympathy, even if it was short-lived.

The front door swooshed open. He glanced back. Chiara stepped into the room, her irritated expression deepening into a fierce scowl. Bum luck. He tried to edge away from Isabella but she held on.

“That you,
So
?” Isabella said, her voice muffled as her cheek pressed into his chest.

Chiara’s jaw flinched but otherwise she was still. He’d rather she pounced on them and hit him like she did at his mom’s party--at least it would show she still had some feeling for him. His hopes had taken flight when she helped Sabrina several times, but nose dived each time she managed to be gone before he got home. He had even called her a couple times to thank her, but she wouldn’t pick up her cell for him and never returned his messages.

“Yes, La,” she said. Her voice grated on him, almost expressionless except the edge. He couldn’t tell if it was anger, sadness, or resignation. “Sorry to interrupt. Maybe we need a signal on the door when you have certain company.” Her acrid tone made his mouth go dry. He pried Isabella’s arms from him and gave Chiara a help me look. She raised her eyebrows.

“I won’t have that anymore,” Isabella wailed as she latched onto Chiara. The tightness in Rocco’s back eased out, even though Chiara still frowned at him.

“What happened, La?” she said, her voice soft and low as she smoothed back her sister’s hair. She could calm a spitting cat with that voice.

“Matt called. I thought he would want to get back together, like always. Instead, he told me he’s getting married,” Isabella said, her voice rising in a cry on the last word.

“Oh, La, we sure can pick ‘em,” Chiara said. Rocco shifted his feet. He had no desire to be present for a man-bashing fest. She was one to talk, anyway. He could say a few things about women and their lack of sensitivity. Did he really just think that? This lack of sex thing was warping his mind.

“Uh, I’ll just take a look around, okay?” he said. “Faith said you wanted the half bath near this front room?” Thank goodness he’d made Faith tell him what Isabella wanted him to do.

Isabella nodded as she wiped her cheeks and Chiara led her to the sofa. He walked down the hall and into the bathroom at the end. It appeared recently remodeled and after a quick inspection, he couldn’t find any problems. Two bedrooms, he guessed, were behind doors on either side of the L shaped hall, sandwiching the bathroom.
Pretty small, but roomy enough for a single person, especially with the large living room.
Cosmetically, everything was fine.

He wandered back out. Isabella sat on the couch, blowing her nose. He hurried into the kitchen before she saw him. Chiara leaned in the refrigerator. Stopping in his tracks, he swallowed. Her ass did that to him every time--made his mouth water and the rest of his body snap to attention. She
straightened,
a pitcher of probably iced tea in hand. The refrigerator thumped shut as she faced him before placing the frosted pitcher on the counter.

“Want some iced tea?” she said.

He nodded like a bobble-head doll. Dammit. Why was he getting so flustered? He’d seen her naked, for cripes sake.
Big mistake, thinking of that.
She handed him a glass, thankfully turning from him quickly. He gulped down the whole thing and set the glass in the sink while Chiara brought a glass to Isabella. Neither the chink of the ice nor the tap of the cup on the sink bottom made her notice him again. Just as well. An odd-shaped unused space caught his attention. Possibly it could work for a half bath depending on the plumbing.

“You sure you’ll be okay, La?” Chiara said. The living room and kitchen were right next to each other, so he could hear every word.

“Yeah, I know this is your last dinner there, not that you won’t have dinner as a family again…” Isabella trailed off, sounding awkward.

Rocco’s brows pushed together briefly.

“I’ll just unload my car and go. Be back after I help tuck the boys in, maybe eight-thirty.”

“Just as well,” Isabella said. “I’ll probably hole up in my room and watch a movie.”

Chiara was moving in here? Shouldn’t that jerk Phil be moving out?

“I think,” Rocco said as he walked toward them, “you could put a half bath over there.” He pointed to the wall behind which was the empty space. “I don’t know who you want to get…”

“You,” Isabella said. If only Chiara would say that to him. “I mean, if you’ll give me an estimate. I’d like to have it done ASAP, since Chiara’s moving in and the boys will be here some weekends.”

“Sure, but now doesn’t seem the best time, huh?” He couldn’t think straight, wondering what Chiara’s husband had pulled to get her to move out, only seeing her boys on the weekends.

“Yeah,” Isabella said. Her tone held a hint of anger, but he suspected it wasn’t directed at him, but whoever that Matt guy was. “Maybe you’d come back tomorrow. I know you probably don’t work Saturdays, but…”

“No problem,” he said.
Especially not if Chiara was here.
Maybe a problem, but one he wouldn’t mind having.

Chiara stumbled in the front door, loaded with suitcases. She must have snuck out while he was talking to Isabella.

“Let me get that,” he said, lifting things from her. “It’s okay to ask for help.”

“Right,” she said, her mouth set in a line. He hated that.

He wanted to say how his kids had helped him lately, or how he wanted to ask her for help sometimes, but not when she looked at him like he was full of shit.

“Which room?” he said. He followed her down the hall. The bedroom on the left was tiny and sparse, only a queen bed, a small square night table, and a dresser dotted the space. “How long are you staying for?” he said. He had to ask at least one of the fifty questions lined up in his mind.

“Until I can afford something,” she said. “Thanks, I’ve got to get the rest.”

She started to move past him, almost brushing against him in the small space. Her orange and sex scent nearly dropped him to his knees. “I’ll go,” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer.

Outside, he took a deep breath of the balmy late summer air. It just oppressed him further. He grabbed two boxes out of Chiara’s trunk. The car seats were gone. He slammed shut the door and went inside.

Several hours later, he sat on his couch. The TV was on, but he wasn’t watching it. When he’d gone back into Isabella’s earlier, Chiara had said thanks and left. That was it. He’d come home, heated up a frozen pizza and had a Coke. He fidgeted with the round red sofa cushion Sabrina had bought.
With Chiara.
Leaning back, he jumped up when a knock rapped on the front door. Probably some kid selling magazines or a sales rep. They were about to get snapped at. He pulled open the door with a jerk only to blink in shock. Chiara stood, her purse clutched to her stomach, her expression hovering between tears and resentment.

“My car ran out of gas on the way back to Isabella’s,” she said.

“Where?”

“Up High a little ways.”

“Why didn’t you go home?”

She shot out a short breath. “I’d just tucked in the boys. It was hard enough leaving once.”

“Why did you--”

“I came here for help, not the grand inquisition,” she said.

“Don’t have your cell? Why not call triple A?”

“It died,” she said. She turned toward the door then spun back around to face him. “You’re a real piece of work, you know?” she shouted. “What happened to Mr. ‘
It’s
okay to ask for help’?” she continued, tapping his chest with her finger for emphasis. Even this touch sent electric currents zapping through his nerves. “Just trying to impress Isabella, maybe? Thought you’d move in on her? Or maybe you want easy access to both of us, a little two for one?” she yelled.

He laughed. She was out of her mind.

“Don’t you dare laugh at
me!
” She shoved him, hard, and he stumbled back.

He frowned at her. Her chest rose and fell in tiny fits, her face an angry fireball. Grabbing the front of his tee shirt, she pulled him to her and kissed him. All her fury, frustration, and hurt penetrated his being in that frantic, fierce lock of their lips. He almost pushed her away, not wanting it to be like that, but then her tongue darted into his mouth, searching. He moaned. Even like this, angry and punishing, she was sweeter and more desirable than the most yielding, cheerful woman.

She needed him. Pulling, pushing, grabbing, kneading on him without pause, she made her urgent need for him known along every millimeter of his skin. His desperation to feel her equaled hers to touch him. His fingers tugged, pinched, caressed, and rubbed as many spots as he could reach. Her smooth skin was a balm to his work worn hands, her silken hair soothed his jittery nerves,
her
heat healed every ache and pain in him.

They moved down the hall before banging into his room, landing on his bed. He sat up as Chiara sucked his neck. A condom, he had to get one before he forgot. His mind already failed him. Leaning back, Chiara went with him, now flicking her tongue along his neck and pulling at his shirt.

“Whoa, cowgirl,” he said in a low drawl. Chiara stopped, hopped back, and scowled. “Gotta saddle up,” he said, waving the little packet at her. The scowl perked up on one side and her dimple showed.

“Up for some rough ridin’?” she said as she stripped.

“Give me all you got,” he said, peeling off his jeans while she threw off his tee.

He’d missed the first part of the show, but she made up for it. As he slid back to the pillows, she hopped onto the bed, standing over him in all her naked glory. Hot damn, what a view: feet planted, thighs parted, tiny tuft of dark hair protecting her delicateness, curved hips, a smoothly sloped belly, two jiggly round breasts, arms akimbo, and her face, each feature full of tease and promise, her hair already showing a hint of the wild ride ahead.

He tried to get the condom out and on, but his hand shook. She knelt down, straddled him, and grabbed it, slowly rolling it down his erect tool. His head fell back for a moment before he edged himself up on his elbows, not wanting to miss a second of her performance. Lowering
herself
onto him, an expression of deep satisfaction lit her face as his whole body echoed it in the heat that coursed through him.