Knowing You (2 page)

“Close enough.”

“What?” She looked up at him.

Paul shook his head. “Nothing. You headed home?”

“That's the general idea. I'm thinking ice cream and a movie.” She started walking again and Paul fell into step beside her. “What about you? Shouldn't you be back there helping the family celebrate?”

He pushed the edges of his jacket back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Trust me, they don't need my help.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, watching her step and belatedly holding the hem of her dress up a few inches. Heck, she'd only been able to make good her getaway because the Candellanos were so busy having a good time, they hadn't noticed her leaving. “So what happened to your date?” she asked. “Weren't you supposed to be bringing Sandy the Amazing?”

Thank God he hadn't, she thought. Otherwise she'd still be stuck on the tree while he danced what was left of the night away. Or, worst-case scenario, he'd have saved her while Sandy stood there watching. Oh, that would have been fun. Sandy, like most of Paul's dates, could be intimidating. They were usually brilliant
and
gorgeous, with interesting careers and fascinating lives.

But then, being the head of a computer firm that designed innovative software for everyone from Hollywood's special effects industry to the military, Paul moved in
way
different circles from Stevie. Owning the Leaf and Bean, a coffee and tea shop, Stevie usually met early-morning joggers and people with hangovers looking for a cure. Oh, yeah. Different crowds entirely.

A short, sharp laugh shot from his throat. “The Amazing Sandy. Oh, she'd like that. Yeah, she was supposed to come with me, but she had to cancel.”

“Why? Did she get wind of what a Candellano party is really like?”

“Nothing so terrifying. She was the backup pilot on the space shuttle—and the scheduled pilot broke his arm in a baseball game, so…” He shrugged again.

“Bummer,” Stevie said. “I hate when that happens.”

He shot her a look and smiled. “Happen to you a lot, does it?”

“Oh, yeah,” she assured him, waving one hand in the air. “Just the other day, I was having coffee with this cute guy—all of a sudden, he rushes off to a phone booth, changes his clothes, and flies off to save Metropolis. Again.”

Paul laughed and this time Stevie really listened to it. A long roll of deep thunder rising up and settling down around her. Something inside her turned over. Weird. This was Paul. Her friend. Her ex's twin. For Pete's sake. Get a grip, Stevie.

“So anyway,” she said, a little louder than she'd planned, but hey, a girl had to speak up when her brain went on vacation, right? “You headed back to your house tonight?”

“No,” he said, and pulled one hand from his pocket to grab her arm as she stumbled over a tree root that jutted up from the ground to grab her foot. Apparently she'd been a logger in her former life and now the remaining forest was out to get her.

“Thanks.” She held up one foot and pointed at the completely useless, though very pretty, silvery sandals. “These shoes ain't made for walkin'.”

“I get that,” he said, letting her go and shoving his hand back into his pocket. “Anyway, I don't want to drive back to the house. Thought I'd just stay at Mama's tonight. Head home in the morning.”

Stevie nodded and kept quiet for a while, her brain moving along at a slow trot. She was alone. He was alone and in no hurry to make the drive to his place. Why should they be alone separately when they could be alone together? Made sense when you thought about it like that. Besides, when it came right down to it, the thought of being in her apartment alone right now suddenly didn't seem as appealing as it had a few minutes ago. Maybe it was the aftereffects of the wedding—all that eternal love stuff—but a little company sounded like a good thing.

“You interested in ice cream and a movie?” she asked.

He glanced down at her warily. “What kind of movie? A chick flick?”

She laughed but gave him a good look up and down. “Okay, fine. You do look sort of James Bondish tonight.”

“Double-O Suave, that's me.”

She held one hand up in surrender. “Well then, I promise you guns and stuff blowing up.”

“I'm there.”

*   *   *

The minute they walked up the stairs and into her apartment, Stevie excused herself to change and told
him to get the ice cream. While she was gone, Paul looked around the loft apartment Stevie kept above her shop, the Leaf and Bean. It was so like her. Warm, comfortable, cozy. Dark red walls with cream-colored trim. Books crowded and jumbled together in a few bookcases and were stacked on the floor and tables surrounding the overstuffed sofa and matching chair. An entertainment center stood on one wall, and on the opposite wall was a fireplace with more than its share of ashes piled under the grate. The only thing missing was the dogs.

He smiled to himself as he walked toward the small, galley-style kitchen. Stevie was the softest touch in town when it came to animals. But her heart really belonged to the stray dogs of the world. She was forever adopting one or a dozen and keeping them around until she could find them a home. And since there were no current ankle biters growling or sneering at him, it looked as though she'd been busy.

It had been a while since he'd been in her place, but he remembered where everything was. He grabbed down two bowls from a glass-fronted cupboard, then turned to the fridge. He yanked open the freezer and stood for a long minute, deciding which of the three cartons of ice cream to choose.

“Fudge brownie for me!” she called from the other room as if reading his mind.

“Got it!” he yelled back. “Hot fudge, too?”

“Is the pope Catholic?”

“Stupid question,” he muttered. Stevie was the only woman he knew who kept fudge and whipped cream in the house at all times. Any other female would be
moaning about calories and her latest diet. Stevie, though, liked to eat and didn't mind admitting it.

“Damn it,” she grumbled, and he just caught the frustration in her voice.

“What's wrong?” He took a step toward the nearly closed door separating her bedroom from the main room.

“The stupid zipper is stuck in the stupid fabric and I can't even tear the stupid thing off.” She wrenched the door open, marched toward him, and turned her back on him. “Can you get that before I have to chew myself free?”

Paul stared down at her back. Smooth, lightly tanned skin looked like peach silk in the soft light. He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on the pale blue zipper caught firmly in the fragile fabric. He wouldn't even notice the nude-colored bra back strap just beneath the edge of the dress. He didn't notice, either, how the dress skimmed along her body like a lover's touch—and he didn't think about how the sky blue dress made her big blue eyes look like chips of turquoise.

She glanced back and up at him over her shoulder. “Earth to Paul, come in, Paul.”

“Huh? What—oh. Right.”

Stevie shook her head. “You know, maybe you've been working too hard. They say the mind is the first thing to go.”

“Yeah. Right.” No big deal. It was a zipper, for chrissakes. All he had to do was get it moving. He didn't have to pull it all the way down and expose her
naked back. He didn't have to help her out of the damn dress. Just get the stupid zipper working again so she could go and put something on that he wouldn't be thinking about getting her out of.

A chastity belt, maybe.

He grabbed the zipper, carefully keeping his fingers from brushing her skin. There was no point in torturing himself, right? But the damn thing was stuck good. He clenched his jaw and reminded himself that he was the man who came up with the programs to run distant satellites. Surely he could figure out a zipper.

“If it won't come down,” Stevie said, “just rip it off me.”

“Right.” An image flashed in his brain and it was one that ordinarily he'd have squashed flat. In his mind, he saw himself pull that dress off of her in one quick magicianlike move, leaving her in only a bra and panties. Then he saw her turn to him. Look up at him and open her arms. He watched her rise up on her toes, bring her mouth close to his. He damn near felt the brush of her breath against his cheek.

Shit. Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea.

“Did you get it yet?” she asked, trying to turn around and look.

“No,” he muttered thickly, his throat knotted with a desire he'd gotten used to ignoring over the years. “Hold still, will ya?”

“Sorry,” she said, then gave a low whistle. “Cranky, aren't we?”

“Just frustrated,” he murmured, yanking on the zipper again. Frustrated in more than one way, but she
didn't need to know that, did she? Hell, she'd never had a clue and now wasn't the time to let her find out.

He slid his fingers beneath the fabric and forced himself to ignore the feel of her satiny, warm skin against his. And in a second or two, he had it. The zipper leaped free and he let her go, taking a quick step backward for good measure.

“Thanks.” She clutched the top of her strapless dress tight and turned around to look at him. Those big blue eyes of hers dazzled him as they did every time he looked into them. Her wide mouth was curved in a smile that was designed to bring men to their knees. Stevie'd never had any idea of the effect she had on men—him in particular. With her heart-shaped face, long, slender body, and a laugh that made a man think of midnight kisses and rumpled beds, she was a walking wet dream.

Yet somehow, she never seemed to get that.

Now, as he stared at her, Paul had to ask himself one very important question.

How was he supposed to get over his brother's ex-girlfriend when every time he saw her, all he wanted to do was throw her onto her back and bury himself inside her?

CHAPTER TWO

T
ONY CANDELLANO TURNED A
cop's eye on the last few revelers at his sister's wedding reception. Vince Halloran looked as though he'd hit the champagne one too many times, but Vince's wife, Betsy, was stone-cold sober, so there wouldn't be any trouble there. Well, Tony amended, Vince's life wouldn't be pretty come morning, but at least he wouldn't be driving tonight, making everyone else in Chandler a target.

A fierce wind off the ocean whipped across the clearing and snatched at the strings of lights, making them dance and sway until they looked like clouds of fireflies. Candle flames in the centerpieces winked out and tall white wicker flower stands bursting with roses, carnations, and daisies toppled over, littering the ground with splotches of color.

His mother's crocheted shawl flew off a nearby chair and Tony grabbed it before it could take flight. Wadding it up, he shoved it under his left arm and turned into the wind to look for his family. Squinting
against the dirt and bits of twigs suddenly pelting him, he spotted his wife, Beth, and headed for her.

“Storm's blowing in!” he shouted to be heard.

Beth looked up at him and pushed her dark auburn hair out of her eyes, only to have it slapped back across her face again. “No kidding?” She grinned up at him briefly, then reached down to pick up their daughter, Tina.

Tony tossed the shawl at Beth, then took the little girl from her. Wrapping a blanket around the child, who somehow managed to stay asleep despite the howling wind, he looked at his wife and said, “Grab your stuff. Where's Mama?”

Beth picked up Tony's tuxedo jacket, then her own purse and sweater. “She took some things to the car a few minutes ago. Reese and Abbey are with her.”

“Good,” he said. “We'll meet 'em there.” He spared a quick glance heavenward. Clouds scuttled across the surface of the night sky, obliterating stars and swirling, crashing into one another as thunder roared in the distance. “Man, this blew up fast.” He cupped the back of his daughter's head and held her close to his chest. Then he shifted his gaze back to Beth. “Have you seen Stevie? Or Paul and Nick?”

Clearly exasperated as the first cold, hard splats of rain smacked her, Beth said, “Jesus, Tony, can't you take the night off? They're adults. They know enough to get in out of the rain. Now how about we do?” Then she held her purse over her head, cradled her stuff in the crook of her arm, lifted the hem of her bridesmaid dress, and took off, sprinting toward the car.

“Right,” he muttered, tugging the blanket up high
enough to cover Tina's head. “Hell. She's always right. Damn annoying.”

He made it to the car just before the skies opened up and the meadow was half-drowned in a wall of water.

*   *   *

Stevie hit the
PAUSE
button, and on the TV, the movie stopped dead. A hard driving rain pounded into the silence, crashing against the roof like thousands of tiny fists hammering to get in. Setting the remote and her ice-cream bowl down onto the coffee table, Stevie unfolded her long legs and pushed herself off the overstuffed sofa.

“Listen to that.” She walked toward the wide front window overlooking Main Street.

Rain slapped at the windowpane, blurring the outside world into a wash of street lamplight that smeared gold across the glass. Overhead, thunder rolled and lightning flashed, edging the clouds with a shimmer of white-hot light that dazzled briefly and was gone.

But Paul hardly noticed. Instead, his gaze was locked on Stevie. Her ponytail dangled temptingly and bounced with her every movement. She wore a pale blue tank top over—God help him—braless breasts and blue-and-white-striped drawstring cotton pants. She was barefoot and the pale pink polish on her toes looked incredibly sexy, damn it. When she half-turned to him and smiled, Paul sucked in a breath and held it for a long moment before slowly releasing it as he counted to ten. Then twenty.

“Isn't it great?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, though he wasn't entirely sure he was talking about the thunderstorm.
She
was great.
She was the sexiest woman he'd ever known. And the one woman he couldn't have.