Knowing You (31 page)

“What?” She sat up straight as he opened her door and unhooked her seatbelt.

“Too tired to drive anymore,” he said, reaching for her to draw her out of the car.

“Paul…”

“
Sleep
, Stevie. We're going to
sleep
.” He yawned and started pulling her toward the house. “Trust me when I say your virtue is perfectly safe.”

She stumbled, and he stopped long enough to pick her up. Cradling her against his chest, he kept walking, on automatic pilot now. Her hands went around his neck, and even through the fatigue dragging at him, Paul's blood stirred. Didn't even surprise him. Stevie was enough to get to him through a coma.

He took the steps, shoved the key into the lock, opened the door, and carried her inside. Kicking the door closed behind them, he didn't stop. If he did, he was half-afraid he wouldn't get going again.

A few minutes later, he was standing beside the unmade bed and laying Stevie out on the mattress. She hardly moved as he undressed her, then drew a quilt up to cover her. In another second or two, he was undressed and lying beside her. Sound asleep, she turned toward him, cuddling against his side.

For one brief, beautiful moment, he enjoyed the feel
of her body aligned along his. But exhaustion ran too deep for his brain to function for long. Wrapping his arms around her, he closed his eyes and joined her in dreams.

*   *   *

Hours later, he woke to the silken glide of her fingertips stroking his skin. Paul opened his eyes and stared up into Stevie's steady gaze. Levered up on one elbow, she smiled down at him and let her fingers trail across his chest. His breath caught.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling.

“It is now,” Paul assured her, and caught her hand in his. Sunlight poured in through the skylight overhead, spilling gold across her shoulders and shining in her hair.

“What are you up to?”

One corner of her mouth lifted as her gaze drifted down his body. When she looked into his eyes again, she said softly, “I'd say you're the one who's
up
to something.”

True enough. Paul moved quickly, tipping her over onto her back and moving to pin her to the bed. He bent, kissed her briefly, and still with the taste of her on his mouth, said, “Last night, I promised you your virtue would be safe.”

“My virtue is long gone, Paul,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek in the palm of her hand. “And I want you.”

His heartbeat thundered in his ears and blood pumped in a fury throughout his body. He gave her a slow smile. “Then that works out well. Because I
always
want you. Always have. Always will.”

He kissed her again, and this time, it was a slow, leisurely kiss as he savored the taste, the texture, of her lips. She gave and he took, devouring her, consuming her, taking her into his blood, under his skin. She breathed in, he breathed out. They were one, and he felt the connection right down to his bones.

This was magic. Her touch. Her sighs. She was everything he'd ever wanted and more. He'd found his heart in her and he didn't think he'd ever be completely whole again without her.

Stevie shivered as his hands explored her body. She sighed into his mouth and arched her back as his fingertips closed on her nipples, tugging, pulling at the sensitive tips. Electricity hummed through her body, setting small fires sizzling through her bloodstream and lighting up every nerve ending like neon signs.

He was everywhere at once, moving over her body with feather-light strokes, teasing, tormenting, driving her higher and higher. He promised heaven and then stopped just short of taking her there. His breath dusted her skin. His murmured words drifted into the sun-kissed air and settled over her like a sigh.

She moved against him, with him, following his lead, then shifting and leading him. He matched her, touch for touch, kiss for kiss, and when he moved to cover her with his body, she opened to him, welcoming him home. He entered her on a sigh of satisfaction and she felt him fill her, become a part of her, and she wanted to keep him locked within her body forever. Great.

“Come with me,” he whispered, and she looked up into dark brown eyes and lost herself in their depths.
Love sang inside her, making each moment with him more precious than before.

“Take me with you,” she said, and reached up to draw his head down to hers for a kiss. Their lips met, briefly, fiercely, and the first tremor rattled through her. “Oh God, Paul.”

She gasped, tensed, held her breath, and rode the wave of pleasure cresting inside her. And watching his eyes glaze over, she held him as he followed her into the heaven he'd promised.

*   *   *

Love.

Who knew love could hit a person so hard, so fast?

But now that Stevie's body had stopped buzzing, her brain was on red alert. She'd damn near blurted out the truth while he was still inside her, and wouldn't that have been perfect? She could have had an up close and personal shot of his features going slack with shock.

No one had ever said anything about love.

And now that it was here, she didn't have a clue what to do about it.

From behind the closed door of the bathroom she heard the shower come on, and smiled to herself at the thought of Paul, all wet and soapy and naked and—she slapped herself on the forehead with the heel of her hand. For God's sake, think about something else.

An idea presented itself, and desperate, she went with it. Pushing herself up out of the rumpled bed, she walked naked across the floor, grabbed Paul's robe from a nearby chair, and pulled it on. Scooping her hair out from under the collar, she walked to the bathroom door.

“Paul?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay if I use your computer to e-mail Debbie?”

“Sure, go ahead. Be out in a minute.”

“Take your time,” she said, then added in a whisper, “A year or two wouldn't be out of line.” But, she thought as she headed for the staircase, a couple of years wouldn't matter anyway. She had the distinct feeling that she could go thirty years without seeing him and then the moment she did, she'd be flat on her back, yelling,
Take me, sailor!

Stevie went downstairs and straight to Paul's desk. Naturally, everything was in perfect order. His closed laptop sat square in the center of the desktop. A system of cubbyholes, all neatly closed of course, housed stamps and pens and envelopes. She knew his desk drawers were just as painfully neat, and she had to wonder—how could he be such a picture-perfect computer geek and a love god at the same time?

“Just one of Fate's little jokes,” she told herself. “Like falling in love with your friend.”
Real funny
.

Shaking her head, she lifted the lid of the computer and waited while the standby light flickered to life. In a few seconds, the screen lit up, went black, and then came on again—a document already open.

*   *   *

Paul turned away from the rush of water and reached for the shampoo. God, he loved knowing Stevie would be waiting for him when he emerged from the shower. Loved knowing she was in his house. Hell, had been in his bed. A part of him hoped that maybe this was the real start of what lay between them. Maybe she'd be
able to see that they could build a life together. If he could just get past her defenses. Get past her need to save his family and the whole damn world. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest and he wondered if he was being an idiot. Everything with her sister had turned out well. Crisis over. Debbie safe. Stevie had stopped ranting and ragging on herself.

But even as he thought about letting it all go, he knew he had to say something. On that long drive to San Francisco, when her fear and anxiety had pumped words from her mouth in a flood of self-recrimination, he'd mostly kept quiet. Thinking she needed to talk. To say everything that was stoppered up inside her. But now that it was all over, he couldn't just pretend he hadn't heard her. Couldn't gloss over the things she'd said. Like how all of this was her fault. And she should have been waiting at home just to receive a phone call that might never come. She had to let go of this stuff.

He just didn't know where the hell to sta— “Oh, shit!”

Stevie was down there. In his office. On his computer.

“Hell. Shit. Damn!” Shampoo dribbling down his face and neck, he made a dive for the bottom half of his sweats and raced for the stairs.

“Don't open it. Do … not … open it—”

*   *   *

Stevie blinked and read the words on the screen again. What was left of the deliciously languorous sensation in her body dissolved like sugar dropped into boiling water. But she wasn't hot. She was suddenly, completely, bone-deep
cold
.

“Stevie, no!” Paul's voice came from upstairs,
shouting, though it sounded more like a frantic whisper in a hurricane to her. Must be all of the blood pounding in her ears.

Breathing heavily, her hands clenched around the edge of the desk, Stevie looked at Paul's neatly done Pro and Con list and read it slowly, for the third time.

“
‘The Pros and Cons of Loving Stevie.'
”

“Con. Number one. ‘Stubborn.' Since when is stubborn a bad thing?” Her blood pressure rose.

“Two. ‘Always trying to save everyone and everything.'” Her eyeballs started to throb.

“Thr—”

As if from a great distance, she heard him running, his footsteps pounding down the stairs. She stood up and turned to face the door and glare at him. He skidded, wet and naked, to a stop just a few feet from her.

“Jesus, Stevie. You didn't see—” The computer. Open. Paul. Dead man. He'd forgotten all about the damn thing the last few days. Which said a lot for just how wrapped up in Stevie he'd become.

“You son of a bitch.”

“You did.”
Damn it
. Paul reached up and wiped dripping shampoo out of his eyes with the leg of the sweatpants clutched in his fist.

“Three,” she reiterated, her voice hard. “
‘She might still be in love with Nick'?
Oh my God.”

“Stevie—”

“You can't possibly believe that. Not when we—I—
you
.”

“You were never supposed to see that.”

“Oh well,” she said, grinding the words out through clenched teeth. “That changes everything, doesn't it?”

Shampoo ran down into his eyes and he swept it away. Stevie hoped he'd been blinded.

“You've got to listen to me.”

“No, I don't. I can't
believe
you did this,” she snapped, fury dancing in her eyes and jittering out around her in a wild aura of doom.

“I can explain—”

“No thanks!” she shouted, and reached for the brass lamp at the corner of his desk. Snatching it up, she threw it at him.

She'd always had a good arm. Paul ducked as it sailed past, then winced as it clattered against the wall behind him. Better the wall than him, though.

“Just calm down for a second—”

She glared at him.

“—and let me explain.”

“There is absolutely
no
explanation that is going to make this sound any better.”

“Just listen for a minute and—”

“You're unbelievable.” She tugged the belt of his robe tighter and actually managed to look dignified in navy blue terrycloth. “You made a
list
of the reasons why you shouldn't have anything to do with me?”

Sounded even worse when she said it. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, though.

“I don't know whether to be angry that you even thought of me like one of your defense department reports, or hurt that you needed to do that and were still making love to me.” She slapped both hands to her forehead as if she could push this new knowledge right out of her brain.

“Damn it, this isn't a conversation I want to have
naked,” he muttered, and jerked the sweatpants on over his damp skin.

“This isn't a conversation
I
want to have at all,” she said, and stalked past him.

But he grabbed her arm and dragged her to a stop. Looking down into her stormy blue eyes, Paul could hardly believe that just a few minutes ago they'd been hazy with spent passion. Now she looked as though she wouldn't have a bit of trouble killing him.

“Listen to me, Stevie—”

“Why should I?” she cut him off, and tugged free of his grip. “I already read the list. What was number four again? Oh, yes. ‘Cranky before her period.' Jesus, Paul! Trust me, you've said enough.”

“I never meant for you to see that.” He threw his hands wide, then slapped soap out of his eyes again. “I forgot all about the damn thing. I did it when I was—”

“Being a jerk?”

“Thanks.” He smirked at her. “Okay, yeah. Maybe I was a jerk for making the list. But that's who I am. I write things down. I think logically. Rationally.”

“Right. And I'm the idiot who gets written
about
like a statistical report. Now that's sensitive, Paul. Gee, I'm all warm and fuzzy here. Can't you tell?” She shook her head and started for the front door.

He stopped her after a few steps. Grabbing her upper arm, he pulled her around to face him. When she tried to fight free of his grip this time, he just held on tighter.

“Damn it, Stevie, you've been making me nuts for years.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Well,” she said, cocking her head to give him a small unamused smile, “lists come pretty easy to you. Why don't you write down what you
really
meant and then I can read
that
, when I have time?”

“You think this is easy?” he demanded. “You think being around you and pretending nothing is happening is
easy?
”

“It hasn't exactly been a walk in the park for me, either, you know.” Stevie planted both hands on his chest and shoved. Like trying to shove a mountain. He just stood there, glowering at her. “But
I
didn't make up lists on why to stay away from you.”