Dare (7 page)

He set the tray near her. She watched him from under lowered eyelids as he handed her a glass of lemon-cucumber water. His bicep flexed and his thigh muscles tightened against the fabric of his pants as he moved. She turned her gaze to the bubbling tub and sipped the flavored water. The lemon zinged her taste buds. Joey’s presence did the same to her, from her senses, her skin, to her feelings.

He stood and walked back to the other side of the pool. His gaze flitted on hers. “Sorry I’ve been…”

She waited, but he didn’t continue. “Nothing to be sorry for. Want to join me?” She was the sorry one. Sorry for telling him to forget her. Sorry for saying she regretted their night together. Sorry for running away. Sorry for keeping secrets.

“No suit.”

A low hum began in her throat at the thought of him, his olive skin glistening, his muscles taut…
Don’t go there
. But she was already there and back again.

“I think there are extra suits in the changing room,” she said.

“Right. You’re right.” He strode across the room.

She sipped her water, just for something to do. The added moisture didn’t help the feeling she might drool any second.

“Temperature okay,” he called.

“Yeah, it’s hot.” Damn hot, but it wasn’t the water. She squirmed in her seat. She shot across the tub so she could watch Joey when he emerged from the changing room.

Bendíceme
. And she was blessed to see Joe again. His tan skin popped against blue swim trunks, his legs lean, his abs and pecs well-defined, his biceps bulging gently. He had filled out since high school. He’d always been fine, but now he was a man, a mighty fine man. Their night together then had been wonderful, strangely comforting yet blissful…How would it be now? The fabric of her suit was almost unbearably heavy against her skin.

He strode into the tub and eased into the seat opposite her. “Nice.” He splayed his arms across the rounded tile-work edge. “Want your drink?” He motioned to her glass, near his hand. She’d left it when she changed her seat.

“Sure,” she breathed out.

He took her glass and walked to her, handing her the cup. She brushed his fingers as he moved his hand away. His gaze, intense and hungry, locked on hers. She set the glass on the side without breaking her focus on him. Heat, hotter than the tub, radiated into her limbs, out to her fingers and toes, even into every pore.

“Ariella,” he said, his tone low and ragged, “you’re sure you want me here?”

“I want you.” She grasped his hand and fingered his knuckles. He stepped closer. Heat swirled around them and in her.

He grazed his hand through her hair, caressed her cheek. With eager exploration, she pushed her hands up his chest. He bent to meet her, taking her lips with his in a forceful kiss. Enclosing her in his strong arms, he brought her into his hard body. She ran her fingers along his arms, across his back. Then she tangled her hands in his thick, coarse hair.

Her breath sighed from her. Her body at once relaxed and rippled with excitement. He pulled away slightly and untied her top. With his thumbs, he circled her nipples. The buds perked under his firm touch.

“You’re supposed to be relaxing,” he said, his voice low. He tweaked her breasts and leaned her back onto the shallow step. He cradled her in one arm and smoothed his other hand down her collarbone, in between her breasts, over her stomach. She gazed at him. He studied her, his gaze intense. He eased off her bikini bottom, but not all the way. Her legs spread just enough for him to slide his fingers across her tenderest spot. She leaned her head into him as he smoothed his hand over her. He rubbed a finger around her clit. Her whisperings of fear silenced. She arched and pressed closer to his hard chest. His heartbeat rushed in her ear.

Stroking her, he brought her to the edge. She was safe, here in his arms. Safe to fall, to dream, to dare.

She moaned, her eyelids flickering.

“Beautiful,” he said, his voice distant.

She wrapped her arms around him. She felt it, felt his words, and the tenderness behind them.

Chapter Seven

Feeling her body respond to his touch, watching her climax, almost brought him to one. He twined his hand in her hair. He’d been hard since he saw her lounging in the tub, her perky breasts touching the surface of the water, her hair curling lightly from the steamy air. Then she’d said she wanted him—his focus centered on her. Only her.

The strength of her waves pushed at his hand. He needed to be inside her, now. Bringing her to him, he took her lips with his.

“Mmmm.” She shifted in his arms.

He held her to him and carried her out of the tub. He strode to the changing room, where he’d left his pants. She kissed his neck. He sped his stride.

Sitting with her on his lap, he rifled through his pockets until he found a condom. She shivered a bit—the temperature change was too much. He swept her up again and walked her to the shower-sauna room. He tried to set her down, but she clung to him. He held her close a moment, his body strong in the certainty of being with her.

Kissing her, he found his way to the shower switch. The steamy spray rained down on either side of them. He eased her into a shower, caressing his hands through her hair, letting the clean water rinse away the chlorine—and hopefully any thoughts of the past.

He slipped on the condom and maneuvered her toward the wall. He touched it to be sure it had warmed. Leaning his forehead on hers, he paused. For nine years, he’d fantasized about being with her again. It was happening, and fast. This moment, he touched her slick skin, her warmth and curves pressed near, her tropical scent bringing summer to his snowed-in heart.

“Joe,” she murmured, her voice heavy with desire.

He lifted her up, pressing her closer. With a shimmy, she eased his shaft into her. Pulling her down, he thrust himself deep. Her tight wetness quaked around him as he rocked inside her.

“Ariella,” he groaned. Nothing, no one compared to this, to her. All he’d remembered, fantasized, was pale and cold compared to her tanned, glowing skin, her heat.

Her breath came in little gasps as she followed his movements. She wrapped her legs tighter around him while she covered him in kisses, caressing each spot she could reach.

He thrust harder, faster, the need for her flaming like a speeding fuse. But she tensed, her hands stilled. He refocused, on her, her needs. Returning to his slow pace, he rocked in her again and again. At this pace, he could go longer, watch her come over and over. He grinned, wider when she relaxed her torso and eased her hands over his back.

She leaned into the wall, releasing a long breath. Her inner walls contracted around his shaft. Smiling, she relaxed more. He took her weight gladly, watching her, heat coursing through him at the bliss of her expression, the freedom of her body.

“Joe.” The way she said his name in a low, thick whisper, made him harden more. His skin tingled. With languid movements, she wrapped her arms and legs around him again. Her breasts brushed against his chest, her nipples hardening at the friction.

He kept a steady pace, but only with the strain of focus and determination. She kissed his neck and moved to his ear.

“Joe, come, come inside me,” she whispered. With a sensual tilt, she brought him closer, deeper.

They rocked together, their bodies slick. He sped his pace, her words—“come, come”—a racing beat he matched.

“Yes.” She met his gaze.

He nodded and gave into his need for release. His back jerked with the pleasure of her and her caresses. Their gazes held, as intimate as their movements, their closeness.

He kissed her, easing his fingers through her hair, down her shoulder and arm. With a sigh, she dropped her arms and legs. They stood, wrapped together. Her body began to tighten, losing the relaxed freedom she’d had while she was orgasming.

“Better get cleaned up,” she said.

He eased out of her, his smile wiped out. “We’re not dirty.”

She shook her head, her gaze on the far wall. “I need to get myself together before everyone gets back.”

He rolled his shoulders and disposed of the condom in the small covered can outside the door. She brushed past him, padding toward the changing area. Okay, he got it, she had a daughter. But they’d just been intimate, intensely together. What was with the distance?

He strode to where she slid on her robe. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t want anyone to find us like this. I need to...” No glance. She walked to the tub and picked up her bikini.

“What do you need?”

She knotted her robe tightly. Her gaze sparkled with tears. “I need to be strong, for Layla.”

He tugged up his boxer briefs and grabbed her arm. “You are strong. But doesn’t Layla need to see that you’re human, that you accept help when you need it, that you have feelings?”

She pulled herself taller, her features tightening. “She knows I love her.” Her gaze softened. “I’m not used to these feelings. I don’t want Layla to be affected. I need to be sure what we’re—I mean, what I’m doing.”

He nodded. Though his current impulse was to shout it to the world, his joy in this woman, he got it, her need to be cautious. He wasn’t impulsive, except when it came to her.

“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or Layla. But she’s your daughter.” He wasn’t sure where this could be going either. He really didn’t want to hurt either of them. He pushed his hand through his hair. What was he doing then? His questions and doubts began creeping back into his mind. He wanted to be with her, but casual sex with her didn’t seem like a great idea. She’d said it could be simple, but it wasn’t.

She kissed his cheek and hugged him. “You’re a good man, Joe D’Angelo.”

His chest expanded and he held her to him, gazing at her. “You’re beautiful.” All of her—she glowed.

She ducked her head. “I better get to my room.”

“Want company?” He rubbed his thumb on her palm.

“Better not.” She met his gaze again. “Please, Joe, for now, let’s not say anything.”

“Sure. But—” Flickers of doubt stole closer, like flashlights scoping out the shadows.

“I promise we’ll talk tonight. I’ll ask Marcella to sit with Layla once she’s asleep.”

“Sounds good. If you need anything…”

“Thank you. See you soon.” She squeezed his hand before she walked out.

He watched her for a moment. Then he pulled on the rest of his clothes and walked through the room, making sure everything was shut off. He paused outside the shower room. Being with Ariella was real, and he wanted to make it happen again, and again. Because his memories weren’t misremembered—Ariella made him feel more alive, more excited, than any other woman. And she seemed to feel something like that for him. But his feelings back then, thinking he loved her—that was teenage stuff. They were adults now, she had a little girl, and his family considered her one of their own. He didn’t know how to negotiate around those roadblocks. Vincente and Lorenzo had managed it, but not without causing a lot of family drama in the process.

He strode out and into the hall. The kitchen door opened and Pete walked out.

“Hey, where’s everyone?” It was good he and Ariella had parted when they had, or there would be awkward explanations now.

“Grandpop and Becca are outside with Layla. He told me to check in with Marcella to make sure things are ready for dinner.”

Joey pulled out his phone. It was later than he’d thought. His moments with Ariella had defied time.

Marcella walked out from the dining room at the end of the hall.

Pete waved. “Everything set?”

“
Sí
, of course. Congratulations, Pietro. You’re next, yes, Joseph?” She bustled off toward her and Rudy’s quarters without waiting for a reply. Like Grandpop, she was sure she knew, so her question wasn’t really asking.

Pete chuckled. “You won’t escape this time.”

Joey shrugged. At the moment, he didn’t want to escape. He wanted to be with Ariella. He wouldn’t let her go.

***

“Joey, did you hear me?” Mom asked as they sat with the family at Grandpop’s dining room table.

“Sorry, no.” He’d been too busy watching Ariella, who sat across from him.

Mom’s gaze cut to Ariella then she frowned. “I said I met a lovely young woman at church, new in town. Wouldn’t it be fun for you, Pete, and Becca to take her with you to the New Year’s Eve party?”

“I’m not sure I’m going. But Gianni would put her on the guest list.” His cousin Gianni had recently opened a club, and he liked to pack the place with pretty women.

The lines around Mom’s mouth deepened. “She’s not Gianni’s type.”

“Does he have one?” A woman was a woman to Gianni; though he did prefer leggy blondes, he didn’t limit himself. Joey smirked.

Mom shifted and glanced to the ceiling, probably praying for patience.

“Just kidding, Mom.” He touched her arm. “What happened to ‘It’s Christmas, no unpleasantness’?”

Her frown eased. “You’re right. But, if you change your mind about the party…”

“I’ll let you know. But I think I’ll have other plans.” He forced himself not to look at Ariella.

Mom did instead. Her brow creased for a moment.

“Something bothering you, Mom?” he asked in a low voice.

She paused. “I’m okay. Marcella’s outdone herself.”

Joey nodded and took a bite of salad.

“I hope everyone is well at Dad’s,” she said.

“Aren’t you and Dad stopping there later?”

“Yes, just for a little. We don’t want to tire Lita, and Gina too.”

“She and Vincente coming home later?”

“Tomorrow morning. Celeste is enjoying this time with her granddaughter.”

Joey nodded. Family was everything to Aunt Celeste, well, now Grandma Celeste. She was especially glad when Gina had returned at the beginning of the year and the family had healed some. Joey was glad too. The drama between the two sides of his family—D’Angelo and DeGrazia—had put a strain on his parents especially. Hopefully all that was behind them.

The conversations around the table quieted as everyone sat, full of good food and Christmas cheer. And, in his case, more thoughts of Ariella. She glanced at him, her brown eyes sparking and intent. When he had her alone again, he’d keep his gaze on her, just take her in. And then…

“Let’s move to the living room, eh? I know at least one of us is ready.” Grandpop winked at Layla, who’d been squirming in her seat.

Layla hopped up then glanced around and sat again. Ariella patted her arm. Grandpop walked to them and offered each an arm. Joey waited while Mom and Dad rose, and Becca, Pete, and Uncle Sal followed Grandpop to the adjoining room. The Christmas tree lights twinkled, and the fire crackled, a cinnamon scent swirling in the warm air.

The usual round of conversations joined the buzz in the room. Joey hung back, watching. He leaned against the door frame, his limbs relaxed. This was everything he could want on Christmas, or any other day—he had a job he loved, his family around him, and Ariella was back. A knot of tension tightened the back of his neck. There could be more. More with Ariella. He stepped into the room, joining Pete and Uncle Sal near the fireplace.

Becca sat at the piano. “‘Joy to the world…’” she sang. Everyone joined in, but his voice was low. Layla pulled his hand. She held Ariella’s hand with her other hand. Layla beamed, joy radiating. Joey wanted nothing but joy for Layla, and Ariella. He squeezed Layla’s little hand.

“’Repeat the sounding joy,’” he sang. Joy on repeat. He’d like to get used to that.