Knowing You (16 page)

“You're an idiot, Stevie.”

She tried to jerk free, but he held her fast.

“Forget it. You had your say, now I'm going to.”

“I don't want to hear it.”

“Tough shit.”

She inhaled sharply, as if preparing to blast him again with another hot earful, but then she changed her mind, clamped her mouth shut, and glared at him. Probably figured the best way to get rid of him was to humor him.

“You think I
liked
knowing Nick was coming over here?” he demanded. “You think I got any sleep last night, wondering if you two were doing a fast bounce on the mattress?”

“Thanks so much—”

“
My
turn,” he reminded her with a steely voice and a tightening of his grip on her arms. “What was I supposed to do? Say, ‘Don't go to Stevie's. I'm sleeping with her now'? We both already decided we didn't want anyone knowing what happened between us.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And you've known me most of my life. You
really
think this is about me one-upping Nick?”

Her bottom lip quivered, and for one horrifying moment, Paul thought she was going to cry. And if she did, it'd kill him. Damn it, how had this gotten so far out of hand? He'd only wanted to find his own life. To move on. To leave boyhood crushes behind him. Now he was in deeper than ever and wasn't sure how to get out. Or even if he wanted out.

“I can't believe this,” she muttered. “This is just
so
not how I saw my life. Sleeping with both brothers. Well, only one. But everyone thinks I'm sleeping with the other one and no one knows about you and then even you think I'm sleeping with Nick, and if this gets any weirder they won't even let us on
Jerry Springer
.”

He smiled in spite of everything. Stevie babbling was just something that would always make him smile. “At last. A bright spot.”

“This isn't funny.”

“Yeah, I know. But it's not a crisis, either. As for Mama … she's got plans to marry off Tina and the kid's two years old. Mama's plans mean
nothing
.”

“You pulled away last night,” she accused. “The minute Nick started talking, you pulled away from me.”

He let his hands slip from her shoulders down her arms to the sides of her breasts. So close to heaven, he could almost feel the sweep of sensation pouring through him. She shivered and it rippled along his spine like a slow, teasing touch. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“No excuses?”

“None that make any sense.”

“Swell.”

“I want you,” he said tightly, his voice a low rumble
of sound that echoed in the small room. “That's honest, too.”

She took a breath, then let it slide from her lungs in a soft sigh. “Yes, but it doesn't solve anything. Doesn't change anything.”

Paul reached up and brushed her hair back from her face, his fingers smoothing across her skin with a gentle light touch that sizzled between them. “Maybe it doesn't have to. Maybe it's enough all by itself.”

“For how long?” Stevie trembled inside as her body turned to liquid fire with the simple touch of his hand. Her knees wobbled, and when he eased her back onto the edge of her desk, she went willingly. Hey, it was better than falling over.

“How long do you need?” he asked, and dropped one hand to the damp, hot heart of her.

Stevie gasped and arched into his touch. He bent and took her mouth with his as he caressed her right through the fabric of her jeans. Why? How? How could he do this to her so easily? How could she keep allowing herself to wander down this amazing path? Where was all her self-control?

Then thought died under the onslaught of too many sensations. She moved against him, arching, rocking, moaning. Papers scattered, pushed off the edge of the desk to fall in a silent snowstorm to the floor.

He cradled her in the crook of one arm and parted her lips with his tongue. He tasted her, explored her mouth, giving and taking with a need that built and swarmed inside him like a summer storm pounding at a tin roof. His hand worked her body, kneading the
denim and the tender flesh beneath. He rubbed her core and tasted her sighs as she gave herself to him silently, completely.

He felt the rush of satisfaction as the first tremors crashed through her body.

Stevie's hips rocked wildly and she clutched at his shoulders, hanging on for dear life as he pushed her higher and higher and finally over the precipice, only to catch her and hold her tightly as she fell.

CHAPTER TEN

B
UT WHEN THE TINGLING
tide of satisfaction settled into a low hum, Stevie came back to her senses and sat up, pushing Paul away. Shaking her head, she scooted off the edge of her desk, bent down to pick up the scattered papers, then stacked them neatly on the desktop.

Turning, she faced him. “This didn't solve anything.”

“Didn't know it was supposed to.”

“Paul.…” His name came out on a sigh. There was so much. In her heart. In her mind. And none of it made sense. And trying to talk to Paul about it didn't help. Lately it seemed as though anytime they were in a room together, they started out talking and ended up breathing heavy. Hell, nothing about her life made sense anymore.

When she and Nick broke up, Stevie'd thought her heart was irreparably broken. She'd put all of her hopes and dreams into that relationship and losing them had about crushed her right back into the lonely little girl she'd been when she'd first arrived in Chandler. But
she'd lived through the pain of his betrayal. She'd taught herself to ignore the flash of sexual heat she'd always felt around him until now there was nothing left. But Paul was different.

In so many ways.

He was her friend, first. For too many years, he'd always been there—a shoulder to cry on, an understanding ear to whine to. And damn it, she missed that. She missed being able to call him and just talk. To rag him about the latest succession of women strolling through his life. To tease him about how he spent too much time at work and not enough time just enjoying his life.

Damn it.

She missed
him
.

She missed her
friend
.

Oh, the sex was great. Fabulous. First-class. Better than anything she'd ever experienced before. But was that all it was? Was she just a passing blip on his radar screen? Okay, fine. Even she didn't really believe that he was simply using her as a means of finally trumping his twin. That so wasn't Paul.

But at the same time, she had to wonder if she wasn't just making the same mistake she had before. Was finding something in Paul another way to hang on to the Candellano family? And how could she trust her own judgment? She'd been miserably wrong about Nick. What if she reached out and made a grab for Paul only to discover she'd made another mistake?

No. She couldn't risk it. Because this time, if it all fell apart in her hands, her heart wouldn't survive the pain.

“I thought you were going to be using the new software I brought you last month.”

“Huh?” Stevie blinked at the shift in conversation, then looked at Paul, bent over, tapping at her keyboard and studying the computer screen.

“The new bookkeeping system I got for you,” he said, sparing her a quick glance as his fingers flew over the keys with a sure, steady stroke that reminded her just how talented those fingers were. “You said you were installing it.”

Well. From the sublime to the boring. “I was, I just didn't have time to—”

“It only takes a few minutes.”

“Sure, if you're Wonder Boy.”

He shot her a quick grin that melted her teeth. “Aren't you lucky that Wonder Boy happens to be here?” He pulled out her chair, plopped down into it, and leaned closer to the screen, squinting just enough to look sexy as all get-out.

“Paul, you don't have to do this now.”

“No problem.”

Stevie shook her head. He'd never leave now. He was on the hunt. Like some ancient warrior going after the prize buck in the forest, Paul wouldn't stop until he'd hunted down every last whatsis and whosis in the computer program. “Where're your glasses?”

He patted his T-shirt, then shrugged. “Didn't think I'd need 'em this morning.”

“So come back when you've got 'em.”

“Nah. I can do it. You'll be up and running in a few minutes.”

“Great,” she said, perching on the edge of the desk to watch him work. “Then it shouldn't take me more than a month or two to decipher the book that explains how to use the darn thing.”

He didn't tear his gaze from the screen, so Stevie studied him while he talked and worked.

“You don't need to know the whole book. Just the parts that you'll be using. I can show you in no time.”

He shoved his right hand through his hair impatiently and Stevie smiled. He was so busy concentrating, his chair could catch fire and he wouldn't notice. Focused. That's the word she'd use to describe Paul. Whatever he happened to be doing at the time held his complete attention. Whether it was installing a new computer program or stroking her body into a frenzied state that only he could ease.

Oh boy.

Stevie shifted a little on the desk, suddenly warm and liquid again. Amazing how he could do that to her without even trying. He'd just blasted her senses with the quickest, sexiest hand job she'd ever known and now here she sat, eager and primed for more.

Was this what her life would be like from now on? Her gaze locked on Paul. Her friend, fixing her computer—and her lover, torturing her body.

“You really need a new computer, Stevie,” he muttered as figures flashed across the screen. “I mean, you're driving a tractor and the rest of the world has Ferraris.”

Typical. That computer was almost brand-new. But unless it was the biggest and the fastest and the flashiest, it was just secondhand scrap metal to Paul.
She smiled to herself as she listened to Paul's muttering get thicker and faster. This is the Paul she knew. The man she'd missed so much. The man she was comfortable around. Now all she had to do was figure out how to mesh this Paul and the new Paul into her life—without messing everything up.

Too bad she didn't have a book telling her how to do that.

*   *   *

Rosie's café was packed.

Not all that surprising, Stevie thought, considering Rosie Halloran made the best chicken salad in Central California. Although, with the fall weather turning downright nippy, Rosie's homemade soups would be a draw, too.

A small place, Rosie's had all the charm of a welcoming home. Lace curtains hung in the windows, wide oak beams crisscrossed the walls and ceiling, and what looked like candlelit chandeliers hung from the rafters on draping black chains. The twenty or so tables sprinkled around the room were mismatched and no two chairs were alike. Each of them had an upholstered seat in wildly clashing fabric, and together they somehow seemed to meld into a country kitchen sort of feel. Fresh daisies in tiny cobalt blue vases sat on every table, and heavy silverware lay across thick linen napkins.

The view of the ocean was spectacular from any of the wide windows—though the ones up front also boasted a front row seat for the smacking of waves against the rocks. Salt spray dusted the pristine glass, droplets shining like gold dust as the afternoon sun danced across the panes.

Rosie did a huge tourist business, but her mainstays were the locals, who were always crowding the place, looking for a break from cooking themselves. Stevie glanced around at the crowd and smiled warily at Virginia, sitting alone at a table for three. The older woman gave Stevie a regal nod, then returned her attention to her surroundings. Wouldn't want to miss a chance at any gossip.

A knot of tension tightened in the pit of Stevie's stomach. Great. The Terrible Three would be within eavesdropping distance from her and Mama.

Mama
.

What could she want? Stevie reached for her glass of iced tea and absently stirred it with a straw. Ice cubes tinkled against the glass and played gentle music to accompany the conversations swirling around her.

She checked her wristwatch. Twelve-fifteen. Mama was late. Good sign? Bad sign? Oh, man. Stevie groaned and told herself to stop looking for trouble. Sometimes a cigar was just a cigar.

Still. Angela Candellano had called just after Paul left the Leaf and Bean and told Stevie when and where to meet her for lunch. Told. Not asked. A command performance—sort of like the Sunday family dinners. Except that these lunches were one-on-one—with no help in sight.

Since Stevie'd moved to Chandler when she was a kid, there had been only two other times when Mama had pulled the
come to lunch
thing with her.

The first time, she'd been fourteen and Mama had taken her to the ice-cream parlor at the corner of Main Street. There she'd given Stevie a stern lecture about
boys. With Joanna way too busy to take care of such minor details herself—not to mention the fact that she was living in Portugal at the time—Mama Candellano had decided that it was up to
her
to deliver “the Talk.” She'd tackled Carla first, then taken Stevie on. With no escape, Stevie had stared unblinking at her ice cream while Mama told her everything she'd ever wanted to know … and more.

She could still remember the sting of embarrassment—and the sweet, secret pleasure of knowing that Mama had treated her like her own daughter.

The second time she and Mama had done the bondy thing, it was right after Stevie had found Nick with the cheerleader. Pain still clawing at her, she'd sat across this very table from Mama and listened as the other woman had offered to beat her own son senseless on Stevie's behalf.

Hard not to love a woman like that, Stevie told herself.

But the question now was, what could be so important that Mama would call another meeting? Unease unwound through Stevie like a spool of ribbon uncurling into a pile on the floor. Could she have found out about Stevie and Paul?