On Any Given Sundae (19 page)

And she knew if she could just
concentrate
, she could reach the same, nearly mindless state
he was in. But she couldn’t bring herself into that kind of
focus.

Then the rhythm changed.

It became faster. More insistent. Urgent.

“Elizabeth!” he cried out, seeking her mouth,
devouring her, trying to pull her into his passion. She wanted to
do it for him, to jump in and join him, but she was still outside
herself, still taking it all in. Her very first time…

“Please. Try.” His voice was pleading.

So she tried, but it was too late for this go
around.

With a curse he shuddered in a moment of
wildness, and then his body went very, very still. Once again, he
pulled back and looked down at her, his eyes serious and full of
concern.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I waited as long
as—”

“I know.” She hugged him tight. “I’m—I’m
still learning about—about this.”

He kissed her. “I know.” Then, after a beat,
“I guess we’re gonna have to rest up and try it again.” He glanced
down at his watch, which showed it was after midnight, and sent her
a naughty grin. “Ready for your present, Birthday Girl?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rob gulped his air, as he’d been doing for
the past half hour, and very gently pulled out of her. He’d tried
to be as careful as he could tonight. He’d tried to keep things
slow, sensual. He’d done his damnedest not to crush her under his
weight. But he’d actually never slept with a virgin before, even
when he’d been one himself, so if anyone had some learning to
do…

Although, technically, she was no longer
virginal now, was she?

He felt a bizarre combination of pride and
all-out guilt at this fact. At the very least, he had to make this
first time end right for her.

He slid to the side and ran his fingertips
along her smooth hip, trailing them across her belly and further
down to her beautiful, caress-able thighs.

“Ohhh,” she said. “Y-You don’t have to,
um—”

“Shh,” he told her.

This time, with his own hunger somewhat
sated, he had patience completely on his side.

His fingers tingled as he first found, and
then traced, a series of ever-shrinking circles over her most
sensitive flesh. Not altering the pattern. Letting her become
accustomed to it until she began to predict it, began to need
it.

Her hips started to move with the pattern.
She became one with it. He smiled. It was only a matter of
time.

He knew, when he heard the catch in her
breathing, the time had almost arrived. Now his fingers moved in
circles so small they barely pulsed. He let her find them, let her
cling to them. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he was afraid to
interrupt her. He didn’t want to spoil the spell they’d both worked
so hard to achieve.

And then she broke.

“Rob,” she cried out.

The surprise on her face both delighted and
confused him. What had she expected? That it would be awful? That
he wouldn’t work until dawn, if need be, to satisfy her?

Then he remembered, once again, that this was
her first time. She had no experience, only expectations, and those
were probably based on extremes. Novels or films or fairy tales—all
either glorifying the perfect lover or admonishing the insensitive
rogue for his disregard of the lady’s needs.

Rob was no hero or villain.

He gave in now to his acute desire to kiss
her. A long Happy-Birthday-To-You soul kiss. Afterward, she turned
toward him and snuggled in his arms, yawning. His heart jumped
around like a jackrabbit as he tried to identify the weird
sensations he couldn’t name—at least not all at once and in a
jumble like this.

Yeah, there was passion.

Yeah, he could pick out pure lust and
admiration and affection, too. But there was more.

Friendship, for sure.

A sense of protectiveness toward her. That
one he wasn’t certain he should be feeling, but there it was.

Sentimentality at all the years they’d known
each other. That quiet little kindergartener with the wispy, wavy
hair from way back, even before they started school. That
third-grade girl with the expressive and oh-so-observant eyes. That
young lady she became, still so much of her own spirit—not part of
the high-school collective mind.

And these thoughts were followed by a
solitary one he couldn’t believe actually passed through his
sex-fogged brain:
To have a child with a woman you deeply love
must be amazing. To see your features and hers
combine—awe-inspiring. To create a joint heritage, in the form of a
baby, by this act of lovemaking, would be a kind of
miracle
.

Maybe Tony wasn’t so out of his mind with the
five kids after all.

Rob watched Elizabeth slip into the tranquil
slumber of the innocent, and he shook his head. He was going to
need a twelve-step program or a year of sessions with a damned
shrink to straighten himself out when he got back to Chicago, just
so he could be a normal happy bachelor again.

He put his head down next to hers and closed
his eyes. He didn’t, of course, manage to fall asleep, though.

***

The Morning After. A real one, this time.

Elizabeth tried to wrap her mind around this
fact because, in all truth, she felt
way
more woozy today
than she’d felt after their first totally conscious kiss or even
after that margarita hangover.

And her back was sore. And her joints were
stiff. And though this sofa was comfortable as sofas go, it was not
the kind of furniture choice two people should sleep on long term.
She rubbed her neck and tried not to wake up Rob.

One dark eye fluttered open despite her
efforts.

“Morning, Birthday Girl,” he said, a slow
grin rising on his tantalizing lips. Oh, how she remembered those
lips.

“Morning,” she said back. “Is it a good one?”
She literally held her breath waiting for his reply.

He didn’t answer in words. He leaned over
her, brushed away the quilt he must have flung over them some time
in the night, and then the handsome rascal licked and nipped and
kissed her worries away for what felt like an hour, although it was
probably only five minutes.

“Mmm, good answer,” she said.

He winced. “You know, my right hip and elbow
are killing me.”

She pointed in the direction of the hallway,
hoping he’d understand.

“Ah,” he said. “You have a bedroom? How
convenient.” He pulled her upright and rubbed some of the worst
kinks out of her neck and shoulders. “Please say you’re going to
lead me there, Lizzy.”

She laughed. “Call me Elizabeth.”

“Why?”

“Why not? You prefer to be called Rob.”

He nodded. “True. But Roberto marks me as
someone ethnic when I’m really pretty American. There’s not that
kind of distinction between your two names.”

She tugged him toward her bedroom, praying
she’d remembered to clean it up yesterday. “But the names have
different vibrations. Th-They send off different signals. You know
how Madonna sort of changed her name to Esther for a while? At the
time, she said she wanted to attach herself to the energy of a
different name. That’s kind of how I feel. Lizzy is that
frizzy-haired chubby girl from high school. Elizabeth is still
frizzy-haired, but a grown up. Marginally less awkward.”

He lifted her onto her neatly made (Thank
God!) double bed and leisurely ran his hands over her waist and
hips. No way could he, in the bright light of morning, think those
hips of hers were attractive.

“I never thought you were chubby,” he said,
looking sincere, but she couldn’t entirely believe him. “In fact—”
He lightly pinched the skin around her belly and frowned. “I think
you’re probably too thin now. I think you’re going to need some
chocolate today. Several servings. Just to break even.”

“To break even?”

“Because of all the calories you’re going to
burn this morning.” He grinned big. “As I recall, we have a Take
Two to do.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” She raised her
eyebrows at him and waited to see what he’d do next.

“You bet that’s right. Oh.” He got up and
wandered out of the room—totally, gloriously naked!—returning a
moment later with his wallet. He flicked one condom on her
nightstand and scowled. “We may actually have to leave your bedroom
today, much as I don’t want to. I only had two of these in my
wallet and we used the first one last night.”

She decided to let him sweat it out. He could
find out about her unopened box of Trojans later, when it suited
her to be forthcoming with information. “Guess we’ll just have to
make this one last a while,” she said, giving him her most demure
smile, batting her eyelashes for extra effect.

His jaw dropped a little and his eyes
narrowed. “You’re kind of a devilish one, aren’t you? This
‘Elizabeth’ that you are now. You like to play at being so sweet,
but really I’m starting to see a trend. When you get comfortable
with someone, that whole Miss Innocent act starts to melt away,
doesn’t it? You’re able to speak your mind way too clearly. In
fact, I’m starting to think that you—”

“Rob?”

He smirked. “If you’re trying to shut me up,
sweetheart, let me tell you someth—”

“I-I have this fantasy.”

He stopped smirking and shut up.

She hadn’t intended to do this. Not this
soon. Heck, probably not ever, but she’d leaped into it without
thinking. (See what kind of trouble a big mouth got you into?) And
now it was either follow through or have him call her bluff.

She sighed, got out of bed and pulled open
her bottom dresser drawer. There she drew out three long silk
scarves. Roberto Gabinarri…to be all hers. Bound and gagged,
finally. Now
that
was a birthday present.

“I’ve had this, um, fantasy about you for a
long, long time.” There, she’d finally admitted it and, yet, Rob
didn’t look repulsed. He looked downright intrigued.

“R-Really?”

She grinned. It was so great to hear him
stumble on a word for a change. When a gabby Gabinarri was reduced
to stuttering, emotion must be dancing around in there somewhere.
Now, if she could just get him to stop chattering altogether for a
while, maybe he’d finally be able to hear her heart speaking to him
over the incessant talking.

“What, um, do you want to do?” He blinked at
her and got into bed again, his expression utterly eager.

She slid in next to him and held out the
first scarf, touching it to his mouth. “I want you to listen—not
talk.” She dangled the other two. “And I want you to stay in one
place when you’re doing it.”

For a long moment he paused, his eyes
scanning her face with the most incredulous look. Then, at last, he
laughed out loud. “Why, you little minx,” he said, reaching for the
scarves and twining one thoughtfully around his wrist.

But, for the next hour, those were the last
words he said.

***

Over the following week, Elizabeth tried hard
not to think about
only
Rob.

Instead, her mind chose to contemplate the
highly exciting things Rob could do, with or without scarves. The
way Rob’s obscenely sexy body felt against hers, whether they were
on her bed or on her sofa. The various adventures they had with
sundae toppings in the privacy of her apartment. (She’d come to
have a special fondness for whipped cream.) The witty conversations
with Rob that made her head spin, either at the shop or at his
mother’s house or just at some random location in town. And how
being in Rob’s very presence could make her forget to breathe.

Stuff like that.

At Gabinarri family dinners, she had to
remind herself to clean her plate and talk about only topics of
conversation suitable for young ears. Although, admittedly, Rob’s
mother looked at her as if she were the new family savior, and the
woman would’ve probably forgiven her just about any infraction.
Alessandra Gabinarri had bridal bouquets in her bright brown eyes
whenever she glanced in Elizabeth’s direction.

With Nick, Jacques and even Gretchen, she was
cryptic in her explanations of her whereabouts, and she knew she
was being discussed behind her back. Gretchen and Jacques,
especially, would stop talking abruptly almost whenever Elizabeth
walked into a room.

They were her best friends so, naturally,
they wouldn’t be blinded to the obvious. They plied her with sweets
whenever she saw them, but she knew what they were doing. She could
almost hear them saying:

“
Mon Dieu.
Rob’s going to break her
heart.”

“I know, but will that girl listen?”

“She’s the dearest
chéri
but, face it,
she’s not in his league. Nowhere close.”

“Few are. Maybe I’ll make her some
crème-orange truffle parfaits and she’ll forget about him.”

“Good plan. I’ll whip up a few pastries, too.
What do you think? Blackberry tarts or caramel-apple
turnovers?”

Elizabeth would’ve gained ten pounds from all
their love and concern if she weren’t burning off hundreds of
calories every night. And, no, she couldn’t credit her
X-treme
Abs and Thighs
DVD. It was collecting dust by the TV.

On the morning of the fourteenth, she and
Jacques were at the bakery he worked at when he wasn’t moonlighting
at Tutti-Frutti. Both nervously awaited Camden’s arrival. Time at
last for the photos, and Jacques, a man who typically possessed a
storehouse of excess energy, paced and fidgeted in uncharacteristic
agitation.

“Ready?” she asked him, her own anxiety
taking a different form than her friend’s. What was Rob doing right
now? When could she see him alone?

“But of course,” Jacques said, his eyes
darting restlessly between his pastries and the door. “I’ve got it
all laid out. Just look at these plump, delectable—”