Ready for You (5 page)

Chapter Six

“Sorry to leave you with all this to unpack, but…”

“I know. Thanks for your help.” Rocco patted his son’s back. They’d put in a long morning, loading and unloading the U-haul truck. His apartment had been small, so at least he didn’t have much, though his couch and the few other pieces scattered throughout the new house made it seem empty.

“I guess you’ll be returning the favor in a few months.”

“Sure thing,” Rocco said. He would take Shawn to UCLA in September while their mother would travel with Sabrina to SDSU in August. “Have a good night.”

“I will,” Shawn said with a wink as he left. Rocco sank into the couch. Every minute of his forty years settled with him. His son would be enjoying some cute young thing’s company while he’d be here sweating and working alone, and not on anything as fun as a sexy woman.

He blew out a breath.
No point thinking about it and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t enjoyed his share of female company over the years, even when he shouldn’t have been.
He stood and stretched before he went into the kitchen.

He unpacked all four boxes, dishes and glasses, a few pots and pans, spatulas and the like, and a few pantry items--rice, pasta, jarred sauce, cans of chili, vegetables, and pears.  He glanced in the empty cabinets, wondering what possessed him to buy a three-bedroom, two-bath house when he was a single man. A condo would have been more appropriate, but he liked the place and he’d gotten a great deal on it. It would be something to leave his kids.

He ambled into his bedroom, the only other fully furnished room in the house. He put away his clothes in the closet and old walnut dresser before he found the box with his few sheets, blankets, and towels. The silence pulsated in his ears as he pulled out a set of blue sheets and made the bed.

Now to the serious work.
He found his tools and went into the second bathroom, where he began the long process of prepping it for a remodel. He’d already painted half of the rooms in the last few weeks, but he needed to rework the bathrooms and kitchen before he started on the exterior.

After he’d worked several hours, he reentered the living room with a critical eye. But, with a nod, he grinned, satisfied that this room, at least, was ready. He set up the 32 inch flat screen TV. It looked a lot smaller in this room than it had in the ten by twelve living
room
at his apartment. After he hooked up the DVD player, he trotted out to his truck for his CD case and loaded his favorite Pavarotti CD into the player. He left the door open, the sun beginning to dim in the early evening, but still plenty bright enough not to need lights on. He vacuumed with the shop vac and folded boxes. As he was about to take the vacuum to the garage, he turned at a knock on the door. He gripped the handle as hard as it looked like Chiara held the basket she carried, her knuckles pale with the pressure.

“Hi,” he said. He set down his vac so he could take the basket from her. She stood outside the door, as if she wouldn’t come in.

“I thought you might be tired after moving in so I brought you some dinner. I hope you like it.” She stepped back and put up her hand in goodbye.

“Thanks. Why don’t you join me?” He eased closer to her, not caring that his voice and his movement had too eager an edge.

“I can’t…”

“Your kids waiting?”

“No, they’re out with their dad.” She fingered her throat.

His body revved. “No reason we both should eat alone, right?” She hesitated, standing on the pathway. He smiled and attempted to turn on the charm. “You went to all this trouble—might as well enjoy it too.”

“Okay,” she said, though she maintained a neutral expression.

“Thanks,” he said as he led her into the kitchen, where he set the basket on the counter. It was pretty heavy. He turned to her and stared a moment. She looked around, running her hand through her hair, her other hand in the left pocket of her snug but not tight jeans. Her top was tighter, accentuating her figure a little too well, considering the circumstances. He cleared his throat. “You look good in that color.” Her shirt was the same bright pink as the dress she’d worn last weekend.

“Thanks,” she said. “Your house is great.
Even nicer than I remember.
I could really cook in this kitchen.” Her face now matched her tee. She moved past him to unpack the basket. Her spicy orange scent teased his senses briefly. He swallowed, unable to move for a moment with the image of her in his kitchen. Actually cooking in his kitchen, coming home to her… “I’ll have dinner ready soon, unless you want me to wait?” She pulled out rolls and a salad, her small muscles visible in each movement.

“No, I’ll be back out in twenty minutes. Just shout if you need anything.” Like if she needed to shower with him. He clenched his teeth.

She paused for a moment. “I’m good, thanks.” She sure was. He’d rather have her for dinner. He turned and rubbed his hands over his head as if to stop himself from continuing in his thoughts. It didn’t work.

When he walked back into the kitchen, his body, if not his mind, clean, she had the table set, the delicious smells of a homemade Italian dinner filled the room. He smiled then frowned. What the hell was he playing at here? She was a married woman, she should be making her husband’s and sons’ dinner, not his.

“Your
husband take
your kids camping again?”

“No,” she said as she filled two glasses with water and set them on the table. “He took them to his company picnic this afternoon. Then he was taking them out to dinner.”

“Don’t like company picnics either?” They both stood by their chairs and glared at each other.

“He didn’t ask me. He knew I had a meeting of my critique group and didn’t tell me about it until this morning. It’s his little way of…maybe this was a mistake. The dinner’s all ready.
Buon appettito.”

“Wait…just sit down. I hate to eat alone. Please.” He swept his hand toward her chair.
As close to begging a woman as he’d ever gotten.
She slid into her seat as he sat and put a napkin on his lap.

“I hope you like lasagna,” she said.

“Of course.
What’s not to like? Meat, noodles, cheese, tomato sauce, it’s got it all.” Kind of like her. She smiled. “You made it?” She nodded. “Delicious,” he said after a few bites. As creamy, hot, and savory as…she blushed as he stared at her. Dammit, was he being that obvious?

“Don’t like your own food?” he asked after a few minutes watching her take polite little bites.

“Sure, but I…why do you ask?”

“You don’t seem to enjoy it.”

“I do, too much maybe. So I try to, well, not.” She shrugged.

“You’re afraid of enjoying too much?”

“Aren’t you afraid of anything?” she said, meeting his gaze with a challenge.

“I could say no, but then you’d call me a liar.” She smiled. Did the room get brighter? “I’m afraid for other people, my kids, my parents,
my
family.”

“Aren’t most of us? But you personally are fearless?”

“Should I be scared of something?” he said.

“You don’t like to eat alone. Are you afraid of being by yourself?”

“Are you?” No way would he answer that, not even to himself.

“More than you, probably,” she said before looking at her plate and taking a few bites. She started pushing her food around. Maybe he should have let her go. He ate faster.

“Don’t you want to save room for dessert?” she asked after he’d listened to the clock tick away several minutes. The music had stopped.

“Depends.”
For her sweetness, hell yes.

“Chocolate.”

“Tempting.”
She smiled. “What? Was that a test?”

“Maybe,” she said.

She was full of secrets. Secrets he’d pay, bleed, or otherwise pain
himself
to discover. “Why are you really called dirty girl?”

“That’s my secret.”

“Is it? Your sister knows.” He grinned, but she frowned and rose, stacking his plate on hers. “I’ll do the dishes,” he said. He followed her to the sink, where she stepped aside.

“Mind if I turn on the radio?” she asked.

“What station?”

“94.9
or
KMEL.”

“My kids listen to those.”

“Well?”

He shrugged. She turned on the radio, set to KNBR, the sports station, flipped to FM, and twisted the dial. The static and quick snatches of music gave way to a mellow hip hop beat. She went to the closet and pulled out the broom. He washed the few dishes quickly and turned as she sang along to some song about doing the unthinkable. She twitched her hips as she put the broom back, still singing softly. He came up behind her, his vision completely focused on her, each detail of her being glowed, her deep chocolate hair, her raspberry top, her luscious blueberry hips and rear--
uh
.

“’If you ask me, I’m ready,’” she whispered.

He reached for her, lightheaded. A ringtone broke her song and she turned to look, only to step back at his nearness. Her face turned candy apple red and she jogged into the living room and answered her cell. He dropped into his chair.

“I went out for a walk,” she said.
The husband, most likely.
“What? Okay. Just remember I’m taking them to church in the morning.
Fine.
Bye.” Her phone snapped shut, matching the tone of her voice as she’d spoken.

“Everything okay?” he asked when she walked in, clutching her purse and blinking.

“Yeah.
Do I look stupid to you?”

“No, why?”

“Never mind.
I should go. You can keep the lasagna if you want.”

He might never get another chance. He stepped to her, took her purse, and set it in the chair. She gazed at him--tears sparkled in her eyes. He placed one hand on her arm, the other on her cheek. She was soft and warm. “You look like you need to be told what a beautiful, sexy, wanted woman you are.”

She took his hand and kissed his palm. He closed his eyes. They shot open when she licked each finger, her tongue flicking and hot, before she brushed her lips on his, a spark before the burst when they kissed. This was dessert--luscious, lingering,
long
, with all the little mms of enjoyment. He grabbed her ass and squeezed--those jeans needed to come off. She jumped and wrapped her legs around his waist. He held on and carried her to the couch, smiling under the pressure of her.

Before he could set her down, she squirmed, and, in a flurry of kissing, licking, sucking, and tugging, made her way from his ears down. He tangled his hands in her hair, as silky and thick as he’d imagined. His thoughts slowed while his breathing sped, as if he’d run sprints. She sank to her knees in front of him and frantically undid the snap of his shorts.
Time, yes, no, she only has time…

“Wait,” he choked out.

“What?” She looked up at him with a questioning glance.

“Bedroom,” he said, offering his hand. She hopped up and followed him, sliding her hands over him as they walked down the hall.

“Hell,” he said. He turned and pushed her to the wall with a gentle thump. She smiled suggestively before they kissed again and he found her soft, round breasts, a perfect fit in his hands. She discovered his hardness and purred appreciatively before she tugged and fingered him until he moaned.
“Now.”

She slid down him again but he pulled her up. “Don’t you want me to?” she asked, her breath shallow. She had some little tricks--she must know what he really needed.

“I want you,” he said. He kissed her neck.
Tasty.

“I can’t.” She shivered.

He pulled back and his temperature normalized. “It’s all sex.”