Part 5 (1/2)
”Couldn't be better. I lovvvvve ice cream.” She had a large mound of ice cream on her spoon. She aimed it at her mouth, but it fell onto the table. ”Oops,” she said. ”I think it's the wine. It sneaked up on me.”
Pete smiled. She was snockered. ”You're not much of a drinker, are you?”
”Am I acting silly?”
”Not yet.”
”I tend to get uninhibited when I drink,” she said.
”Oh boy.”
”And then I get tired. Wine always makes me tired.”
”How long would you say we've got between uninhibited and tired?”
”Not long. Minutes, actually.”
”Is there anything you'd especially like to do while you're in the uninhibited stage?”
”Eat more ice cream.”
He spooned ice cream into her. ”Anything else?”
”We could talk. There are some things I should say to you.”
”You really know how to bust loose when you're uninhibited, don't you?”
She smiled at him. ”I have my moments.”
”Is this one of them?”
Louisa waved her iced-tea spoon. ”I was a late bloomer.”
He crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. He had a feeling this was going to be interesting.
”In fact, I didn't bloom at all until I was in college. And even then...” She sighed and dabbled in the ice cream carton. ”I had this silly idea that I should be in love before I...you know.”
”It's not a silly idea.”
They both paused, each surprised he'd said such a thing.
”Do you make love to women you don't love?” she asked.
”Only if it's an emergency.”
She made an effort to focus her eyes on him. ”That's not a serious answer.”
He reached across the table and took her hand. He turned it palm up and kissed the soft center. ”I don't think either of us would like the serious answer.”
Heat radiated outward at the touch of his lips on her flesh. ”Have you ever been in love?”
It was a complicated question. Certainly, there'd been women about whom he'd felt deeply. And there were a few voluptuous females early on who turned him inside out and left him flopping around like a beached flounder, struggling to survive. But he couldn't honestly say he'd ever been in love. Lately, he'd begun to wonder if he was capable of loving someone.
”No,” he told her. ”I've never been in love.”
”Me, either,” she said, yawning. ”I thought I was once, but it was just wishful thinking.” She rested her head on the table and fell asleep.
Pete stared at her. He'd never seen anyone nod off on a gla.s.s and a half of wine before. He scooped her up and carried her to the couch. She was dressed in a soft pink suit and heels. He didn't know what to do with her. He had a strong temptation to loosen her clothes in the interest of comfort, but he resisted. She'd probably get the wrong idea and think he'd done it just to fondle her. She'd probably be right.
He covered her with a quilt and went about the job of cleaning the kitchen. When he was done, he sat across from her on the coffee table and watched her sleep. She looked like a little girl, he thought. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth soft and pouty, black lashes curved against her fine translucent skin. Her hair curled around her face in casual disarray. His throat felt tight and his heart ached with an emotion he couldn't identify. The ache in his groin was less confusing. He knew what was causing that. And he knew it was a lost cause.
Chapter 4.
Louisa awakened to the aroma of bacon frying and the unpleasant sensation of having a crus.h.i.+ng weight on her chest. The weight turned out to be Spike. He opened his yellow cat eyes and stared at her for several seconds before his lids dropped closed. Louisa s.h.i.+fted under him, and he growled low in his throat. Two masculine hands reached over Louisa's head and lifted the cat off her.
”Morning,” Pete said.
Louisa tilted her head back to see him. ”What happened?”
”You had a gla.s.s and a half of wine and fell asleep.”
She took a fast survey of her condition. She was on his couch, fully clothed, under a quilt. ”Have I slept here all night?”
”Yup.”
She sighed. ”I'm not very good at drinking.”
She tugged at her skirt and swung her feet onto the floor, still swaddled in the quilt. ”I make up for my alcohol intolerance with my temper. I inherited the belligerent gene.”
He handed her a gla.s.s of freshly squeezed orange juice and a plate heaped with bacon and scrambled eggs.
”Thanks, Mom,” she said.
He slouched in a chair across from her. He wasn't feeling especially maternal. He was feeling s.e.xually frustrated and emotionally unstable. He'd spent the better part of the night staring at his bedroom ceiling, wondering what the h.e.l.l he was doing with his life, wondering what it was about Louisa Brannigan that had him suddenly feeling dissatisfied and lonely.
He could easily have awakened her and shuffled her off to her own apartment, but the simple truth was, he liked having her in his living room. Spike was a good friend, but he was small. He didn't fill the apartment the way Louisa did. Pete liked the way Louisa sighed and rustled when she slept. It was a comforting sound...like a crackling fire on a cold day, or rain against a windowpane.
She drank the juice and munched on a strip of bacon. ”It feels strange not to have to rush off to work.”
”What'll you do today?”
”Get my car fixed. Then I suppose I should start thinking about getting another job.”
”I have a deal for you.”