Part 24 (2/2)
He looked up, startled. ”Lee. I thought you were going to call.”
”I did. Are you okay? Why are you sitting here in the dark? Did something happen?”
Nick stood, his movements jerky and arthritic. He moved like an old man did after sitting for too long.
He waved his hand toward the bags on the table. ”I got dinner. What time is it?”
”Nick, what's wrong with you?” ”Nothing.”
His eyes changed. They went blank. She'd never seen him look at her like that. She stepped back, feeling as if she'd been slapped.
”Fine.” She threw her briefcase down and cursed silently. So he'd reinstated the ”don't ask, don't tell” policy. As if her day hadn't been bad enough, she had to come home to this.
Rosalie went into the bedroom, shut the door, and sat on the bed trying hard not to cry. She was mad, that's all. He'd told her to call him. She had, and he'd left her standing on a street corner in the dark. Then he'd dismissed her when she wanted to know what the h.e.l.l was wrong with him. She had every right to be p.i.s.sed. G.o.d, she hoped this didn't have something to do with Premier.
Rosalie took a deep breath that sounded suspiciously like one taken between sobs. She'd be d.a.m.ned if she'd let him hurt her. Well, no more.
She changed out of her suit and threw it on the treadmill just to p.i.s.s him off. Dressed in her ugliest nights.h.i.+rt and ratty sweats, she checked her face in the mirror and practiced her I-could-give-a-s.h.i.+t look before leaving the bedroom.
The table was set, the plates filled, and the wine poured. Nick shrugged. ”I thought you'd be hungry.”
”Yeah, I am.”
He held the chair for her, and she sat, wondering what the h.e.l.l was going on, but unable to ask.
”There's cannoli cannoli for dessert.” ”Oh.” for dessert.” ”Oh.”
Rosalie ate but didn't taste anything. Conversation was nonexistent. After they did the dishes in silence, she did work she didn't need to do while Nick watched TV in the bedroom. Dave went from room to room, looking as confused as she felt.
Nick took Dave for a walk at about eleven. When they returned, he stood beside Rosalie.
She looked up and met his shuttered eyes. ”What?”
”Are you coming to bed?”
”No.” She shuffled through her paperwork. ”I've got work to finish before tomorrow.”
He watched her for a minute, as if he wanted to say something, but turned away and walked quietly into the bedroom. After a few minutes, she saw the light go off. The silence was deafening.
Nick peered over the edge of a freshly dug grave. He pulled the collar of his overcoat together and wondered what he'd done with his cashmere scarf. The wind cut through all the layers he wore and chilled him bone deep. Rosalie stood more than an arm's length away, staring at him as he looked down into the depths of the empty grave. Her sadness smacked into him like a cold wave. A tear ran down her cheek, and he reached for her. He was-n't sure if it was to comfort her or himself. His hand found nothing but air, as her image began to fade.
Nick awoke with a start. Breathless. His heart raced, and he jerked. Rosalie, whose sleeping body lay draped over his, grumbled something. She took a deep breath and snuggled closer, using his shoulder as a pillow. Her soft, steady breathing warmed his neck. He pulled her closer and held on, telling himself it had just been a bad dream. He was still able to reach out and touch her. He could make love to her. She was still his. For now, at least.
He ran his hand down her bare back and remembered how she'd looked that morning-s.e.xy, confused, and indignant. No one could do indignant better than Rosalie. Sometimes, he ticked her off, just because it was such a turn-on. There wasn't a time Rosalie hadn't made every nerve in his body stand at attention. He wanted her. Even when she looked like death. Even when she was dressed in her rattiest, form-camouflaging rags. Even when she wore ugly clothes like those she'd worn earlier.
He rolled them over and stroked her smooth skin while she slept. Even asleep, she was the most sensual woman he'd ever known. He took her already-tight nipple into his mouth and slid between her legs. Her hips moved beneath him, rubbing against his arousal. Rosalie sucked in a breath and pulled his head closer to her breast.
”Nick” she sighed. He couldn't tell if she was awake yet. He didn't care. Nick needed her-right now. She'd wake up eventually, and he was going to make sure she'd awaken with a smile on her face.
”Oh, G.o.d, yes.” Rosalie was almost afraid to open her eyes and discover it was an extremely vivid dream. A delicious, head-swimming, pulse-racing, breath-catching dream. She wrapped her legs around the s.e.x G.o.d, who in her dream looked exactly like Nick, and felt him shudder.
Stubble sc.r.a.ped against her breast, and a chill came over her when the cool air whisked over her damp nipple.
”Open your eyes, Lee. Look at me.”
Darn it. She wanted to keep on dreaming. She didn't want to take the chance that she'd see a blank stare. She was already exposed, raw.
She wiggled, increasing the pleasure, but not enough. Satisfaction was out of reach.
A soft kiss from familiar, insistent lips slid over her mouth. She heard a groan, then nothing but cool air washed over her body.
”Come on, sweetheart, I need you to look at me.”
She really hated it when he called her sweetheart in that deep, sleepy, ”do me, baby” voice of his.
”Please, Lee.”
The bed dipped beside her, and she rolled toward him. She opened her eyes, and her Nick stared back at her. He sat stroking her bare body. His gaze branded her and pulled her into a swirling vortex, surrounded by pulsating body heat. She held onto him as he stretched out over her. His body touched hers as she arched her back and flipped them over. A look of surprise, then pleasure came over his face.
She straddled his hips. ”I want to make love to you this time.”
Rosalie held his gaze as she slowly slid her body onto his, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rubbing against the coa.r.s.e hair of his chest. He hissed before he lifted his hips to drive himself deeper into her. They clung to each other. She felt possession and possessed. When they moved, their gazes locked, their bodies entwined, and they jumped off the edge of a cliff. Fear, sorrow, and a hailstorm of feeling pelted her. She saw desperation and need in his eyes. She'd never seen Nick vulnerable before. The man making love to her was stripped bare.
Rosalie held him, made love to him. Took what he offered and gave all she had. She opened herself up and invited him into her heart, her soul. Why, she didn't know. Maybe because he'd asked. Maybe because he'd met her halfway. His kisses breathed life into her. Their bodies moved as one, and they came apart together, clinging to each other and holding off the dark cloud that loomed over them.
Later, Rosalie awoke alone to the alarm clock. When she reached for Nick, she felt only cold sheets. He was long gone. She wondered if it had all been a dream. The way he'd looked. The way she felt. The way they'd made love. A s.h.i.+ver of apprehension ran through her. She reached over to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. A pile of his boxers lay neatly folded next to her thongs. Relief rushed through her. For a moment, she'd thought maybe last night had been his way of saying good-bye. She laughed at herself. She was being ridiculous. He'd had a bad day and was a little quiet. It wasn't the end of the world.
She stretched and called for Dave. When Dave didn't jump up on the bed, she smiled. He'd taken Dave to work with him. She bet he'd even buckled the big guy in.
Nick hadn't fallen back to sleep after he and Rosalie had made love. He'd spent the rest of the night holding her and memorizing the way she felt against him. The enormity of what had happened still had the power of a fist in the gut. Their lovemaking had always been incredible, athletic, and rang bells he'd never heard before. Last night had felt like the beginning of the end. It was as if she'd known it, too. It was more tender, more touching, more intense. h.e.l.l, it was so powerful, the memory alone brought tears to his eyes. He'd never felt anything so deeply, and he knew he'd never feel that with anyone else. Only Rosalie.
”Nick?” Rosalie called his name and saw that he was somewhere else. Again. ”Nick?” She reached across the pizza box and gave him a shake. His eyes focused as he came back from wherever he'd been-probably the same place he was since his strange behavior had begun Monday night. She knew that something was up with him, something he wasn't sharing. She'd asked once, but it had come across loud and clear that the subject was off-limits. She just hoped he wasn't feeling guilty about s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her, her career, and Premier Motorcars over.
”Yeah. Um... what did you say?”
”I asked if you wanted a beer.” He looked more sad, preoccupied, and restless than guilty. His gaze shot to the pizza between them as, if he'd never seen it before.
”Yeah, a beer would be good.”
Rosalie got an IPA for him-one of those disgustingly dark beers she could stand a spoon in-and a Hefeweizen for herself. She sat down, put the beer on the coffee table in front of him, and gnawed on her crust while she watched him peel the label off his beer bottle.
He'd hardly touched the pizza. This distance between them was driving her nuts. He'd been acting as if he wanted to be somewhere else. Maybe it wasn't guilt at all. Maybe he was moving on. h.e.l.l, from the looks of it, he'd already moved on-in spirit, if not in body.
Rosalie tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs refused to work. Could she be coming down with pneumonia again? It felt as if a lead weight had landed on her chest, making it almost impossible to breathe.
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