Crush on You (31 page)

She yelped again, sweeter now, because it was followed by a moaning sigh. Yeah. Yeah, this was the only conversation anyone needed to have tonight. The only truth he was willing to tell. His lips to her heart.

He held her hips in his hands. God, if women knew how much a man loved to feel them tremble in excitement, to taste the arousal that was the result of the strokes of his tongue and fingers, they’d know how much power they held in their palms and in their mouths, and in their—

“Penn,” she whispered, and her hips moved against the shackles of his hands. “
Penn
.”

Oh, baby. She came, subdued as always. As he slid up her boneless form, he shoved away his frustration and only murmured “Gesundheit,” on the way to her mouth.

But she was satisfyingly pliant as she watched him undress through half-lidded eyes. Sated, but still interested. He came down on one elbow, kissing her again. Her hands tunneled through his hair, slid down his shoulders, stroked along one arm, from bicep to wrist.

He settled on his back and she obligingly moved on top, kissing more. Her hands caressed his chest, his other arm, her fingers stroking the cup of his palm. That touch went straight to his cock. He groaned, but kept still, letting her kiss him until he had to run his hand along her back to her ass—but he couldn’t. Stilling, he tipped up his chin. “Damn it,” he said, staring at the cuffs that she’d attached to his wrists and to the headboard.

She smiled at him, all cat-with-cream. “My turn.”

Then she drew her tongue down his chest. A wave of heat traveled over his skin to meet her wet stroke and he closed his eyes. She blew a cooling breath along the path, and more blistering heat rushed over him.

“Alessandra?” His eyes opened. Oh, God, oh, God.

She was positioned over his erection, gaze on his face, her tongue poised to taste. She licked him.

Killed him.

He groaned as she blew another delicate breath along the wet line she’d created. Then she did the whole thing again . . . and drew away. He tugged at the cuffs to no avail. “Mean,” he managed out of his dry mouth.

But not for long, because soon she was back, the ends of her hair tickling his groin as her mouth explored with teasing strokes and tiny licks. Her hands fondled his balls and he felt them tighten, draw close to his body and her sweet, wet mouth.

When she sucked on him, his fisted hands flexed in reflexive response. Velcro tore. His arms came free of the cuffs. She giggled.

He loved the sound.

God, he loved her so much.

“Get ready for retribution, sweet thing,” he said.

She obligingly fell flat on her back and he donned a condom with jerky movements. He crawled onto her body, cradling her beautiful face in his palms.

A wave of emotion came over him. He swallowed, his muscles tensing. This wasn’t right. His body pulled away from hers. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” he said slowly.

“What?” She arched a brow. “Now? You’re going to finally finish that conversation
now
?”

“Yeah.” Because it seemed wrong, a kind of betrayal, to come inside her, while knowing she thought he cared for another woman. “I’m not in love with Lana, okay?” There. Shit. That wasn’t so bad. That wasn’t the bad part. The stupid, foolish Penn part. “I was never even close to being in love with her.”

“Oh.” Alessandra, the perverse creature, looked disappointed.

“That’s a problem for you?”

“Well, it means I didn’t need to dislike her after all. I was all ready to discourage Roger—”

“You should still discourage Roger.” His jaw tightened. “She’s a con, a cheat, a grifter, okay?” Disgusted with himself and the situation, he started to move off the bed, but she wrapped her arms around him, and that embrace was stronger than any handcuff.

“What are you saying?”

“I met her through the show. She was a participant’s sister-in-law. We went out a couple of times, true, but it wasn’t love that brought us together. She had a sob story, okay? A story that I swallowed whole. I let her move into my pool house, I introduced her to people in the business, and then one day . . .”

She raised up on her elbows. “One day?”

“I came home to find she’d disappeared—but first she’d cleaned out what she could, including a household bank account that had an easy-to-guess password.”

He sighed. After that, why not the rest? He explained he hadn’t called the cops because he’d wanted to put the incident behind him. Never had he anticipated she’d show up in Napa, on Roger’s arm.

“And you didn’t tell him right away because—” He saw the knowledge dawn in her eyes. “Because you thought it might jeopardize the winery’s
Wedding Fever
publicity.”

Her eyes closed. Then she drew him down and kissed him again, luscious, sweet . . . and salty. The flavor of her tears.

“Alessandra . . .”

“Shh,” she said. Then she was kissing him some more, languorous, long exchanges. Her tongue rubbed slowly against his, her body undulated, her bare flesh pressing close to leaving indelible marks etched onto his skin. He rolled to his back, sinking into the mattress as he sank into her taste.

Then she was up on her knees, taking him inside her. This was languorous, too, not the near-frantic slaking that his body had clamored for the times before. This was a long ride to shore, on the perfect wave with the sun beating down and the day more perfect than any one known before.

Alessandra was moving, moaning, and he caressed her pretty breasts and pinched her nipples as her volume increased. This was her show, and he let her set the pace, even as he felt that inevitable tug on his senses. He wasn’t going to last.

But she broke first, her body shaking, her pelvis grinding, her passion sounding—loud!—in the room. “
Penn!
”

Triumph rose from his heart to his throat, he wanted to shout, too, to take a victory lap with his fist in the air, but then his own release crashed over him.

He came to himself minutes later, with his body beached on her sheets, his hands and legs wide, the Nun of Napa curled at his side. He rolled his head to kiss the top of her head. She returned a drowsy sound. “You nearly took the roof off, young lady,” he said.

She made another little noise and burrowed her cheek on his chest. That beating organ inside of it tumbled. How had this happened? he asked himself.

How had Penn Bennett, who just months ago had been made fool of by another woman, been fool enough to fall in love with a beauty known far and wide as the Nun of Napa? She wasn’t starchy or sinless, however. Instead it was worse. She was sweet and hot and such a to-the-marrow romantic that she would content herself to live on dreams of what couldn’t be for the rest of her life.

Damn that legendary love story, the wedding wine, those bride-and-groom cake toppers. No wonder she was so sentimental. Starry-eyed to the soul.

Roll all that together with the ghost of Saint Tommy, and Penn didn’t stand a chance.

Yet still . . .

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” he heard himself whisper. He had no idea if she was sentient, or if sleep had already taken her away.

“Alessandra.” He kissed her head again, and then the thing he’d never meant to feel, let alone say, he freed from his heart. “Alessandra Baci, I love you.”

By morning, Alessandra had forgiven Penn for that tossed off “I love you.” He was from L.A., right? Hollywood. He couldn’t know how his formulaic response to what they’d shared in her bed had bothered her. He was from the kingdom of air kisses and forty-two-hour marriages, wasn’t he? When he said the word
love
, he probably meant the L-U-V kind and she counted herself lucky that he’d refrained from adding a “babe” at the end of the phrase.

But that was how he’d meant it, she decided as she stomped around the kitchen making coffee. She should have responded in kind. “Sure, sure, luv you, too, babe.” She tried it out in an airy tone.

“Are you talking to me?”

With a jerky movement, she swung around to face him. He propped his shoulder against the doorjamb, wholly comfortable in damp hair, no shirt, jeans, and bare feet. A look that made her wholly
un
comfortable.

She plucked at the lapel of her fuzzy robe. “It’s a little warm in here, isn’t it?”

His smile grew slowly, as if he knew exactly what—who—was the source of all her heat. The rat. His naked feet took him closer to her, and her pulse sped up.

“Maybe we should get you out of all these”—fingering the fabric belt tied around her waist, he focused on the pink figures cavorting about the pale blue plush and his smile widened—“flamingoes?”

Embarrassment crawled over her skin. She’d never spent an entire night with a man in her bed. After jolting awake, she’d raced to the shower and then raced downstairs in her usual morning-wear while he was still sleeping. She didn’t have any fancy negligees, just her scruffy slippers and her fuzzy flamingoes.

“I don’t have anything sexy,” she blurted out.

His palm brushed her hair off her forehead. “I hate to argue with such a beautiful girl on such a beautiful morning. However . . .” His other hand loosened the belt and the robe parted at the center. His fingertips tickled her belly and then slid up to cup her breast. “You’re wrong,” he said, tweaking her nipple.

She moaned, and in her own ears it sounded overloud. His half smile grew smug. “Music to my ears,” he whispered against one of hers.

Her knees wobbled. “Penn.” Was his name a plea or an admonishment? She leaned into him, still not sure.
“Penn . . .”

The sound of rubber tires on the gravel outside the house had her leaping back. She yanked the sides of her robe together again. “Someone’s here.”

He strolled to the back door and pulled the gingham curtains covering the glass aside in order to glance through. “You’re right.”

She’d already retied her robe. Now she shooed him in the direction of the staircase. “Go on, go on,” she urged.

Knuckles rapped on wood just as she was pouring from the pot of fresh coffee. Taking deep breaths, she crossed to the door and pulled it open. On the other side stood Tommy’s mother.

“Sally.” The tips of her ears felt hot and she resisted the urge to peek over her shoulder to make sure Penn wasn’t loitering nearby. “You’re an early riser this morning.”

“And you are, too,” the woman said, stepping into the room with a large box in her arms. “I feel like there’s so much to do before Saturday.”

“You’ll get everything done,” Alessandra assured her. “The wedding will be perfect.”

From somewhere above, a loud thump sounded. Her stomach tumbled, but she gave the older woman her most serene smile, as if every day invisible elephants dropped hand weights overhead. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Love it,” Sally answered, sliding the box she held onto the kitchen table. “And I’d love the chance to talk to Penn, too.”

Another stomach somersault. “How, um, why would you think, uh . . .” Did Sally know he was here? Alessandra thought frantically. Of course Sally couldn’t know he was here. “Maybe later . . .”

“Now works for me,” Penn said, strolling into the room.

Alessandra wanted to scream. What was he doing? She was wearing her thick-as-a-rug, utilitarian robe and Penn appeared as relaxed as any morning visitor—thank God he’d put on his shirt—but it wouldn’t be a huge leap to imagine they’d spent the night together doing all sorts of un-nun-like activities. It was possible she’d never forgive him for not staying hidden upstairs.

Sally smiled at him. “I recognized your truck out front.”

Damn. Damn! Caught red-faced, and it was all his fault.

He glanced at Alessandra, his eyebrows slightly raised and she knew he could read her mind. “Had to do some minor repairs here this morning,” he said. “Now there’s a new washer in the faucet.”

On the way to the coffeemaker he passed by Alessandra, leaning close. “And you’re almost out of toothpaste,” he said in a near-soundless whisper. His fingers gave her behind a teasing caress.

She had to swallow her squeak. And her indignation, she supposed, because Sally didn’t seem to suspect a thing as he poured a mug of coffee for her as well as for himself. The two chatted about the weather.

Still nervous that the older woman might guess the truth, Alessandra tried getting rid of one of the guilty parties in the room. “Penn, thanks so much for dropping by this morning, but didn’t you say you had to be leaving ASAP?”

He cut her another look that she pretended not to see. She didn’t understand it, anyway. Surely he wasn’t displeased with her attempt at pretense. Hadn’t they agreed from the beginning that this would be their secret?

After a moment, he gave a little shrug, then glanced down. “Sure. I’ll just go collect my . . . tools.”

Shoes! He meant shoes! He was still barefoot, and if Sally caught on to that . . . Alessandra rubbed her forehead as Penn headed out of the kitchen. “Did you just drop by, Sally, or . . .”