“And?” he prompted.
* * *
And intimacy. Love. A real family. A wife and children of his own. Those were all the things that had flitted through Maribeth's head, the things she didn't dare say to him yet. To her, it seemed so obvious what his future should hold, but was she projecting her own dreams on him? Friends occasionally gave her gentle flak for being pushy and trying to impose her views on others, even if her pushiness was well-intentioned.
She made a dismissive gesture, “Oh, people, closeness. Relationships.” She found a smile. “Relationships can be nice, or haven't you noticed?”
His lips pressed together and then curved a little. “Have to admit, this one's pretty nice. But I'm way out of practice.” His brow furrowed. “D'you know, I've really never dated.”
“Never? Seriously? A hot guy like you?”
“Well, I guess kind of, in my teens. A movie, sneak a drink or a toke together, find a place to have sex. Not all that much talking. Not about anything that wasn't superficial. Then Brooke and I were married, we had a baby, we came to Canada.”
“Married couples have date nights. And they talk about important things.” Although she knew that not all didâand not all women, much less men, wanted that much closeness.
“For us, it was more arguing than talking. And date night was going to the bar and getting hammered. An evening that could end up with either wild sex or a screaming match.”
It was so hard to imagine Brooke and Mo like that. “You two sure weren't good for each other.”
He barked out a laugh. “Understatement.”
Returning to the subject, she said, “After you'd left and were on your own, you never dated? It was just hookups?” He'd kind of said that before, but it seemed so hard to believe. So lonely.
“That was all I trusted myself with. I knew I sucked at relationships, having blown every single important one in my life. Parents, sister, wife, son.”
Yes, lonely. Horribly lonely. Feeling guilty and punishing himself, not trusting himself. “But then things changed,” she said quietly. “And once you turned your life around, you started thinking about relationships.”
His forehead seemed stuck in a frown. “I thought about the ones I'd blown, and how I wanted to apologize.”
“The apology is only the start. What comes after?”
“Amends, the A.A. people say, and I think they're right.”
“And after that? A relationship. You and Brooke are starting a new relationship, one where you'll try to understand and support each other rather than fight. And you want to build a relationship with Evan.”
His frown deepened.
She plowed on. “You want a relationship with me, too. You knew right from the beginning that this would be more than a hookup, and that's what you wanted. And still want.”
“Uh . . .”
“That's okay, Mo, you don't have to say it. Actions speak louder than words.” She winked at him. “You need to learn to listen to your own actions. They're trying to tell you something.”
He rubbed his fingers over the frown lines in his forehead, pressing hard.
She almost felt sorry for the poor guy. Clearly, she was stressing out his brain. “Did you and Brooke talk about Evan and how he's feeling about seeing you?”
He lowered his hands with a sigh. “When she told him I was in town, he said he didn't want to see me. She gave it a couple of days and tried again, and he said he didn't want to hear any more about it. She said his wife, Jess, is halfway convinced that he should see me, but Jess wants some assurance that I'm a decent guy now. That I'm not going to hurt Evan. Emotionally, I mean.” He sighed again. “How can I give her that? All I've got is my word, and why should she trust me?”
Why do I trust you?
Thinking about that, Maribeth said, “You need to see Jess.”
He cocked his head.
“I trust you because I've listened to you,” she told him. “I've heard not just the words but your tone of voice and I've seen your face. You're either a brilliant actor or you're sincere. Jess is a savvy woman.” Smart, practical, and also compassionate. “I think she'd see the same thing I do.” Hearing her own last words, Maribeth gave a quick smile. “Well, hopefully not
exactly
the same thing, but you know what I mean.”
“I could ask Brooke what she thinks,” he said slowly.
“Yes. If people are to trust you, you can't be going behind someone's back.” She tapped her fingertips against the table, musing. “I have an idea. What if you, Brooke, and Jess came to my house? There'd be less pressure than in a one-on-one with just you and your daughter-in-law.” And maybe seeing that Maribeth liked and trusted Mo would help Jess get over her fears.
“That's nice of you, Maribeth.”
“Oh, pfft. I love entertaining friends.” And she'd love to help Mo and his family come to terms with the past and move forward.
Keiko came over to see if there was anything else they needed. They both said no, and she slid a small folder onto the table, its cover made of rice paper with a design of cherry blossoms.
As soon as she'd gone, Mo reached for it.
“I'll split you,” Maribeth offered.
He shook his head. “This one's mine.” He glanced at it and slipped some cash into the folder.
“Thank you, Mo. It's been a lovely evening.” She shot him a flirtatious look. “So far. And I have a feeling it's only going to get better.” After a couple of hours in public and a conversation that had included her parents' death and his estrangement from his son, it was time for some sexy fun.
“I've been looking forward to that.”
They rose and, as Maribeth walked toward the door, Mo followed. He didn't touch her, and she was glad. So many men did that thing where they put a hand on a woman's lower back. Some women enjoyed it, but to Maribeth it often felt like possessiveness and controlâlike she was a doll the guy was steering where he wanted her to go. Mo was close enough, though, that she felt a tingly, almost electric sensation as if sparks were just waiting to fly between their bodies.
Keiko joined them in the entryway and handed them their coats. Mo helped Maribeth on with hers, then pulled on his own jacket and wrapped the jaunty scarf around his neck. Red looked great on him, with his dramatic coloring.
When Mo thanked Keiko and her husband for a delicious meal, the Japanese woman bowed her head and said, “It is our pleasure to have you here, Mo-san. I hope you will come again.”
When she said good night to Maribeth, there was a gleam in her black eyes that looked like approval.
Outside, Maribeth slipped her hand through Mo's arm and shivered. “Brrr. No Caruso. I hope he's inside somewhere. Hmm, now that you have a dog, do you have to go home at night?”
He chuckled. “Nope. Remember, that's a self-sufficient beast.”
Walking quickly, they covered the short distance to her car and climbed in. She pushed the buttons to activate the seat heaters, then drove the few blocks to her house.
As her headlights illuminated the driveway, Caruso came running from the direction of the house.
“Well,” Mo said, “doesn't that beat all? Smart dog. He saw me with you and figured this was where we'd end up.”
“There's no way into the house or garage, so he must have been out on the porch in the cold. Mo, I need you to install a pet door in the sunroom.”
“You sure about that?”
It was a relationship gesture, she realized. More significant, really, than inviting a man to leave a toothbrush and razor in her bathroom, because it meant a physical change to her house. But it wasn't a major change. “Of course. It's not a big deal.” It would be easy enough to buy a new back door and have it installed, if Mo . . . whatever. Left town; broke up with her; ditched the dogâwhich was, she figured, less likely than either of the first two possibilities.
Caruso's tail was actually wagging when Maribeth and Mo stepped out of the car in the garage. He even voluntarily brushed against Maribeth's leg. And when she opened the door to the house, he barely paused before coming inside.
“I bet you're hungry,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “And it just happens that I bought some dog food. I'm not sure it's the kind Ms. Haldenby recommends, but I'm guessing you're not picky.”
She and Mo got Caruso set up in the sunroom with his blanket, food and water, and the outside door open a crack. It felt comfortable, doing these simple tasks with Mo. He was easy to be around, and it seemed as if the two of them were attuned to each other. That surprised her, given what he'd said about his inexperience with relationships.
After she closed the door to the sunroom, Mo caught her hand and tugged her close, putting his arms around her. “You look really sexy in leopard skin.”
She leaned back against the wall of the hallway. “I did notice you leering at my cleavage a time or two.”
“Sorry.”
“Don't be. Why d'you think I wore this top?”
His grin flashed. “You don't mind being seen as an object of lust?”
She laughed. “If that was all it was, I wouldn't be impressed. But I know you like me and you're interested in more than just my body.”
“You sound pretty confident about that.”
“I am. I've dated a lot of guys, and I've turned down a lot, too. I'm good at reading men.”
“If I thought too hard about that, I'd probably be terrified.”
No doubt he would. But rather than say so, she joked, “Then don't think, just act.”
“I'm way better at that.”
He ran a finger over her chest, following the neckline of her top, his deliberate, rough-skinned touch creating shivers of arousal. He went all the way around the neckline and then returned to center front, dipping deep into her cleavage. “Is it warm in your house?” he asked innocently. “You're dewy. But no, it can't be warm.” He brushed the back of his other hand across her budded nipple. “Your nipples say it's cold.”
Of course cold was the last thing she was feeling, but she could play this game, too. Gazing at him seductively, she asked, “You know the best cure for being cold?”
His irresistible grin flashed. “I have a mighty good idea.”
“Then you'll join me?”
“Wouldn't be much fun alone, would it?”
“Oh, I've been known to have a fine time on my own.”
When a flush tinted his cheekbones, she knew he was imagining her masturbating.
“But you're definitely welcome to join in,” she said. “Fortunately, mine's big enough.”
He gaped, and she had to hold back a laugh before delivering her punch line. “My bathtub, that is.”
He blinked. “A bath? You were talking about taking a bath?”
With faux innocence, she said, “What on earth else would I have been talking about?” Then, laughing, she captured his hand and led him upstairs.
Maribeth firmly believed that a woman was entitled to the bathroom of her dreams. In her twenties, she'd had the master bath completely redone, treating herself to green-marbled Italian tile, gold and silver taps, a gorgeous vanity, and heated towel rails. The bathroom had a large window that no one could look in, and the combination of light and humidity was ideal for the couple of orchid plants on the vanity.
She reached down to turn on the bathtub taps.
“Wow,” Mo said. “This room suits you, but I have to admit, I feel out of place.”
It was funny, but until that moment she hadn't realized that her perfect bathroom had been missing something. “No, you're exactly what it needs.”
She tugged the hem of her top upward and with slow, seductive motions, peeled off the garment. Her ivory trousers and her knee-high stockings went next, leaving her in a bra and panties. Her lingerie was peach silk with lace trimming, the bra cut low to showcase her breasts and the thong barely covering the essentials.
Mo had watched without moving, so now she urged, “Come on. You're not going to climb into the bathtub with your clothes on.”
He shook himself like he was coming out of a trance and quickly undid his shirt buttons, yanking the tail of his shirt out of his pants along the way, and then pulled off the shirt. His pants and socks followed, leaving him in slim-fitting black boxers.
Maribeth was constitutionally incapable of having a bath without tossing some sort of bath salts or bubble bath into the water. The tub's wide marble-tiled surround held an assortment of bottles, jars, and bars of soap, and when she reached among them, Mo said, “I'm not a flowers kind of guy.”
“Trust me.” She sprinkled bath salts into the water. “This is sandalwood, and it smells the way you look.” Steam and a woodsy, slightly spicy scent drifted through the air. That aroma fit him so much better than the scent of the basic brands of soap and shampoo he favored.
He sniffed warily, and then smiled. “I like it.”
Of course he did. And so did she.
The mirror was fogging at the edges as Maribeth faced it and said, “Look at us. Such perfect opposites.”
He came to stand beside her. “Yeah, we kind of are, aren't we? You're, like, the ideal female and I'm definitely a guy.”
She was all curves while he was lean muscles. Her skin was pale and creamy, accented by the peach silk and her red hair. His skin was a blend of coffee, cream, and cinnamon, dramatic against the black of his hair and boxers. “The ideal male,” she corrected him. She couldn't help but think what beautiful babies the two of them would make.
While she stayed facing the mirror, he stepped away to turn off the taps. Then he returned, putting his arms around her to palm her breasts. Through her bra, he teased her nipples to tight buds as she watched, the view providing extra titillation. He fingered the front clasp, it slipped open, and he eased her bra away from her body.