“That’s Tuscan sausage and potato soup. I got the recipe on line this morning and added a bit of my own to it.”
“And this green stuff?”
“A little spinach.”
“God, Lexie, I could make a meal of just this soup.”
She smiled. “And bread. I think it should go with crunchy garlic bread, but not now. Tonight, we’re having meatballs, sauce and pasta.” She shrugged, clearly dismissing his obvious delight. “We always have that. But this time, I made a tray of Chicken Francese.”
“I’m going to get fat,” he said, morosely, as he finished the soup. “Then I’ll die young of a heart attack, leaving you a beautiful, rich widow. But at least, I’ll have been happy.”
She laughed. “You’re not dying. You’re going to eat like those sweet, little people and die old, healthy and skinny.”
He shrugged. “Maybe not healthy, if I’m dead.”
She agreed with a nod and a shrug. “Maybe not.
“Help me put this food on the table.”
* * * *
It wasn’t long after dinner that Lexie sent each of her guests home with a plastic plate and snap on cover, filled with food. There was enough spaghetti to last each of them two more meals. Between their food stamps and Lexie’s dinners, plus the peanut butter and jelly they got every few weeks, they never lacked for food.
“You give them a lot.”
She shook her head. “Not really. One jar of peanut butter is likely to last me three months. Spaghetti goes far. You saw the mountain two pounds made. And a few meatballs cost next to nothing.” She smiled. “They’re just so sweet. What do you think of that prayer tonight?”
He grinned. “They love you. Do they always pray before meals? Or was that just for me?”
Lexie shrugged. “They always pray, but never like that. I think you’re right. That one was for you.” She laughed. “They were hardly unassuming, asking God to bless our children.”
He laughed. “I have to say, hearing that was a bit of a shock.”
“I know. I saw your face and had to force back a burst of laughter right in the middle of it. Still, except for the prayer, they were pretty good, better than I expected. They never asked a question about last night, never even mentioned us.”
“I think they figured there was no need. They’ve already made up their minds that we are a couple.”
Lexie said nothing to his comment.
Finally he asked, “So, are we?”
She smiled as she turned to face him and wiped her soapy hands on a kitchen towel. “What do you think?”
“What I think is I’m damn near close to falling in love with you.”
“Wow,” she commented, obviously startled. “Already?”
“It’s not that sudden. Truth is I’ve known you a month and was half in love with you since the day I saw you struggling with your laundry.”
“Did I ever thank you for your help?”
He shrugged. “You said thank you, but I can think of better ways to show gratitude.”
“No doubt,” she returned with a snicker.
He smiled as his arms reached around her. “I thought I was pretty damn perfect, just like a hero in one of those books women read, carting in that heavy bag, bleach and soap and putting it just inside your apartment.”
Lexie giggled. “Like a hero, eh?”
He ignored the interruption. “You could have offered me a cup of coffee, but did you?”
“Maybe, I was overwhelmed by your heroic gesture and couldn’t think, until you said, ‘Night’, nodded and walked out of my place.”
“Night? Is that what I said?”
She nodded. “I particularly remember it because it was just a few minutes after noon.” As she spoke she aligned her hips to his and snuggled closer.
“That was dumb.”
“It wasn’t dumb at all. It was very sweet.”
His arms reached around her waist and held her closer. “Don’t tell me I’m sweet. That’s what you say about our neighbors. It was dumb, when I wanted to say, ‘Lexie, I think you’re gorgeous. I love the smell of your cooking. I love the smell of you. And what kind of fabric softener do you use?’”
Her gaze widened in surprise. “Oh boy, that sounds romantic. You think you should have said that?”
He shrugged and returned logically, “I like the way you smell. It could be perfume, but I think it’s either your soap or your fabric softener. Which is it?”
“I’ll show you the bottle before you leave.”
“Am I leaving?”
“I have to be at work by 10:00 o’clock, tomorrow.”
“I thought you were off on Sundays.”
She shrugged. “Usually, I am. Tomorrow, I’m filling in. One of the cooks took sick.”
He smiled. “That gives us a little time. Why don’t we make plans for tomorrow night?”
She shook her head. “We’ll have to work out a plan. Some days, I’m not home ‘til after eleven. You get home by six.”
He frowned. “I don’t know if I’m going to be happy with the hours you keep.”
“You’ll get used to it. I only work late a few nights a week.” Then, referring to the subject that had most generated this evening’s conversation, she asked, “So, what about our landlord? Do you think we can do something about the harassment?”
“Ignore him.”
“He’s not bothering me. It’s the others he wants out.”
“I know they take it as harassment, thanks to his disagreeable nature, but the truth is, by law, he’s allowed to visit his property anytime he chooses. He doesn’t enter their apartments, right?”
She nodded in agreement.
“He can check the place and make sure everything is running smoothly, correctly to code. In fact, that’s something all landlords or their managers should do. I explained to them they’re allowed to live here for as long as they please. He can’t do a thing about it. I asked one of the guys at work to write up a letter saying as much. They’ll each get a copy. If he was smart, he would have waited to refurbish until after the building was empty.”
“It wasn’t him. It was his uncle.” She smiled. “Mr. Kerrington was a very nice man. I understand he had many properties. Some say, he was interested in Mrs. Morgan before he got sick.” She shrugged. “Maybe, she was the reason why he fixed up this old building.” She shrugged. “In any case, he had the money to keep these people living in a nice place for their last few years.”
“And his nephew has to be greedy. He got the place for nothing more than inheritance tax and needs to make big profits.”
“He’s probably not making much of a profit on this place, thanks to rent control.”
Jim shrugged. “Eventually, he will. Now, about us,” he said pressing his hips to hers.
She smiled. “I have dishes to do.”
“You could leave them ‘til later.”
“A hero in a romance would help me clean this place up.”
He sighed as he eased away from her and immediately began scrubbing her sauce pot. “We heroes have a hard road to hoe.”
She chuckled smoothly, tucked a kitchen towel in his belt to protect his dress pants then cleaned the table and put her centerpiece back in place. As she dried and put away the pots, she said, “I like you in an apron.”
“It’s not an apron. It’s a towel. Would you like it if I wore only an apron?”
“You’d probably need something bigger than what you’re wearing now.”
He grinned, raised and lowered his brows in quick succession. “Thank you.”
She shook her head, dismissing his comment. “What I mean is you’re too…” She watched his smile burst into laughter. She ignored it and said, “Thanks for your help.”
Her kitchen sparkled. Jim pulled the towel away, folded it and put it on her counter. Leaning his hip against the same counter, he said in supposed innocence, “Now, there’s nothing left to do. Have any ideas?”
She smiled. “I have laundry that needs folding.”
“Really?” he asked with obvious interest. “Do you have underwear in the pile?”
She frowned. “Why?”
“I told you once, rather than paw through your drawers, I’d like to see you wear some of your things. What would you say to a fashion show?”
“Oh yes, I remember now.” His arms were around her waist. She leaned back, their hips pressed firmly together. Her hands smoothed the front of his shirt. “A fashion show, huh?” She tipped her head slightly and smiled. “That could be interesting, don’t you think?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
“Have a beer and watch some television. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Chapter Six
He turned from the TV when he heard her say his name, and he almost dropped his beer. She walked into the room. He was having a problem with his breathing. “Jesus,” he muttered on a breathless gasp.
She giggled a soft, tinkling sound as his gaze flickered over her. “Damn, lady, don’t laugh like that. I’m finding it hard enough to breathe.”
She bit her lips, holding back the need to laugh. “If you don’t blink, you’re going to hurt your eyes.”
He took a deep breath. “Forget about my eyes. My heart’s racing like I just finished a marathon. Why didn’t I expect you’d look this good?”
“You like red?”
Slowly, he came to his feet and shook his head, his gaze moving over her. “I never thought much about it until now, but it seems I’m particularly partial to the color when it’s on you.”
He moved toward her. “Lacy bra and thong, all of it see-thru. Am I in heaven?” He narrowed his gaze a bit and asked in mock suspicion, “Are you trying to seduce me?”
She allowed a low, sultry laugh. “Trying? I think I already have.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“So, tell me what you think? Should I try on another set?”
“No,” he said as he ran an index finger from her shoulder down her chest to follow the edge of the bra then over the soft, plump flesh that swelled above it. “You can show me another tomorrow.” He shook his head, knowing she was about to remind him of her hours. “We won’t take long. I promise you’ll get plenty of sleep. Damn, this is too perfect.”
He guided her closer to his tall, lean form. “I love the way you fit against me. What do you think?”
She smiled. “I think I wasted my time. You can’t see anything if I’m standing this close.”
“The reason you’re standing this close is because I saw you,” he said just before his mouth lowered to tease her lips.
For long moments, he played with her mouth. “God,” he groaned with a shiver of raw lust. “You smell delicious and taste even better.”
“Better than my soup?” she teased.
He gave a weary sigh. “You ask a lot of a man, Lexie, but yes, even better than your soup.”
She laughed.
“Let’s sit on your couch, so I can touch you while we talk.”
Hand in hand, they moved toward her couch. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You and sex.”
She flashed him a smile. “Mmm, that sounds promising.”
He sat and guided her to straddle his lap. “I think so, especially if we’re having sex, while we talk about having sex. Tell me where you want me to touch you.”
“I think I’ve told you, just by wearing this set.”
Ignoring her remark, he asked, “Is it here?” Thanks to the transparency of the bra, his heavy fingers ran directly over her nipples. His nails scraped against the growing hardness there and brought Lexie’s soft gasp.
She trembled at the roughness of his touch and managed to garner just enough strength to murmur a soft, “Yes, there.”
She was opening his shirt as he reached behind her. He smiled as he found it in front. And smiled again in appreciation as he unhooked the narrow band of material between her breasts. The fabric sort of sprung away and her breasts, heavy and round, burst forward, bouncing before him.
He groaned his delight at the movement and muttered a gasping, “God! I thought you looked edible with that bra, but this is even better.”
She shrugged the material from her shoulders and allowed it to drop behind her. The shrug only further enticed. “I’m about to forget everything I planned if you move like that again,” he said.
“What have you planned?”
“To play with these for a long time. To touch you everywhere, until we both lose our minds.”
“That sounds,” she hesitated and moaned a soft sound, as her eyes closed with the pleasure he so easily instilled. It took a few long moments before she finally managed, “Good. That sounds perfect.”
“I don’t want to miss a second of this,” he said as he measured and weighed the soft flesh in his hands. He murmured a low sound of enjoyment each time he licked or bit her nipples.
“If you miss anything, we can always do it again later.”
His gaze widened in agreement as he nodded. “A good plan. Would you like it if I kissed your neck?”
“What?” she asked as his question pulled her from the depth of growing passion. “Oh, yes, my neck,” she somehow managed on a shaken sigh. “That sounds lovely.”
“Where else?”
She didn’t respond until he asked again, “Where else, Lexie?”
“My nipples,” she gasped. “Especially my nipples.”
“What does it do to you when I play with them?”
“It does everything. I feel it here,” she said as she arched her back and pushed her breasts deeper into the pleasure of both his fingers and mouth. “And here,” she added as her hand moved down her body and slid into her panties.
“And where else. Where should I kiss you?”
“My pussy,” she groaned and shuddered, her eyes half closed as she succumbed to the desire, knowing she’d finally said what he wanted most to hear. He growled in response, and she shivered again. “God, yes, my pussy, touch me there. Touch me everywhere.”
“Lay down,” he said as he guided her to lie upon her couch. He rolled her panties down her legs and over her feet. His warm gaze studied her nakedness, his delight obvious. “God, I can’t tell you how good you look, how sweet. My mouth waters knowing how delicious you’ll taste. I can’t wait to touch you.”
“Then don’t. Don’t wait,” she managed breathlessly as she raised her hips to better his view. She moved to within inches of his mouth, her legs parted. Her pussy ached with need, hungry, nearly desperate for the feel of his tongue, his lips. The movement dared him to resist her offer. Her breathless whisper, “Do it,” was meant to push him over the edge of reason.