The Very Thought of You (8 page)

“Me?”

“Yeah, we'd be checking it out together. After I screwed up the ‘no wife' bit, I wasn't sure how to explain you.”

“Was an explanation necessary?”

“I thought you might think so.”

“In that case, you could have told him I was your sister.”

He cocked his head, pressed his lips together, and frowned.

“Okay, he wouldn't believe we were related.”

“Not even for a second.” His featured relaxed, and he shrugged and smiled.

“Why didn't you say you were bringing a friend?”

“Listen, I didn't have a lot of time to come up with anything creative. I thought it was important to protect you.”

“Really? How?”

“I didn't want to give him the impression you were a … a shack up.”

“A shack up?”

“Look. Landlords aren't stupid. They want to know how many people will occupy their units. Once he saw us, he'd assume we were both moving in. I thought you'd be more comfortable showing up with a man you'd only just met — me — if the guy thought we were married instead of … you know … living together. You having worked in social services and running a clinic, I wasn't sure about your views on, eh, shacking up. So I said we'd just gotten back from the honeymoon, it was all so new I forgot for a second we were married.” Innocence flickered behind his eyes. His bottom lip curved down as if in apology.

Molly leaned against the slots cut into the metal plate that protected the mailboxes. He was right about the shacking up part being a bad fit. Three boyfriends back, she'd almost been pressured into it. When she'd said no, the boyfriend took a hike.

“Maybe I made a mistake. If the owner mentions anything, I'll say he must have misunderstood.”

“Great, and then I'm left with being your shack up and getting leered at by some oily slumlord.”

“Look, I'm sorry I goofed. But the guy wants to rent this apartment. He'll know better than to leer. Why would you assume he's a slumlord?”

“Well, just look at this place.”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “Would you rather wait in the car?”

“No.”

“Don't you trust me?”

She let him glean the answer from her expression.

“Okay. Lack of trust noted.” He checked his watch. “It's your call. You better make it quick. Either we took a trip to the altar or we've slept together without the benefit of marriage.” Molly felt her eyes roll up in her head. Any farther and there was a chance she could have examined her own brain. She groaned. “Maybe we should scratch this one.”

“It's too late.”

“We could check out some of the possibilities I've come across.” She took a step toward the sidewalk.

He grabbed her elbow and reeled her back in. “Are you always so stubborn?” Impatience flared in his eyes.

“No. Well, almost never.”

“Look, don't you think for, maybe, twenty minutes you could act married?”

“You mean to an almost perfect stranger?”

He brushed a corkscrew curl off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “I don't consider myself a stranger. Or perfect.”

That was for sure.

His impatience died under a self-effacing grin.

“I'm anything but an accomplished actress. In third grade, I played a gumdrop in the class production of
Hansel and Gretel.”

He braced his hand against the wall directly above her shoulder and leaned in. “That doesn't matter. I'll take the lead.”

“Oh, you know how? Why? Are you married?”

He shook his head. “No. Never came close. You?”

“No.”

“You've considered it, though. Am I right?”

Molly frowned and shook her head. What did he care if she'd had one foot at the marriage altar?

He let go of the wall and took both her hands in his. He laced his fingers through hers and held her arms steady at her sides. The touch of his skin against hers sent goose bumps along her arms and a different kind of shiver down her back, the kind that resulted from contact with a gorgeous hunk of a man. Wouldn't you know it? In this case, he was the wrong hunk of a man.

“We can pull this off,” he said.

She tried to free her hands, but he held them captive. “I have many doubts. As in too many.”

“What we need is a practice run.” Humor lurked behind his irises.

“Practice?”

“Sure. To make it convincing, like we've been together a while, like we've been … close … you know, intimate. Remember the honeymoon?”

She wondered if he'd smoked something funny at his parents' house. Except everyone there looked like they'd just flown in from a papal convention.

“Are you making this up?”

His soft laugh filled the small enclosure. “Sweetie, I wish I were. But I'm not, so let's cement the deal.” The humor left his eyes, and his mouth descended on hers.

Molly made a concerted effort to free her hands, even as she parted her lips. His mouth felt warm against hers, and the way he kissed showed he was not at all self-conscious about doing it practically in public. Then he let go of her hands and slid his up her sides. That sent a flutter into her stomach. She shivered as his long fingers ranged over her back and onto her shoulders. Right about now her “stop” button should have screamed like an alarm gone berserk, but it jammed just about the time he got her lips farther apart and slipped in the tip of his tongue. The remnants of something sweet lingered. Pepsi, maybe. He probably drank some at brunch.

Her skin prickled as his fingertips slid along her neck and through her hair. He cradled her head in a gentle grip, one she probably could have squirmed away from if she wanted to, but she didn't want to. Heat slid down her chest and into her stomach and folded into a tiny corner where she stored those kinds of stimuli.

Molly placed her palms against his chest. Muscles bunched under his T-shirt and proved steely-hard beneath her probing fingers. His mouth moved against hers, and she gave in totally to being possessed. His breath touched her cheek, hot and steady. His tongue slid against hers and sent her body heat into a torrid zone that lately had existed only in her imagination. Talk about adding a few extra z's to sizzle. This was insane. She was standing here practically in full view and kissing an almost total stranger and letting him do whatever he wanted with his hands, lips, and tongue. From her scalp to her toes, Nick lit her fire. If he didn't quit soon, all he'd find was a small pile of ash where she once stood. A moan come from deep inside her. When had she become such an easy target?

He ended the kiss. Her eyes were Elmer's glued to his. Her lips felt like they were pumped full of some sort of puffy stuff.

“See, you're a better actress than you thought.” The honey-smooth seduction in his tone turned her breathing into an Olympic-sized operation.

His breath continued to warm her cheek and the glow didn't stop anywhere near there. It moved in waves throughout her body. She touched her upper lip with the tip of her tongue and almost expected a puff of steam to billow from the spot.

Had she gone along so as not to cause a scene? She didn't think so. Not with the depth of emotion she'd put into the kiss. She never even kissed on a first date, which she didn't consider prudish, but smart — just in case the guy didn't call again. So why had she locked lips with Nick Mancini like they were two dates short of being anointed a couple? What kind of woman did that? The words “needy” and “dumb” came to mind. And since
he'd
ended the kiss, she added “vulnerable” and “weak.”

She tore her gaze away from Nick's. She figured him for a player. Why else would he have kissed her like that without a good reason, without
any
reason except he wanted to? Molly hated to think what might have happened if he'd tried to get more intimate. Also, forget protecting her reputation or any of his other baloney about putting up a good front for the landlord vis-à-vis their supposed marriage.
Marriage.
As if it weren't bad enough that she'd enjoyed the kiss, and wouldn't have objected to a longer one, he
knew
she'd liked it.

Oh, he was a player all right. Which posed the next question: Where would she find the fortitude to kick him off limits if he wanted to play with her again?

“You must be the Mancinis.”

Nick angled his head toward the sidewalk. A man of average height, weight, and skin tone stood in the doorway. No gangster-sized cigar sticking out of his mouth, or rumpled suit. He spoke in a clear, businesslike tone. Although the building needed repairs, he didn't put this guy together with Molly's conception of a “slumlord.”

“Yeah. Nick Mancini. I spoke with you yesterday on the phone.” He extended his hand. “This is Molly.”

“Mrs. Mancini. Pleasure to meet you.” The landlord ignored Nick and steered an outstretched hand in Molly's direction.

She barely managed a nod, no less a handshake. Her lack of enthusiasm didn't seem to faze the landlord who gave her a slow up and down body search with his eyes. Nick stepped in between them and cut off the man's view just as it began to descend again from the V in Molly's blouse. Still, who was he to cast blame? He'd taken a little body inventory of her, too, along with the liberty of a kiss. At least he never leered.

He cut a sideways glance at her. She still had something of a bedazzled look in her eyes, as if she'd engaged in more than just a one minute kiss. A kiss she'd clearly enjoyed. Her hair, recently home to his fingers, had a bed-head look, which halfway answered the question about any post-coital coif. Her lips remained parted, and her breathing showed continued signs of some pumped-up heart action. A few minutes before, he'd experienced a little pumped-up action in the area south of his belt, when she'd sucked his tongue. On second thought, maybe she hadn't. Anyway, her response surprised him. She could have given him a knee in the groin. Instead, he'd gotten some passion from her.

Oh, yeah. Little Miss Stubborn went up against Mr. Persuasion, and the result couldn't have been more satisfying. It went something like quarterbacking a Niners' game. He'd not only kept possession of the ball but ran it forty yards for a touchdown. Or at least he'd kicked a field goal. Whichever. It held promise for when they finished the apartment search. After she admitted he was right about affordable housing, they'd go someplace quiet and negotiate the hundred grand. Worst-case scenario, he'd bump his end up to twenty-eight five. Then maybe after dinner they'd snuggle in his car outside her aunt's Victorian, and he'd find out if Molly ever got hot enough to suck a guy's tongue. Like he was hot right now at the thought of it.

“The elevator's toward the rear.” The landlord reached into his pants pocket and produced a ring of keys. He unlocked the front door and led the way into a small dim space that masqueraded as a lobby. Weak light escaped from a pair of cheap sconces anchored to the wall. Paint peeled in a long swath off a portion of the ceiling. The air smelled dank. Molly, who had finally come out of her near trance, shot him a glare that said she planned to memorize every rotten feature and prepare a list of minuses to throw at him later.

They followed a narrow hallway. The linoleum underfoot buckled in spots, which made navigation somewhat tricky. Nick took hold of Molly's arm. Her skin was as smooth as stone washed by endless sprays of sea spume. After a shower, she probably poured on body lotion. Right away he pictured her naked, which, of all images, was the wrong one to invoke. He refocused his attention on the hallway and dropped his hand.

“Watch your step.” The landlord held the elevator door open.

Nick entered the confining cage behind Molly. Weak light seeped through a crack in the glass inset above his head. Some literary aspirant left his mark in crayon on the wall, singing the praises of Sonja with the big knockers and other body parts that shocked even him. He turned Molly a few degrees toward the opposite wall. He hoped she hadn't noticed it. He'd come in for a lecture that anything less than a jackpot-sized payoff would doom his tenants to an obscenity-laced cave.

“I wasn't sure what you folks had in mind.” The landlord punched a button and the elevator began a shaky ascent. “Like I told you, I have a couple of vacancies, both one bedrooms. The apartment in the rear is quieter, but there's not much to look at, just the back of another building. It's more private, though. Since you're newlyweds, you two might appreciate some privacy.”

“It sounds exactly like what we hoped to find, isn't that right, sweetheart?”

Molly rolled her eyes and gave her head a shake. The curls danced like a burnished halo. He thought back to the kiss. Damn if that halo hadn't crash landed. He held the key right in his hand to easing his tenants out and his condos built. Yeah, the kiss was the right move. He hadn't even planned it, which said a lot for spontaneity. She was a sun-ripened peach, ready for plucking.

“The front unit has a nice view of the street, but it's noisy.”

Nick gave Molly a self-satisfied nod. “A little noise shouldn't cause a problem for us. What do you think, darling?”

“I'm sure it's a regular Eden.” The face Molly made at him brought her eyes to within a hair's-breadth of crossing.

The elevator jolted to a stop. Molly lost her footing and made a grab for Nick's T-shirt. He clamped his palms onto her hips — for the sake of balance — and felt bone under a feminine swell of flesh. Since she didn't let go right away, neither did he. Her eyes stayed focused on his chest. He preferred to think she enjoyed his touch, rather than she worried the elevator might take an unscheduled dive into the cellar. He had no complaints either way. Just as long as he remembered the hands that clutched his shirt were the same ones that declared open season on his wallet.