"Maybe I'm just waiting for someone to give me something better to put up in its place." Like him, I put a hint of playfulness in my voice, but I was serious. Dylan had been gone from my life for years. Phone messages be damned, I knew he
wasn't coming back. I didn't even want him to. I wanted Tom. Not just for a roll in the hay—for real. Funny, sweet, intelligent and honest. All the things I like in a man. Needless to say, I haven't found a lot of men with all of those qualities, and none of the relationships have been casual. I'm not the casual type.
"I see." Tom's voice was soft, thoughtful. He gave me a long assessing look. It took a minute, but finally there was a hint of sparkle as his natural good humor started to reassert itself. "So, you're saying that if someone gave you another picture the right size you'd get rid of this one?"
"Absolutely."
"Stay here. I'll be right back." He dashed out of the apartment, leaving the door wide open. I could hear his footsteps thundering down the stairs. I went back to the kitchen. If I was lucky the omelet wasn't ruined. If I wasn't lucky, too bad. I don't waste food. I was going to eat. Then I was going to make damned sure Tom understood that Dylan was no longer a part of my life.
The eggs were finished by the time I heard his footsteps coming back up. I cut the omelet in half and scooped an equal amount onto the plates and set them onto the counter before walking back over to the picture wall. I pulled down the frame holding Dylan's picture.
Tom came in without knocking, shoving the door closed behind him. When he stopped in front of me his eyes were merry with mischief and dark with challenge.
"Here you go."
I took the glossy paper from his hand and
glanced at it. I wasn't sure what to say. I knew I was blushing. My face was hot with it. Good God!
They had sold these at 7-11?
He was nearly naked but stared at the camera saucily from under his yellow helmet, an erotic smile curling one side of his mouth. Only a well-placed fire hose covered his hips. It was the ultimate dare. Would I actually hang his original calendar photo right in the center of my living room wall?
"Good choice." I was still blushing, but I met his eyes. I removed the backing from the frame in my hand, handed Tom the old photo, and watched without comment as he dropped it into the nearby waste can on top of my discarded junk mail. He watched as I slid his picture into the frame. It was a perfect fit—just like the fire hose. I turned and hung the frame on the wall without another word. While my back was turned, Tom stepped closer. He slid one arm around me, pulling me against him. He used his other hand to push aside my braid so that he could nibble at my neck. I could feel his groin swelling and pressing against me through the thin silk of his shorts. A small, needful sound that was almost a whimper escaped from my throat as I turned to face him. The smile he gave me was knowing and predatory. The kiss that followed was filled with wanton lust. It made my knees weak and my breathing ragged.
He pulled back a fraction of an inch. "Lunch first."
I could barely catch my breath, but I blurted.
"You've got to be kidding."
"I want you at full strength." His grin was wicked as he pushed me gently away. "You'll need it."
"I certainly hope so."
8
I have never bolted a meal that fast in my life. I shouldn't have bothered. Tom deliberately took his leisurely time eating his omelet while I cooled my heels, but not my libido, on the couch.
"Wouldn't want to cramp up later," he explained. I could tell that he was actually enjoying the omelet, but something close to indecision clouded his face. He closed his eyes about every other bite and his mood was darkening, his face shutting down; losing warmth. I could almost feel a chill drift toward me.
I wished I knew what the issue was. I wanted him, he obviously want me, or did want me ten minutes ago. Maybe some light bantering would help. "I can't imagine why you like my cooking. It's just eggs and cheese, some veggies, and a few spices."
He swallowed and gave me an incredulous look.
"Are you kidding? You're a great cook. I mean, even the fact that you can cook is rare today." My brows shot up. "Everyone can cook, Tom. You throw ingredients into a pan and take them out when they're done."
He shook his head. "Hmm-mmm," he mumbled before he swallowed again. "I can honestly say that I will probably never use the stove or oven you provided in my apartment. If it isn't fresh, or microwaveable. . . ."
Inside I was smiling, because the chill was fading away, but I really did have a hard time believing him. In my opinion, most microwaveable food is barely deserving of the term. Then again, I'd been spoiled. When I was little every meal my mom prepared was amazing. Sunday dinner was
perfectly seasoned roast beef or chicken and Christmas was formal rack of lamb with all the trimmings. Even breakfast was from
scratch—pancakes or oatmeal with plenty of fruit and milk.
I shook my head. "Honestly, I only do really simple stuff. I've never been able to live up to my mom's cooking."
"Trust me on this, Kate," he said as he licked off the back of the fork. "You cook like a master chef as far as I'm concerned. I can burn water, and the guys at the station aren't any better. It's hotdogs, hamburgers or chili when I'm on shift. The reason I eat so much fruit and veggies is that you don't have to cook them. When it's my turn to cook, they get vegetable trays with store-bought dressing. If I'm feeling daring, I might slice up some sausage and cheese with crackers."
I just shook my head. I couldn't quite grasp that concept. When he finally finished his meal, he stood, turned toward me and stretched. My little heart went pitty-pat as I watched all those perfectly toned muscles twist and flex, and compared them to the photo on the wall. I vowed never to get him hooked on pasties. Fruits and vegetables did well by him.
I knew that he was watching me gawk at him but I couldn't seem to stop. Hell, I couldn't seem to blink. Every one of his dozen graceful steps to the couch mesmerized me. The half-shut blinds
provided a slow motion strobe effect as the light and dark played across his bare arms and legs. His shirt disappeared in a movement so quick and fluid that I only saw it out of the corner of my eye. When he stopped directly in front of me, I blushed as my gaze caught a glimpse of his painfully tight shorts. His scent was stronger with his shirt off. I didn't know whether it was soap or shampoo or just him. But it smelled terrific.
He dropped to his knees and we were suddenly face to face. "You know what I like about you?" he asked with a warm smile.
I honestly couldn't imagine what anyone would like about me. I tried to say that, but I actually couldn't talk past the lump in my throat. It had been a really long time since I'd been this close to sex. I shook my head almost numbly.
"Your honesty." He must have seen my brow furrow in confusion, because he continued. "You don't try to hide anything. If you're angry, it's right out there in the open for the world to see. And when you're excited . . . " He reached forward and slid his fingers slowly along my jaw, brushed my ear and tickled my neck. "It captures every part of you."
He pulled me to him as he leaned in closer. The kiss was everything that I could have hoped for. His tongue teased and explored my mouth, then turned needy and demanding, causing shudders to pass through me in waves. I had thought that he would roll over me onto the couch but instead, he pulled me on top of him onto the floor. Well, okay, the bed would be softer, but who was I to complain?
His mouth moved to my neck and his hands to my braid. The fragrance was strongest along his jaw; clean and sharp, with hints of musk and citrus. I closed my eyes and just breathed, feeling his lips caress my neck. I slid my fingers though his hair and he returned the favor. Practiced fingers removed the little blue pony-tail holder and began to unplait my braid. He could do whatever he wanted as long as he didn't stop nibbling my ear.
He ran his hands through my hair over and over, easing the tangles, until it flowed like curly satin through his fingers. I'd never gotten such an erotic feeling from a man playing with my hair before. He pushed me up until I was sitting on his chest over him. His eyes were locked on mine as he slowly began to unbutton my blouse. My skin was covered with goose bumps by the time he slipped it from my shoulders and my breathing was deep and ragged. He rolled me over so suddenly it took my breath completely. His hands smoothed across my
stomach as he planted tiny kisses along the edge of my bra and then placed his whole mouth over my breast through the cloth and teased the nipple. I gasped at the sensation and felt my hands clutch at his back. I began exploring the warm tanned expanse of his back and his silken hair as he pressed his hips against me firmly and wiggled until my legs moved apart.
The sound was so sudden that we both
jumped—BANG, BANG, BANG. The whole
front door vibrated with the force.
Tom turned his head and raised his nose to the air, his nostrils twitching slightly. "It's a man. I recognize the scent, but I can't place him." But I recognized the pounding. I'd heard it enough times on the bathroom door when I was a kid.
"Oh, I know who it is. Not now, Joe." I yelled. Tom recognized the name and rolled over, too quickly. By the time I had the second word out, he was pulling on his clothing. I reached out my hand, intending to stop him. "Go away! "
"Mary Kathleen Reilly, open the goddamned door." Joe's roar was followed by more pounding.
"You told me your brother's as stubborn as you are, Kate. He's not going to take no for an answer." Tom whispered the words in my ear, kissed me gently, and handed me my top. But I could tell from his movements he was relieved at the interruption. I just wished I knew why.
The pounding resumed.
The metallic echoes were beginning to annoy me.
"Just a minute, damn it!" Tom was already dressed, so he rose and
walked over to the door. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure I was fully clothed before unlatching the door. I was—sort of. My blouse was on, but it was buttoned crooked.
Joe stormed into the room with a glare for me. He turned to Tom with a full head of steam on. Whatever he'd intended to say died in his throat. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped open from shock. "Who are you?"
"None of your business, Joe! Who the hell were you expecting?" I knew it was a mistake the minute I said it.
"Dylan."
Tom's expression changed with the flick of a switch. His face flushed, his eyes narrowed and darkened to near black. The look he gave me could've frozen lava.
" Joseph Reilly! I haven't seen Dylan Shea in years and you know it!"
"But you kept his picture . . . and he called . . . "
"He called?" Tom's voice was suddenly cold with an edge like a razor.
"His wants me to meet with him for something." I willed Tom to understand. He didn't.
"Are you're going to do it?"
"I don't know." I admitted. "I honestly haven't decided."
Tom stared wordlessly at me for a long moment. Jealousy, anger and hurt were all rolled into the look. I didn't back down but I felt my face flush. Joe, mercifully, had fallen silent. He's tactless but not stupid.
"Maybe you were right. Maybe you aren't ready yet." Tom's voice was harsh with emotion, but I didn't know which one. He walked out without another word. The door slammed closed behind him, vibrating on its tracks from the force. I let out a roar of rage and frustration.
Joe cringed. "Kate . . . I . . . I'll go catch him; talk to him. Uhm, whoever he is."
"The hell you will!" I snarled. "You've done enough damage for one day, thank you very much." I clenched my hands into fists and then kicked the wall hard enough for the pot hanging on the other side to fall and hit the floor. " Damn it, Joe! Tom Bishop was actually interested in me! Do you have any idea how long it's been since someone has looked past the leather and the weapons and wanted to spend time with me? " It sounded even bitchier than I'd intended it to.
Joe flinched as if I'd hit him. I didn't, but a part of me wanted to.
"I'm sorry, Kate. Really sorry." He looked sheepish and forlorn, despite the outfit he'd chosen. When he's not on duty at the hospital, Joe normally wears faded blue jeans and a plain white shirt. His hair is darker than mine, almost exactly the color of carrots. He keeps it very short so that he doesn't have to bother too much with it. Today he wore black jeans and a tight black T-shirt that showed every bulging muscle. Heavy black construction boots added a nicely menacing touch. The gel he used to spike his hair made me know that the choice of clothing wasn't accidental. The look was deliberately aggressive. Joe had obviously been planning to intimidate someone. Whether it was Dylan, me, or both was anyone's guess.
I took a deep breath and counted slowly to fifty. It didn't work.
"I'm going to take a shower."
I turned my back on my brother and went
upstairs. As I opened the door to the master bath, I heard music start. Don Henley. Joe knows it's one of my favorites and is usually guaranteed to calm me down.
I turned on the water, shaking my head. I
grabbed the shower cap from where I'd stuffed it with the bubble bath bottles under the sink. I have a lot of hair. Washing it would give me time to cool down, but it'd take hours to dry and I was not in the mood to deal with it.
As I got ready for the shower I tried to reason with myself. I knew Joe cared about me and was just trying to protect me.
That line of thought lasted until I stood up. The mirror showed the truth. My loose hair flowed around my face in thick waves. My lipstick was smeared across my chin. The mis-buttoned shirt made me feel like I'd been caught behind the bleachers. I felt like I'd been caught; interrupted. DAMN him! He had no right!
I slammed the cabinet door closed and stalked into the bedroom. A quick glance over the half-wall showed Joe tending my plants. He'd grabbed
scissors and was snipping dead leaves. I wanted to bounce something off his head right now. I glanced around the room. My eye lit on the poor innocent wind-up alarm clock on the night stand. If it had known the fate of its predecessors, it would have hid under the bed like a smart clock. One quick swipe and a sudden throw with all of my serving strength made it all worthwhile. No, I didn't aim it at Joe, though God knew a part of me wanted to. The south wall of the bedroom was the target. The sharp sound of exploding plastic against the brick was followed closely by a bright 'bing'. A feeble death knell was last and then the shattered clock lay silent on the floor. I glanced over the wall to see Joe standing stock-still with his back to me. He carefully put down the scissors and darted for the kitchen. Point for me. It was childish, but satisfying. I stepped into the bathroom, closed the