He’d risen and was already at the door. Opening it, he glanced back and smiled. “Desiresfulfilled dot com.” Then he quietly closed the door behind him.
Jenny sat amid the clutter of the basket she’d ordered for herself. Desiresfulfilled dot com? Sounded like a porn site to her.
CHAPTER TWO
Sloan shifted the candy-cane shaped basket onto one hip so he’d have his other hand free to ring Jenny’s bell. Her secret admirer had struck it lucky this time. When Sloan had seen the garbage the guy had ordered for this second basket, he’d dumped it and filled it with really great stuff. He hoped Carole never found out.
What kind of guy would send a woman something called Flower Garden of Desire? A loser, that’s who. He didn’t deserve Jenny.
Jenny. He closed his eyes, remembering every expression in those big blue eyes, the slide of her hair over his fingers, the scent of warm woman. Yep, Jenny Saunders had changed.
He’d been interested in high school, but he’d seen past her smart mouth and known she wasn’t ready. Besides, he’d had worlds to conquer. He’d gotten a scholarship to Berkeley and headed for California. Between study and work, he’d been too busy or too broke to make many trips home. And when he had, Jenny had been away. But things were different now.
Even though he hadn’t seen much of Haddonfield in ten years, Carole had kept him in touch. She’d told him every time one of Jenny’s boyfriends bombed. Sloan smiled.
He glanced down at the basket balanced on his hip. He never did baskets. Now if you had a desire to own a castle for a day or to go diving for the Loch Ness Monster, Sloan Mitello was your man. But this once…
This basket was a winner. He’d slaved over a hot stove making Jenny’s favorite cream-cheese-and-olive sandwiches. Okay, so the stove had been stone cold, but anything he did in the kitchen that had more than two steps—take out of fridge, then nuke in microwave—was hard labor.
He rang the bell. He had time on his hands, and the holidays were for fun. Besides, someone had to save her from this secret admirer jerk.
He shifted the basket. She was probably checking him out through the peephole now, trying to decide if she’d pretend she wasn’t home. Come on, Jenny, open the door.
A minute later, he huffed out on a puff of impatience, and started to turn from the door. Probably better to walk away now. Besides, why give some loser credit for those cream-cheese-and-olive sandwiches?
She opened the door.
He didn’t question his spurt of gladness. “Secret admirer basket number two. Special delivery.”
“This late? I thought it’d be…” She cast him a startled glance, then bit her lip.
“Thought it’d be what?”
“Nothing.” Her leopard-print robe stopped at mid-thigh, and her red hair was tousled. She gazed at him with sleepy uncertainty. He eyed the leopard print. Maybe there really was a wildcat in there somewhere. Hey, a guy could hope.
Her bottom lip was full, moist, and he drew in his breath on the sudden desire to taste that lip, trace it with his tongue, explore the sweetness of her mouth. Body parts responsible for signaling approval applauded wildly.
“Don’t you believe in calling, Sloan? It’s eight o’clock at night.”
Jenny’s words said one thing, but her glance said another. Her gaze slid past him, never quite making eye contact. Nervous? Why?
“I’m glad to see you, too.” He walked in without her invitation. “I’m the king of impulse. One of my endearing qualities.” He set the basket in the exact middle of her couch so she wouldn’t have to build a barricade between them.
He sat down beside the basket. “Come look at your basket.”
“Mine?”
“Sure. Says right here, from your secret admirer. Hope he had better taste this time.” Wow, would you look at those legs? Long, smooth, forever. He watched her walk to the couch and sit down.
“Look, it’s eight o’clock, and I was in bed.”
His mental video fast forwarded. Her bed. A tangle of white sheets. She’d have white sheets because Jenny was a white-sheet sorta woman. A life-was-real, life-was-earnest kind. But she’d look great on those white sheets, her nightgown riding up those incredible thighs to…He hit the stop button. Whoa tiger. “In bed? You were in bed at eight o’clock? No one’s in bed at eight o’clock.”
She shrugged. “I’m a morning person. I like to get a head start on my work.”
“Break the rules for once, Jenny. The night is young. Open your basket. I want to see.”
She sighed. “You’re not going to go away, are you?” No matter what her mouth said, her eyes said “stay.”
“Not a chance. Let’s see what’s in the basket.”
She sat down on the other side of the basket. Her robe hiked up another few inches. He didn’t notice, but his body did. His body passed on the information.
He watched her gingerly pull a gold box from the basket.
“Godiva Chocolates? Chocolate is bad for you.”
“Godiva is good for you. Trust me.” This wasn’t the Jenny he’d known. The Jenny he’d known could be bribed with chocolate to do any number of things, like research papers…
He tried to ignore other, more interesting possibilities. What kind of woman thought Godiva wasn’t good for her? Godiva was desire, sex, and orgasm wrapped in one gold foil package.
Then he remembered. Third grade. The spider. He grinned. “Relax, Flame. No spider this time. Besides, you broke my young heart. That spider was my most prized possession, and you rejected it. Loudly.”
She returned his grin as she reached into the basket and lifted out his bag of sandwiches. “Cream-cheese-and-olive sandwiches? Ohmigod, real cream-cheese-and-olive sandwiches!”
“This guy must know you pretty well.”
“I guess he does.” Her voice was husky as she looked up from the sandwiches.
This was not feeling too great. It didn’t make sense. He was mad at this secret admirer jerk who hadn’t sent the basket that was making Jenny all emotional. Go figure.
“What else is in here?” She rooted around and pulled out his homemade ticket with the word “fun” scrawled across the top. Frowning, she read it. “A ticket to the West Street Holiday Light Show?”
“Wow. Imagine that. The guy has good taste after all. Remember? That’s the neighborhood where everyone decorates their houses with lights and makes the electric company happy for a whole year. We went there at Christmas during senior year.”
She shook her head. “I don’t have time for that kind of thing anymore.”
He stood. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”
“No.” She bit her lip. “We could just stay here and…talk.”
“No?” Some women really had a tough time having fun. “Here this guy spent time making the ticket and you won’t even use it.”
“It was a waste of his time.” She stood, probably signaling he’d used up his allotted ten minutes of her life.
“It was only a waste of time if you don’t use it.” Sloan wondered about her nightgown. He pictured short and sheer, clinging to full breasts, flat stomach, and curving hips. He’d always pegged Jenny as a pj type of woman.
She picked up a piece of chocolate and absently unwrapped it. “If I go with you now, I’ll be tired in the morning.”
Exasperation made him want to storm out of her apartment, but something held him in place. Maybe it was the past, the memory of them watching an old movie together, having fun together.
Cut the sentimental crap, Mitello. Admit it. She’s a beautiful woman, and you want her. Simple.
He stood. She backed away. He moved forward. She backed away. Finally, her back against what he assumed was her bedroom door, she held the chocolate between them like a small talisman.
His body tightened with his need to reach around her and open that door, to back her across her bedroom, to fall with her onto those white sheets. “Take a bite, Jenny.” Anywhere would be okay. Well, almost anywhere. Love bites were
an accepted precursor to…
“What?” Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted. He leaned toward those lips, pulled by a force stronger than gravity.
“Take a bite of the chocolate, Flame. It’ll put you in the mood.” Suspicion flickered in her gaze, but he caught a flash of excitement too.
“The mood for what?” He didn’t mistake her breathless tone as she raised the chocolate to her mouth and bit off half of it.
A chocolate smear on her lower lip became a holy grail. “For having fun. What else?”
He braced his hands against the wall on either side of her head to help him withstand the pull of her lips.
No good. He was a goner. Lowering his head, he kissed her.
What was it about the taste of chocolate on a woman’s lips, on her lips? The sweetness drew him. He ran his tongue lightly across her lower lip, savoring the promise, and when she parted her lips slightly, he didn’t hesitate to taste more deeply.
Lost in the kiss, he drew her closer, and felt her still clutching the piece of chocolate between them, the soft pressure of her breasts, the hard pressure of his growing enthusiasm.
And knew he had to let her go. He sensed her hesitancy, her confusion. Knowing where he wanted this kiss to lead, Sloan darn well needed Jenny clear-headed and willing when it happened. Drawing back, he grinned. Okay, maybe not so clear-headed.
Jenny stared at the slightly flattened piece of chocolate she still held, then set it down. Not even Godiva could compare with that kiss.
Now. She could have her fling to night. He was interested. He’d gone to the trouble of filling her basket. He’d kissed her. He’d invited her to look at Christmas lights with him. He’d kissed her.
All she’d have to do was open her bedroom door and invite him in. No. It was too soon. She always planned things carefully, allowing for all eventualities. She hadn’t planned for to night. He wasn’t supposed to deliver the basket until tomorrow.
You are such a coward, Saunders. She’d been backpedaling since the moment he’d walked in, but she needed a little more time. After all, she hadn’t seen him in ten years. He took a little getting used to.
Noticing the chocolate smudge on his shirt, she rubbed at it with her finger, felt his sudden intake of breath at her touch, and smiled. “Sorry about your shirt.”
She wouldn’t mention the kiss. But she’d think about it. It was the joy of a windfall profit, the excitement of tax time. Hmm. Both great things, but they didn’t quite compare to The Kiss.
“So will you go with me to the light show?”
His voice still held the huskiness she imagined it would have just after waking, or just after making incredible love. With her.
Don’t blow it now. “I’ll…change.” Reaching behind her, she opened the door, slipped into her bedroom, and slammed the door shut. Making incredible love with her. The thought took her breath away.
Ten years ago, had it occurred to her? Sure, but she’d been smart enough to realize Sloan Mitello was a dreamer, and she didn’t want any kind of emotional involvement with a dreamer. But a fling? A fling didn’t need a lot of emotional involvement.
Pulling on her jeans, she let her thoughts drift back to his kiss. It was…the tartness of just-squeezed lemonade, the sweetness of saltwater taffy.
Both things that were bad for her. Lemonade gave her heartburn, and saltwater taffy was pure sugar. She avoided them.
But what could it hurt to go out with an old friend? Besides, she needed time to plan every step of her fling. She ignored the jeering cluck clucks from her personal truth monitor.
“I don’t know, Sloan. Looks like an awful lot of work, putting up all those lights.” She snuggled against the warmth of Sloan’s side as they stopped to admire another house covered with thousands of fairy lights. “And the electric bill will probably settle the national debt.” Sloan’s arm across her shoulders was nice, but she would not miss it when her fling was over. And her truth monitor was not at this very minute writing up a lying ticket.
She felt his frustrated exhalation. “Just enjoy it, Jenny, then walk away. You don’t have to pay the bill.”
Glancing up at him, she wondered. Someone had to pay for all the flash and beauty. And what if you couldn’t walk away? “I pulled up your website last night. Fulfilling people’s dreams must be a pretty tall order.”
“Desires, Jenny. I fulfill people’s desires.”
“Same thing.”
“Uh-uh. Dreams are what you have when you sleep. They’re soft and blurred around the edges. Desires are grounded in reality. They’re hard and passionate. Challenging.”
“But how reliable are they? What if one month people decide they don’t want any desires fulfilled? Who pays your bills?” She could feel his growing frustration, sensed a pending explosion.
“I pay my bills.”
“But suppose you wanted to get a loan. No loan officer I know would pay out a penny to someone who made desires come true. Besides, if you make people’s desires come true, then they don’t have them anymore. They’re worse off than before. Sounds cruel to me.” Any minute now he’d blow. She could feel his tension in the clenching of his hand on her shoulder, knew she was purposely goading him, and hadn’t a clue why.
Her truth monitor pulled out a fresh pack of tickets and began writing up a bald-faced-lie citation. Fine. She’d liked his kiss, realized it was driven by frustration, and wanted to experience it again.
Besides, she’d finally figured out what his kiss was. It was…summer. Warm sand, blazing heat, crashing waves that took your breath away, and a dangerous undertow that would knock you off your feet if you weren’t careful. Yep, definitely summer.
Of course, summer was bad for her too. Scratchy sand on neon-red sunburn. Waves and undertow that conspired to drown her. Guess she’d have to avoid summer…after her fling.
“People never run out of desires, Flame. I bet even you have some.”
“Even me? That was meant as an insult, but you know something, it wasn’t. Dreams, desires, what ever, are hope-builders. They’re not for me.” She’d been about ten when she vowed never to follow any of life’s yellow brick roads.
He’d stopped to gaze at a huge house that would’ve put Buckingham Palace to shame. Cost? Probably in the obscene range, with the same number of twinkling lights. She felt like shielding her eyes from the glare. “Now I know why my lights have been flickering. This place is one giant power drain.”
Sloan shrugged. “So the guy likes Christmas. What can I say?” He turned to face her, his powerful body silhouetted against the massive light display, his dark hair whipping in a sudden gust of cold wind.
And for a moment, she allowed herself a desire. Sloan bending over her as she lay on her white sheets, his long hair falling forward, strong tanned arms braced on either side of her as he moved closer and…
She smiled. That was one desire she intended to come true, as soon as she had everything planned with no chance of anything unexpected happening.
“Christmas is driven by merchandising. It’s just an excuse to spend money.” She gazed past him at the house. “This? This serves no purpose.”
“This serves my purpose. I had this house built, Jenny. Ever wonder why I never invited friends over to visit when we were kids? Mom and I lived in a small apartment. Had to turn sideways to get around the one bedroom. I slept on the couch. And we never had Christmas lights. Most of the time we didn’t even have a tree. No money.” He allowed her to hear the edge in his voice.
His? She’d never guessed about his life. Carole had never said anything. “You’re joking. Dreams don’t buy this kind of place. Dreams don’t buy much of anything.”
Sloan dropped his arm from her shoulder, and she mourned the loss. “What do you have against dreams, Flame? The truth.”
He wanted truth? She’d give him truth. “Dad is a dreamer. He filled my childhood with dreams. Next Christmas he’d get me a horse. After this deal came though we’d move into a nice ho
use. And I believed him because he was my daddy and he’d promised. Until I got old enough to realize Dad’s deals never came through, and I was never going to get that horse. We lived in dumps with barely enough to eat most of the time until we moved to Haddonfield and Mom got a pretty good job.”
“There’re worse things than not getting a horse.”
“Sure.” Like not believing in promises anymore. “Do you know how many Christmases I stood at my window waiting for that dumb horse?”
“So you signed off on all dreams?”
“Right.” She narrowed her gaze on his house. “Of course, getting your desire might not be all that sensational.”
“Hey, insult me, but leave my house alone.”
She sighed. “Sorry. It just seems like an awful big place for one person to be rattling around in…” Uh-oh. Maybe he had plans to fill it with a wife who could fulfill all his desires.
He grinned. “Nope. Just me for now.”
“Oh.” Now there was a well-rounded response. “I guess I sound like the Scrooge of dreams, but you know, I really think dreaming is an addiction. After a while, the dream itself became Dad’s fulfillment.” She looked away. “I even wonder if dreaming might be hereditary. There’re times when I want…”
“Want what, Jenny?” His voice. Warm, tempting.
“Nothing.” She looked back at him. “Nothing at all.”
“Hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced.
She glanced at the fairy-trail of twinkling lights, and knew there was nothing left to say. Nothing left to share. They didn’t have a darn thing in common. Except that incredible kiss and the fling she intended to have with him.
His huff of resignation formed a small cloud in the frigid air. He put his arm around her and turned her to face him.
She noticed a few stray snowflakes drifting around him, and when one settled on his lips, she reached up and touched it with her fingertip, felt it melt beneath her body heat, felt the softness of his lip.
Before she could withdraw her finger, he clasped it and drew it into his mouth. With hooded gaze, he watched her. The moist heat of his mouth threatened to turn her whole body liquid, like spring’s first hot assault on winter’s last snowman.