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Ariel managed to hold the smile until the bathroom door closed.
Then she sank into a chair, propped her elbow on the table and covered her eyes with her hand.
The thoughts that had rushed through her head minutes ago…
“God,” she whispered.
She was a physical mess. An emotional basket case. She had no memory, nothing at all in her head, really, except the almost irrational fear that someone wanted to harm her, except now she knew that it wasn’t irrational at all, not after the call Matteo had gotten on his cell phone and what had happened after it.
As if that weren’t enough, she was elegantly attired in an outfit that probably smelled bad by now, and oh yes, there was that final touch.
Matteo had had to take her to the bathroom.
Someday, she’d look back on this and see it for the bad joke it was. She’d laugh over thinking, hoping that he’d felt what she’d felt when he’d opened that dumb knot, a desire so intense she’d almost flung herself in his arms.
Ariel sat up straight.
“Ridiculous,” she said.
For one thing, they were strangers. Or maybe not. She didn’t know, and he hadn’t told her.
For another, why would she be interested in sex? She didn’t like sex. That had nothing to do with remembering, it was simply something she knew.
Just thinking the word made her feel sick…
Except, it didn’t. Make her feel sick. Not when Matteo touched her. Or kissed her. Or called her honey or cara in that sexy, husky voice…
“Cara?”
She turned her head so fast it made her dizzy.
Seeing him made her dizzier.
He was coming toward her, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. He must have washed his face; she could see tiny drops of water glinting like diamonds in his hair. He needed a shave, except he didn’t, not for her, because he was one of those men who looked gorgeous and sexy and incredibly masculine with a day’s worth of dark stubble on his jaw.
“Ariel? Is everything all right?”
Say something, she told herself. Say something intelligent, or at least something intelligible.
“Yes,” she said, “of course. I’m just—I’m just trying to figure out what’s inside all those boxes and cups.”
He grinned and sat down across from her.
“Only one way to find out,” he said.
She reached toward the platter. So did he. Zsst! A sizzle, a tiny blue spark shot from his fingers to hers.
They jerked back.
“Hey,” he said, laughing.
“Hey,” she said, laughing, too.
Their eyes met.
No more laughter.
For a timeless instant, the air seemed to rush from the room. Then Matteo cleared his throat and looked at the platter of food.
“You first,” he said.
Ariel nodded. Picked up something, unwrapped it, brought whatever it was to her mouth and took a bite.
They chewed and swallowed and, after a while, it seemed safe to look up from the meal and agree that what they were eating tasted just fine.
He’d bought four gigantic hot dogs, two big hamburgers, Styrofoam cups of chili, two bags of French fries, coffee and half a dozen jelly donuts.
“The hot dogs taste as if they were on the grill all day,” Matteo said.
“Yes,” she said, “they do.” She took a huge bite of one. So did he.
“Awful,” he said.
“Definitely awful.”
They ate the hot dogs to the last bite.
Nothing had ever tasted as good as the overcooked dogs, under-spiced chili and all-but-cold fries.
And nothing, Matteo decided, had ever felt as reassuring as getting past that earlier moment of lust. It hadn’t meant a thing. Why would it? He’d already gone through all the reasons that even contemplating sex with Ariel Pastore would be a mistake and, really, you could add that though she was beautiful, she wasn’t actually his type.
How come he hadn’t thought of that before?
He was into brunettes. Not blondes. And never, not once in his life, had he bedded a woman who was married. He wasn’t that kind of guy and no matter what the situation, that wasn’t about to change now.
By the time, the food was gone, he felt much, much better. His belly was full; his head was on straight. A donut was going to make things perfect, he decided, as he reached for one.
“Dessert time,” he said. Ariel shook her head. “What, you’re not going to have a jelly donut?”
“I’m full.”
“Come on. Try one. The gas station guy said they were flown in this morning from Paris.”
She smiled. He thought again what a great smile it was.
“They’re filled with whipped cream.”
Another smile. Another shake of her head.
“No? How about if they’re filled with marscapone? You are one tough woman to please. Crème brûlée? Chocolate mousse?”
She laughed. He smiled. Seeing her laugh was even better than seeing her smile.
“Jelly donuts should be filled with jelly,” she said.
“Truly?” He slapped his hand to his heart. “What a relief! These happen to be filled exactly like that. With jelly.” He grabbed one and bit into it. “Raspberry, all the way.”
“Okay,” she said, still laughing. “I’ll eat one, but if I explode, it’s your fault.”
“I’ll take the blame. Heck, it’s in a good cause. Who can resist a jelly donut?”
She made a face. Then she picked up a donut and bit into it.
A tiny glob of jelly clung to the center of her bottom lip.
Just that quickly, he stopped smiling. And all his thoughts about why he didn’t want to take her to bed went up in smoke.
Who was he kidding?
He wanted her so badly he was aching.
What if he leaned over and licked that drop of jelly away? What would she do? Would she pull back? Show indignation? Get up and walk away?
Or would she sigh his name, loop her arm around his neck, open her mouth to the seeking warmth of his?
He made a sound. Something between a groan of anguish and a sigh of need.
She looked at him.
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “Nothing. I just…”
“Mmpf,” she said, touching the tip of her tongue to the center of her bottom lip, licking away the jelly the way a kitten would lick a drop of cream.
The way a man would stroke his tongue over his lover’s mouth.
Exactly, his cock said, and sprang to life.
He shot to his feet, bent himself in half in desperate hope of concealing what was happening to him, and started grabbing napkins and wrappers and boxes and tossing them in the trash.
“Okay,” he said brightly. “Let me get this mess cleaned up and then we’ll go to bed.”
Ah, God. Worse and worse.
Blindly, he crossed the room to the wall of kitchen appliances. “I saw a coffee pot and some coffee here… Yes. Excellent.” He kept his back to her until he had himself under control. Then he swung toward the table again.
“Right,” he said, even more brightly. “Coffee. Then we can wash up. I bought us toothbrushes, toothpaste, stuff I figured we’d need.”
“For how long?”
“What do you mean, for how long?”
“For how long will we need those things? For how long will we be running?”
“We’re not running.”
She laughed, but it wasn’t the kind of laugh a man wanted to hear. Still, it was exactly the response his automatic denial deserved.
“Let’s just say we’re keeping a low profile.”
Her eyes narrowed. Her lovely eyes, even framed with bruises.
“We are running,” she said. “We haven’t talked about what happened before, that phone call, then the way you got rid of the phone and the GPS. Just because I haven’t asked questions doesn’t mean I haven’t put two and two
together. We’re running. I was right about someone being after me, and now whoever it is, he’s after us.”
He looked across the table at her. She had put the donut aside, wiped her fingers and mouth with one of the paper napkins that had been in the bag with their food. Now, her eyes were locked on his face.
“Ariel, look, I know this is difficult—”
“I need to know the truth.”
“The truth?”
“About me. About this. About whatever it is I’m—I’m caught up in.”
Talk about ways to get past a hard-on…
“I can’t tell you.”
“What kind of answer is that? I’ve gone along with this game, but that’s finished. That phone call changed everything. Who was it on the phone? What did he want? What did he say?”
