A Little Too Much (21 page)

The white bellow of his breath pauses as he pulls me closer and presses his lips tighter to mine. When he finally backs away, he strokes his fingers down my cheek. “You’re as soft as I remember.”

In the pocket of my jacket, Dev starts singing about her sex drive. I ignore her and kiss Alessandro again, but a sudden knot in my chest makes me stop.

I shouldn’t want this. I’m totally playing with fire.

I can’t do this.

He blows out a breath and stands, holding out his hand, as if he heard my thoughts and agrees. “We should go back.”

I push off the bench without taking his hand and start back toward the youth center, trying to reconcile the desire I can’t deny anymore with my reality. I can’t want him.

Once we get there, Alessandro ducks into the locker room to change, and that’s when I remember my phone. I check it and find a missed call and two texts from Mallory. The first is from fifteen minutes ago.

Max is sick. Jeff went in the ambulance with him to the hospital. Call me!

And then three minutes later:

Wendy and Mike are away for X-mas. I need you to come stay the night with Henri.

“Oh, no!” I gasp, staring at her messages.

“What is it?”

I look up to see Alessandro stepping out of the locker room in jeans and a black button-down.

“I have to go to my sister’s. There’s an emergency.”

He shrugs his jacket on and loops his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Things here are under control. I’ll come with you.”

I don’t argue. I spin and head for the door and Alessandro follows.

A
LESSANDR
O EXCUSES HIMSELF
and moves up the train car to make a call. It’s not until he’s gone from my side that it occurs to me bringing him was a really bad idea. Hopefully Mallory will be too wrapped up in worrying about Max to realize who he is. I call her while he’s gone. Her voice is thick when she answers and I can tell she’s been crying.

“What happened? Is Max okay?” I hear the panic in my voice and try to rein it in. Mallory’s already scared enough.

“Jeff just called from the hospital. It’s appendicitis. They’re taking him to surgery.”

“Oh God,” I murmur.

Alessandro slides into the seat next to me and reaches for my hand, and when I look up at him, his expression is all concern.

“Thanks for coming, Hilary. I can’t take Henri to the hospital, and Wendy and Mike are at Jeff’s parents’ in Kansas for Christmas.” Wendy is Jeff’s sister and Mallory’s regular fallback. They live closer than me and they have a son and a daughter just about the boys’ ages.

“We’re on the PATH. We’ll be there as soon as we can,” I say.

“Hurry.” She sniffles and disconnects.

The buses cooperate and we’re at her door forty-five minutes later. I haven’t even rung the bell when she rips the door open, already in her jacket. Her eyes are red and swollen, but she’s not crying at the moment.

I wrap her in a hug. “We’re here. Go.”

I pull back and see her eyes locked over my shoulder, on Alessandro.

He steps up next to me and holds out his hand. “I’m Alessandro.”

“Mallory,” she answers flatly without taking it.

The combination of panic and betrayal is clear in her eyes as they shift to me and narrow. I step through the door and concentrate on peeling off my jacket and hanging it on the coat tree so I don’t have to look at her and see it there.

Alessandro hesitates in the door as if deciding if he’s welcome here. He’s not, but I can’t really tell him that without saying why. Instead, I take his hand and pull him through, closing the door behind him.

“Auntie!” Henri croons as he appears from the hall to his room and runs up to hug my waist.

I ruffle his black hair. “Hey, buddy. How you holding out?”

He looks up at me with wide, scared eyes. “Max was screaming.”

I crouch next to him. “It’s going to be okay. He’s with the doctors and they’re going to fix him all up. Don’t worry, okay?”

He presses himself against me and I hug him tight. When he lets me go, I kiss his forehead and stand. “It will be fine,” I tell Mallory prodding her toward the garage door. “
Everything
will be fine. Call us when Max is out of surgery.”

Her eyes shift between me, Henri, and Alessandro, like she’s still not sure about leaving us.

I take her elbow and guide her to the garage door. “We’ll keep Henri busy. Don’t worry about us.”

With a last concerned glance at Henri, she disappears through the door.

I turn back to the boys and force myself to stop shaking. “Too bad no one around here has any Legos.”

The fear melts off Henri’s face and he grins and bolts for his room.

“Are you okay?” Alessandro says as I stand frozen.

I force myself to breathe. “Just worried.”

He comes to me and folds me into his arms. “He’s getting medical attention. He’ll be fine,” he says low in my ear. His warm breath in my hair makes me shudder and he holds me tighter.

At his touch, the tension runs out of my body and I sag into him. He holds me close and goose bumps prickle my scalp as he strokes my hair. But then I hear the rattling of Legos against a cardboard box. Alessandro releases me and I turn.

“Oh, dude!” I say as Henri hauls the box with his biggest, baddest Lord of the Rings Lego set into the family room.

“Legos,” Alessandro says with a smile at Henri. “I loved these as a kid.” He moves to where Henri is dumping the contents of the box into the middle of the floor and lowers himself onto the carpet. “I used to sit and build Legos for hours.”

“Who are you?” Henri asks, without looking up, as he sorts his Legos into color-coded stacks, and I feel a sharp twist in my stomach.

Alessandro reaches in and helps sort. “My name is Alessandro. I’m a friend of your aunt’s.”

Henri grins up at Alessandro, already comfortable with him, and I force myself to start breathing again. But as I walk over and lower myself onto the carpet next to them, I feel a wet lump form in my throat and tears press at the backs of my eyes.

Because Henri looks just like his father.

Chapter Twenty-Two

M
ALLORY CALLS FROM
the hospital as Alessandro is making macaroni and cheese (Henri’s vote) from scratch for dinner. “Max is out of surgery,” she says. “They say everything went fine and we can go up to recovery with him in a few minutes.”

“Thank God,” I breathe.

“How’s Henri?”

I hear the
real
question in her voice, but choose to ignore it. “Fine. We’ve built Middle Earth in your family room,” I say as Henri snaps together the last few pieces of his Lego Rivendell. “Do you want to talk to him?”

“Put him on.”

I hand the phone off and move to the kitchen. “Max is out of surgery. They say everything’s good,” I tell Alessandro.

He turns from the stove and looks at me. “I’m glad.”

“Auntie!” Henri shouts, crashing into me from behind. “Mom wants you.”

I take the phone. “Hey.”

“So Jeff and I are going to stay here tonight.”

I know what she’s waiting for me to say. “No problem. I can stay with Henri as long as you need me to.”

“You? Or both of you?”

“I don’t know, Mallory.” I try to hide my irritation. I know why she’s worried, but he doesn’t know and I’m not going to tell him.

“I would prefer it was just you.” Her voice is tight.

“I know.”

“As long as we’re clear.”

“Just take care of Max and don’t worry about Henri, okay?”

There’s a pause. “Okay,” she finally says.

I disconnect as Alessandro drains the macaroni. “Do you need help?”

He hands me the colander. “Shake this out and dump it into the pot,” he says, gesturing at the stove.

I do as I’m told and stir the macaroni into the cheese sauce as he moves to the fridge and pulls out some salad stuff. A few minutes later, dinner is on the table.

Henri excitedly tells Alessandro about all of his favorite Lego sets and what happened when he built the front of his pirate ship out of the middle of the Star Wars Death Star.

“I had the Death Star set,” Alessandro says, smiling at Henri.

“Geek,” I mutter, and Alessandro raises an eyebrow at me, but then out of nowhere, a piece of breadstick ricochets off his cheek. We both look at Henri, who giggles and flicks another hunk of bread at Alessandro.

Alessandro tips his head at Henri and holds up his fingers as goalposts. “How accurate are you with that finger?” he challenges.

Henri grins and tears off another bit of breadstick, taking aim at Alessandro’s goalposts. He only scores on one of his five shots, but the others don’t miss by much.

“My turn,” Alessandro says, pinching off a hunk of his breadstick.

Henri makes goalposts and Alessandro’s shot misses Henri’s goal wildly.

Henri rolls his eyes. “Nobody’s
that
bad. Show me what you got. I’m not a sore loser, you know.”

Alessandro grins at him. “Remember you said that, little man.” He scores on three of his next four shots, then makes a roar-of-the-crowd sound, raising his arms.

I crack up. This is a side of Alessandro I’m not sure I’ve ever seen. “Competitive much?” I mutter, and Henri giggles.

“It’s a guy thing,” Alessandro says with a wink at Henri.

“Are you going to marry Auntie Hilary?” Henri asks out of nowhere, and I freeze.

Alessandro’s gaze flicks to me before he answers. “No, Henri. Your aunt and I are just old friends.”

Henri slides out of his seat and jumps into my lap. “When school starts, we’re going on a science field trip where there’s a bird-eating tarantula!”

“Wow!” I say, pulling him closer, thankful that he’s on to another train of thought so fast. “What is it with you guys and tarantulas?”

He hops out of my lap and leans both hands on Alessandro’s knees, proceeding to tell him all about Jeremy Timmons’ tarantula, and how it ate a whole cricket, guts and all. A wet, pulsing lump forms in my throat and I can’t watch them together. I stand and scoop dishes up, carrying them to the counter. When I turn back from the sink, Henri is perched on Alessandro’s knee, telling him how Rufus once killed a squirrel in the backyard.

I ruffle his hair. “Time for your bath, buddy.”

He clambers off Alessandro, and Alessandro cleans up while I stick Henri in the tub and shuttle him off to bed.

“What are you going to read me tonight?” I ask, climbing into bed next to him.

He holds up a thin hardcover book. “
Loki’s Revenge
.”

“Excellent,” I say. “Loki’s my favorite.”

He settles in and opens his book just as Alessandro appears at the door, his sleeves rolled up, leaning a shoulder into the door frame. As Henri reads, I have to keep swallowing the lump in my throat. Alessandro and Henri connected tonight. They know each other. I never thought that would happen. And Henri really likes him. When he looks up and sees Alessandro in the doorway, he grins and pulls on my arm. “Make room for Alessandro, Auntie.”

I slide up and curl around Henri, and Alessandro comes in and sits at the foot of the bed, leaning sideways on one elbow. He grabs Henri’s toes through the blanket and jiggles them, and Henri kicks and squeals.

I nudge Alessandro’s shoulder with my foot and give him a look. “Bedtime. We’re supposed to be winding down here.”

“Sorry,” he says to me, but then gives Henri a conspiratorial wink and Henri giggles again.

“Read, buddy,” I tell Henri, and he picks his book up from where he dropped it in the sheets.

“When Thor de . . . f . . .”

“Remember that the A makes the E say its name,” I prompt as I point to the word he’s stuck on.

“When Thor defeated Loki, Loki swore he would make Thor pay.” Henri looks up at me and grins, then looks back at the page and reads to us all about how Loki gets back at Thor. When he’s done, I give him a big hug and kiss, then haul myself off his bed. Alessandro stands and ruffles Henri’s hair and I turn out the light. “ ’Night buddy,” I say from the door.

“Good night, Auntie. Good night, Alessandro.” He snuggles down into his pillow and closes his eyes. I watch him for a minute, feeling the heat of Alessandro’s body just behind me, then pull his door closed.

“He’s a great kid,” Alessandro says as we move back to the family room. He picks up a picture of Mallory’s family from the end table. “This is his father?” he asks, tapping Jeff’s face.

That sharp something twists in my gut again. “Jeff.”

He inspects the photograph for a minute longer, a V forming in the creases between his eyebrows, then sets it down without another word. I click on the TV, and settle into the couch, hoping the subject of Henri’s parentage is closed.

Alessandro settles in next to me and loops an arm over my shoulders. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah. Just worried about Max.” It isn’t a lie. It’s just not the whole truth either.

“It’s been a difficult day,” he says, and I know he’s not just referring to Max.

Through all of this, the image of him beating the shit out of Eric has still surfaced in my mind repeatedly. The details of that day are still fuzzy, but I remember Eric handing me a Coke as we sat in the rec room watching TV. I remember the TV blurring and the room starting to spin. The next thing I remember is Alessandro’s bloody fist.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Hilary,” he breathes into my hair.

I don’t know if he’s apologizing for what happened with Eric, or for leaving me, or what, but whatever it is, I can tell by the aching sadness in his voice and in his eyes as I lift mine to look at him, that he means it. “Me too.”

The electricity that’s always in his touch causes me to shudder. He leans in, very slowly, watching me the whole way. I close the last inch and press my lips to his. His kiss is tentative at first, but the longer it goes, the more insistent it becomes, until his tongue slashes through my lips and takes possession of me.

I press him back into the cushions and straddle him, then start on the buttons of his shirt, suddenly needing to see him—to feel his skin on mine. I kiss him hard and deep as I peel back his shirt.

“Hilary,” he breathes when we take a second for air, and I hear the tortured longing in that one word. It sends desire pulsing with my blood, and I smother anything else he wanted to say with another kiss.

In a back corner of my mind, there’s a voice that’s telling me to stop, but it’s drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears. My senses spin as I’m thrown between worlds. I feel everything that’s happening now, the desperation of Alessandro’s kiss; his persistent hands, no longer tentative, but sure and firm on my body; the taste of his mouth and his spicy scent enveloping me; the taut cut of his abs as I glide my fingers over his perfection. But I also feel what I was feeling then: that certainty my heart was going to explode at his gentle touch; the way he kissed me so tenderly on the lips, his tongue caressing mine, exploring, like he wanted to know every inch of me; the way he made me feel things that no one else ever had.

I pull away and slip his shirt off his shoulders, then look down at him, and can’t help staring. There’s no ostentatious bulk, just perfect lines in classically beautiful proportion. I sweep my fingertips over the smooth olive skin along the curve of his biceps, needing to touch him to be sure he’s real. But as my eyes eat him alive, I see the thin, white scar that extends from his side, just below the ribs, toward his hip, disappearing under the waistband of his jeans. I remember it was purple and raised when we were younger. Newer. I glide a fingertip over it and he finches. “What happened?”

I never asked before. When we were kids, I had my ghosts and he had his. We let them lie back then. But now I want to know.

His expression hardens. “I was in a gang. I hurt a lot of people. Some of them hurt me back.”

I reach for him, but he draws away, and there’s so much pain in his expression, right there, so close to the surface. I want to take it from him so he doesn’t have to bear it by himself, but I know he won’t give it to me.

I lift his face and smooth my palm over his stubble. “You are so beautiful, Alessandro. Every inch of you.”

He stiffens as he fights with his desires, but his desires win. His mouth crashes into mine, his kiss deep and urgent. His tongue twists through my mouth, tasting all of mine. My hands smooth over flawless muscles under flawless skin as I glide my fingertips up the sides of his rib cage and massage his nipples with my thumbs. He closes his eyes and moans as they harden.

That moan undoes me. “I want you,” I tell him, my voice course and thick with sex.

He opens his eyes and looks at me, his expression full of anguish. “I want you too, Hilary.
God
,” he says, screwing his eyes shut and turning his face away from mine. “I want you so much. But this is wrong.”

“Why?”

He opens his eyes and they find mine again, haunted and unbearably sad. “Because I didn’t come back to take advantage of you again. I came back to apologize . . . to help if I could.”

I press against him so he can feel the need pulsing through my veins. “You’re not taking advantage of me.”

His eyes flutter closed and he tips his head back into the couch and shudders as I lick from the base of his neck to the corner of his jaw. I pull back and lift my shirt over my head. He watches as I unhook my white lace bra, letting it slide off my shoulders.

His hands are fisted into the fabric of the couch cushions next to my legs. He’s fighting so hard with himself not to touch me.

But I want him to touch me.

I slide my hand down his abs to the bulge in his jeans and lean forward, my chest against his, skin on skin, and my lips on his neck just below his ear. “I want to feel you inside me again,” I whisper.

He growls, grabbing me and spinning me onto my back on the couch. He’s propped over me on one knee, the other foot on the floor, and he’s got my yoga pants and thong off before I even realize what’s happening.

The pure animal need on his face sends a shudder through me. And the next second, when he spreads my legs, and his mouth finds the sensitive point there, the sex rush is so intense that everything south of my belt convulses. I turn my face into the cushions as I arch up and cry out.

His tongue moves over me, flicking and teasing, tasting and owning. As he devours me, I gasp at the unexpected jolts of electricity that skitter under my uber-sensitive skin. And just like that, he has me right on the edge of coming. I’m panting out short breaths, my fingers fisted into his hair as he slips his fingers inside me and sucks. And a second later, when he sends me over the edge, I do everything I can to stifle my cry as I fall apart.

The flood of sensations is overwhelming. Whatever just happened has never happened to me before. I don’t know what this was, but it was more than just sex. It was bigger. Louder. Higher. I’ve never felt like I couldn’t get close enough . . . like I wanted to climb right under the guy’s skin. But that’s how Alessandro makes me feel.

As I spin with my orgasm, the flash of insight nearly blinds me. Alessandro makes me
feel
. Not just physically, but in every sense of the word.

And it scares me.

Because with Brett and everyone before him, sex was mechanical. Predictable. I was in control and it felt good, physically, but that’s all it felt. The purpose was to ground me and remind me I existed. Sex with Brett didn’t reach into my soul and tug at my heart. It didn’t move me to tears. But Alessandro took me there with no pain. No props. I’ve never been able to come like that for anyone else.

But as Alessandro crawls up the couch, and I feel his knees press into the cushions between my legs, I realize this is different. I open my eyes, and see him working the button of his jeans. I reach up to help him and he looks down at me with a question burning in his raw, animal gaze. The same question that was there eight years ago, the first time we did this. In response, I drag his zipper down.

He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet and rips the condom out of it, chucking the wallet on the floor. I slip it out of his hand, and he sucks in a sharp breath as I roll it over his length. I lay back and open myself up to him, guiding him to me with my hands on his hips.