In the Arms of the Wind (8 page)

She was looking at his strong profile, hesitated for just a moment then asked if that was what had brought about his divorce.

“I’ll be honest with you, Kaycee,” he said, turning to look at her. “The cheating didn’t start until after I’d been kicked out of the house. I came home one night and found all my personal stuff in trash bags in the hall and all the locks changed. I had to kick the door in. She made it very clear I was no longer wanted or needed in her life.” He got to his feet. “A man has needs and mine hadn’t been met for a very long time. I gathered up my things and drove over to the apartment of a female detective who had been flirting with me for months. That night, I took her up on her offer to kiss it and make it better.”

“Are you still seeing her?” Kaycee asked as she followed him out of the theater.

“The cop?” He shook his head. “Nah, that didn’t work out.”

“So you aren’t seeing anyone?”

He held the door open for her to enter the lobby. “I’m not made of stone. There’s a lady I see when the male hormones need releasing. It’s just a convenience for her and me, nothing more. It doesn’t mean anything.”

It was pouring rain outside and the lightning was flashing almost constantly. An Atlantic storm had blown in with a vengeance. Those who had not brought umbrellas to the theater were packed into the alcove, looking out, shaking their heads at those brave souls who decided to make a run for their cars. Kaycee and Danny remained in the lobby, neither wanting to stand amid the crush of strangers. When the rain slacked, he looked at her and she lifted her shoulders.

“I won’t melt,” she told him.

Reaching down for her hand, he led her out into the alcove then pushed the door open for her. Together, they ran to his car, laughing as he helped her inside then sprinted around the front to join her.

“Well, I didn’t think I needed a second bath today, but apparently the rain god thought otherwise,” he quipped.

“Thank goodness for drip-dry hair,” she laughed, raking her fingers through her short mane.

He looked at her through the low light and wanted to throw himself on her, ravish her where she sat. A tremor ran through him at the thought and he hastily pushed the keys into the ignition.

“Coffee and pie now?” he asked as he cranked the car.

“I’ve got coffee at home and half a cherry pie,” she offered. “How’s that?”

He didn’t look her way before pulling out of the parking lot and onto the rain-slick highway. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

They kept up a spate of mundane chatter on the drive out to her house, but she noticed he kept looking in the rearview mirror. When he realized she had caught him doing that, he flung out a negligent hand.

“Force of habit,” he explained.

“So there isn’t anyone following us?”

He glanced in the mirror again. “Nope.” He reached across the console and took her hand. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Kaycee. You are safe with me.”

She felt she was. With his hand wrapped around hers, she felt relaxed and sheltered.

The rain picked up a bit as he pulled into her driveway, but they decided to make a dash for the protection of the porch—her telling him not to bother opening her door for her. Though he protested that was being very gentlemanly, she insisted and shoved the door open, hurrying around the front and onto the porch with him close on her heels.

When she had her key out, he gently took it from her and opened the door as she held back the screen door. After telling him where the inside switch was, he flipped on the living room light and stood back for her to enter.

“I’ll get us a towel,” she said, heading for her bedroom. When she came back, he had taken off his loafers and set them by the door. She smiled as he ran his fingers through his wet hair. “Here.”

He took the towel, but instead of drying his hair, he moved closer to her and used it to blot the droplets of rain from her face.

“Such a gentleman,” she said, blushing. She wasn’t accustomed to men doing things for her and especially not men who looked like Danny Gallagher.

“So beautiful,” he said. He leaned toward her and kissed her gently—almost tentatively—then drew back. “I’m sorry. If that was out of line…”

“No,” she was quick to say. “Not at all.” Her blush deepened then she stepped back. “Dry off and I’ll get that pie and coffee for us.”

“Can I help?” he asked, running the towel over his hair.

“You can sit at the table and relax,” she told him.

He followed her into the kitchen, smiling at the explosion of green and white gingham, black and white cows and red apples that decorated the immaculate little kitchen with its Youngstown cabinets.

“A real, honest to goodness fifties kitchen,” he said, pulling one of the polished chrome chairs padded with dark green vinyl away from the green Formica table. “God, I love it.”

“Believe it or not, but that kitchen table used to belong to my grandmother,” she said as she opened the fridge.

He spread his palm over the slick surface. “Where’s the oilcloth?” he asked, and when she looked around at him, he shrugged. “You need one of those green-check oilcloth tablecloths that you find on rolls in the old mom-and-pop hardware stores.” He wrinkled his nose. “You know the kind I mean? They smell so bad.”

She laughed. “I know exactly what you mean.”

As she filled the coffeemaker, he sat back with the chair tipped on its back legs, one of his own crooked over the other and watched her. He felt at home and he hadn’t felt that way since—hell, he couldn’t ever remember feeling that way!

“Did your mom have a tablecloth like that?” she asked as she turned to cut two wedges of pie.

Danny snorted. “My mother? Hell no. It was Irish lace and Bavarian china on a Chippendale plum-pudding mahogany table for her.”

Kaycee arched a brow. “You know what plum-pudding mahogany is?” she queried.

He laced his fingers together and put them behind his head. “My mother always gave a little speech about that dining room suite of hers. I remember bits and pieces of it. Things like cabriole leg with lion’s paw, highboy and Queen Anne chairs with damask brocade.” He rolled his eyes. “All very exciting stuff.”

“To me,” she agreed, bringing two pieces of pie to the table, “but not so for you I wouldn’t think.” She went over to get a couple of forks.

“Talk like that bored the crap out of me,” he said. “I’d much rather have eaten in the kitchen with our cook. She, at least, was fun.”

Kaycee took a seat, glanced around to see how the coffee was coming and asked how he liked it.

“Black,” he replied, and lowered his hands to pick up a fork. He cut off the tip of the pie and brought it to his mouth. The instant his tongue touched the savory-sweet filling he closed his eyes and sighed. “Woman, this is damned fine pie.”

“Glad you like it.” She watched him chewing with his eyes closed and wanted to reach out to touch his cheek. When he opened them and looked right at her, she ducked her head, embarrassed at having been caught staring at him.

“I like what I see too,” he said softly, and reached his free hand over to place it atop hers.

She hated to ease her hand out from under his but the warmth of his flesh was sensory overload and doing strange things to her libido. She stood and headed for the coffee pot.

“You’re just going to have to accept it,
mo muirnín
,” he said.

Kaycee knew the meaning of the Gaelic phrase for her grandfather had used the endearment when speaking to her grandmother. It meant “my beloved”.

“Accept what?” she asked while pouring their coffee.

“That we’re going to be together from now on,” he replied.

She came back to the table with the coffee. “Don’t you think things are moving a bit fast?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. I’m a man who sees what he wants and goes after it until it is his.”

Those words sent a shiver of pleasure through Kaycee.

“And you want me?” she asked, searching his eyes.

He held her gaze. “I surely do.”

“Why?”

“Truth?”

“Truth.”

“I wish I could tell you, Kaycee. All I do know is that I took one look at you and I was a goner. My first instinct was to take you in my arms and the next instinct was to protect you, to keep you safe. I can’t explain it. It just happened.”

“You thought I was pathetic,” she said, dipping her head. When he didn’t respond, she looked up through her lashes. He was just looking at her, making her uncomfortable with his silent scrutiny, which lasted several moments before she quietly asked what was bothering him.

“I don’t want you to ever do that again,” he told her. “You hear me? Don’t ever belittle yourself to me. I’m not like any other man you’ve ever met so don’t judge me by them.”

She could barely draw the words out for his had touched her so deeply. “I won’t,” she whispered.

“Okay then,” he said.

Lightning cracked brutally beyond the windows and the house shook as thunder rolled in its wake.

“It’s getting really nasty out there,” she said, wanting to change the subject.

“Atlantic seaboard storm,” he acknowledged, taking another forkful of pie. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

Kaycee laughed. “Trial and error,” she replied. “When I’m angry or hurt or bored, I cook.” She leaned back in the chair to sip her hot coffee. “My specialty is chicken and dressing.”

“My favorite food is chicken and dressing,” he said as he scraped the last of the pie from his plate.

“Sure it is,” she said with a grin.

He pushed the plate aside, shaking his head to the offer of more, and then reached for his cup. Sitting hunched over the table, he studied her. “I have tomorrow off. How ’bout cooking me some chicken and dressing? I’ll buy the fixings.”

“All right,” she said. “I go to Mass at St. Rose of Lima at nine so…”

“I’ll pick you up,” he stated. “Your church or mine?”

“Where’s your church?”

“St. Anthony’s.” He cocked a shoulder. “My brother Sean is the priest there. Our family usually attends the five thirty Mass on Saturdays. On Sundays, we go to Mom’s house for lunch.”

“Wouldn’t you rather do that then?” she asked.

“I’d rather be with you,” he told her.

Another piercing skirl of lightning lit up the windows and Kaycee flinched.

“I don’t like storms,” she said, and her words were punctuated by the lights going off.

“Neither does the light company,” he joked. “They decided to hide from it.”

“I’ve got candles,” she said, getting up.

“Need help?”

“That’s okay. I’ve learned to keep candles handy so I’ve got one next to the fridge,” she said, and opened a drawer to get the butane candle lighter.

As she flicked the lighter to flame, he picked up the empty pie plates, took them over to the sink and began rinsing them.

“Just leave them in the sink,” she said, lighting the candle. “We can take our coffee into the living room.”

He turned his face toward her and the soft glow of the candlelight gave her pretty face a sensuous look that made his cock shift.

“Then sit on the sofa and make out?” he asked in a husky voice as he turned off the water.

She pursed her lips. “Let’s see if I remember what you said. First date is a light peck on the cheek, respectfully placed.”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“Second date is a very soft kiss on the lips but no tongue.”

“That either.”

“On the third you get the tongue and on the fourth you get…”

He reached out to take the candle from her.

“Well, that just sucks. Do you have instant recall?”

“Yes, indeed. I have a phonographic memory,” she teased.

“Then I’d better be careful what I promise you, huh?” he questioned.

“Might be a good idea,” she agreed.

He preceded her into the living room, placed the candle on the coffee table then sat down beside her.

“Okay, making out isn’t an option,” he said, putting his arm behind her and drawing her to him. “So we’ll just cuddle. How’s that?”

Lightning peeled the sky apart with a shriek that sounded as if it hit close by. She jumped and buried her head against his shoulder.

“Damn it, I hate storms!” she said.

Danny engulfed her in his arms, feeling her trembling against him. He put his lips to the top of her head. “It’s okay, baby. I’m right here.”

Hail slammed against the house as thunder rumbled, shaking the windows. The fiery activity intensified dangerously and the wind howled. He pulled her onto his lap and braced her head on his chest, crooning softly to her as she quaked. As the storm raged, he shifted his position so he could stretch out on the sofa with her lying in his arms, pressed so tightly to him it was almost as though she were trying to crawl inside his skin.

“I’m here,” he kept saying over and over as he stroked her back. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.