More Than Neighbors (22 page)

He wondered if the day might come when he’d want to display other photographs on the mantel. Put some of these away in albums.

For the first time in five years, he thought it was possible.

* * *

C
IARA JUMPED WHEN
she heard the doorbell ring, even though she’d been expecting it. She’d invited him, for Pete’s sake! She hadn’t seen him in three days, since dinner at his house, and she’d been really looking forward to tonight, even before the change in plans that had her ridiculously nervous.

She made herself take a few slow, deep breaths before she went to let Gabe in, frustrating Watson, who was barking frantically and spinning in circles in front of the door.

I should have called. Not...not set Gabe up like this.

It wasn’t like that.

They could have dinner, if he offered to help clear the table she’d let him, then he’d say good-night and go. Same as always.

Unless...

She gulped again and opened the door, letting Watson shoot past her. All he wanted was to greet Gabe, who immediately reached down to stroke his head and tug at his ears.

He looked so good, wearing his usual jeans, boots and a long-sleeved, dark blue T-shirt. His gray eyes were friendly, a contrast to the first time she’d met him when she and Mark stopped by to introduce themselves. Was it possible he’d trimmed his beard? she wondered. She would swear she could see the bone structure better than before, the hollows beneath his cheekbones. Or maybe it was only because she had seen the picture and now knew what he looked like beneath that close-cropped beard.

“Where’s the rest of the greeting committee?” he asked.

Moment of truth. “It’s just us this evening.” She tried for light, almost amused. “I almost called, but...we both have to eat.”

His expression shifted. “Mark’s not home?”

The very quality of the air she breathed changed. “Believe it or not, he’s with the Weekses again. Seems he has a new best friend.” His first best friend? She didn’t want to admit that. “Jennifer didn’t have any homework. Heck, with the school year so close to over, teachers probably aren’t bothering to assign any. So, even though it’s a school night, Leslie let her rent
The Lone Ranger
. She picked up pizza in Colville and they’re going to have ice cream and unlimited soda.”

His mouth quirked even as he stepped inside. “They’re ready to party.”

“Apparently. Except...
The Lone Ranger
?”

“I don’t see many movies.” He sounded apologetic.

“I do because of Mark, but we skipped that one. The reviews were pretty awful.”

“Might be just right for an eleven-year-old and a twelve-year-old.”

“Is that how old she is?” What a relief, to have something so normal to talk about. “I hadn’t thought to ask.”

“I think so.” He sounded doubtful. “Could be twelve, too, I guess.”

“You don’t think—?” She was horrified, although she knew she shouldn’t be.

His smile deepened. She would swear she could see the crease in his cheek along with crinkles beside his eyes. “I don’t think so, Ciara. She still strikes me as pretty childish.”

“Mark, too.” Except she realized she wasn’t positive. Mark would be thirteen in only a few weeks. Girls were definitely boy crazy by then. The way she remembered it, seventh-grade boys weren’t all that interested in girls, but were getting more so by eighth grade.

But there was no way Mark was going to be suave with the girls. What kind of girl would ever be interested in
him
? Not that there was anything wrong with him. He just wasn’t...

Ciara gave up, aware of Gabe’s gaze resting on her face. She imagined he was reading her mind. She often had the suspicion he could.

“Come on back to the kitchen.”

Conversation remained general as she dished up a chicken in wine sauce flavored by marjoram that Mark didn’t like very well. She had impulsively decided to cook it as soon as he hung up the phone and said eagerly, “Can you drive me over there right now, Mom?”

Gabe told her about an enormous table he was crafting out of cherry and inlaid with some other woods for a wealthy man in Coeur d’Alene. She talked about a couple of recent projects. She was making several pillows for a woman who had been a Peace Corps volunteer in West Africa twenty years ago. She’d brought back some distinctive fabrics and never done anything with them. After stumbling on Ciara’s website, she’d sent them to her to design and sew pillows.

“She said she made one herself, but it was awful, and she wanted something classy. It’s fun. The fabrics are amazing. These will be a different look for me. I’m thinking I might see if I can find similar imported fabrics to use for the pillows I sell through boutiques.”

“It’s like my furniture making,” he said with a nod.

“Yes, except—” Was it bad to ask? “You didn’t seem to have anything in your house you’ve made.”

Gabe took his time about answering. He helped himself to more brown rice and then chicken. “I actually do have a couple pieces,” he said. “A rocking chair. And there’s a dresser in my bedroom.” He didn’t say where the rocking chair was. In his daughter’s room? “But you’re right. I meant to replace the kitchen cabinets first. Put it off because the commissions kept coming and then—” He shrugged. Didn’t have to finish. “Not a lot of reason to change anything, I guess.”

Ciara nodded. There was comfort in the familiar. It would be painful to build the cabinets he knew his wife had wanted, and painful in another way to leave those plans behind and do something different.

“I wish I could afford you,” she said ruefully. “I’ll bet your customers don’t have to brace their feet to yank open their silverware drawers.”

She loved the way his eyes smiled before his mouth did.

“I do try to prevent that.” His voice became a little huskier. “I can give you the good neighbor discount.”

“Ten percent?” she joked.

“Closer to eighty.” He sounded serious.

“I couldn’t let you do that,” she said, shocked.

“Sure you could. But I don’t suppose it’s at the top of your remodeling list.”

She followed his gaze to her very old-fashioned kitchen with inadequate storage and counter space, then sighed. “No. I think the bathrooms might come first. And getting the floors refinished before the wood is too damaged.”

They talked about that a little, but she began to wonder if he was as distracted as she was. She didn’t have much appetite. Most nights Gabe would take a third helping when she offered, but tonight he shook his head. She couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking, but he was definitely thinking hard.

About her?

She pushed away from the table and leaped up. “Dessert?” she said brightly. Oh, didn’t she sound like the perfect hostess? “Lemon meringue pie.”

“Why don’t we wait for a bit,” he suggested. The husky undertone was there again. Very slowly, he rose to his feet, too. “I’d sure like to kiss you again.”

His directness got to her as flirting wouldn’t have. Her breath froze in her lungs. She gripped the back of her chair, not sure if her knees would otherwise have held her up. “Yes,” she whispered, knowing this was what she’d wanted, why she hadn’t called to suggest he come tomorrow night instead.

In two steps, he closed the distance between them. With one big hand, he lifted her chin. His eyes were stormy, intense.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Any other time, she’d have argued. Said,
Don’t pretend. Of course I’m not
. But...she really believed he did think so. There’d been electricity between them almost from the first. She remembered thinking he wasn’t anywhere near as handsome as Jeff, then the next second realizing how little that mattered. He was pure male. He didn’t need to put on the charm for her to find him compelling.

She reached up and laid her hand against his jaw and cheek. The scratchy/soft texture of his beard against her palm was unbearably sensual. Her skin tingled as she imagined him rubbing his face against her breasts. She had a bad feeling her nipples were already tightening.

Gabe made a ragged sound and bent his head. Just like the last time, she met his mouth with need she didn’t even try to disguise. The kiss was almost instantly explosive.

Even so, Gabe was still careful. Almost gentle. His tongue stroked, but it didn’t stab. The sensation of being savored was astonishingly seductive.

She teased him with her tongue and the edges of her teeth, reveling in his shudders of reaction, the way the muscles in his shoulders bunched, the involuntary sounds he made. A few slipped from between her lips, too, when he kissed his way across her cheek to nip her earlobe and then explore the sensitive skin behind it.

The feel of his mouth along with the soft brush of his beard on her neck had her shivering, letting her head fall back. One big hand enclosed her breast and gently squeezed and rubbed. Her knees became rubbery.

“Gabe. Gabe.”

He groaned and lifted his head. Dark color ran across his cheeks above his beard. “I want you, Ciara.”

“Yes. Please,” she added.

The assessing look he cast toward the counter shocked and intrigued her, but she’d left everything from crusted pans to spice jars scattered all over it. There wasn’t
room
for... Well. She’d never done anything like that, but she couldn’t help imagining him standing in front of her, her legs locked around his hips...

His gaze went back to hers. “Upstairs?” he asked hoarsely.

She nodded, grabbed his hand and led him.

Through the swinging door, Watson greeted them with delight. Even Daisy heaved herself to her feet. Ciara ignored both. She didn’t look at Gabe as they mounted the stairs, but didn’t let go, either.

Don’t chicken out.
Then,
Don’t let him change his mind.

He was so close behind her, she could feel the heat of his strong body as they entered her bedroom. He closed the door firmly before the dog could follow them.

The room wasn’t very big; none of the bedrooms in a house of this era were. She had only a double bed, which wasn’t really large enough for him. He didn’t even look toward it. His eyes, molten and intense, never left her face.

“I want to see you.” He pulled her shirt up, and she lifted her arms so he could pull it over her head. He looked his fill. “Pretty,” he said hoarsely, his hands wrapping almost all the way around her waist, sliding upward and then cupping both of her satin-clad breasts. Shivers racked her. It wasn’t long before he unhooked the front closure and groaned.

He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and laid her down on the bed. She heard one clunk followed by another as her clogs dropped to the floor. Gabe flattened his hands to each side of her, and his mouth closed over one breast.

The feeling was indescribable. Wet, warm, a tug that was both gentle and insistent. The sensual whisper of his beard. She arched to meet him and knotted her fingers in his unruly brown hair. His tongue circled her exquisitely sensitized nipple, and then he moved to the other breast as small cries broke from her.

When he lifted his head at last, his eyes were ablaze. She yanked at his T-shirt, desperate to see and touch his bare chest.

The V of hair on his chest was the same shade as his beard. No red, no hint of blond. Plain brown, on a man she’d have said wasn’t showy, until now when she saw the flex of powerful muscles. They quivered as she greedily ran her hands over his body, from his taut stomach to his bulky shoulders. He watched her as she explored him, but she saw the moment he broke.

“Ciara.” The way he said her name had always shaken her, and never more than now.

The hands that lifted her hips so he could pull down her jeans had a tremor. She reached at the same time to unzip his jeans, but he’d backed too far away as he skinned the denim down her legs and over her feet, taking her socks with them. He paused to knead her feet until her toes curled, and she moaned.

Then he finished stripping himself, taking a small packet from his pocket before he discarded his pants.

“Can I—?”

His gaze flashed to her, and he shook his head. “Better not. It’s been a long time for me.”

The sight of those steady, competent hands shaking got to her almost as much as seeing the size and urgency of his erection. She was ready, so ready, when he came back down to her, his body pressing her into the mattress, his mouth closing over hers with stark need.

They kissed and touched, rolling once so she was astride him then over again. This time he was between her legs, and he pushed forward. Somehow, he was still being careful of her, giving her body time to adjust to an intrusion that felt new, even as she wanted it so much, holding some of his weight on his elbows. She flattened her feet on the bed and lifted her hips to draw him deeper, harder. Only then did he let go and begin to thrust.

Her fingers dug into his back as she tried to pull him closer, to hold on for a ride of astonishing gentleness and power and need like nothing she’d experienced before. She lost the rhythm, squirmed and fought. At some point he reached down and gripped her hip, pacing her movements, until the rising flood swept her away in a cataclysm of pleasure.

He drove harder, deeper, taking her through the pleasure and out the other side. And then his body went rigid above her, and he made a guttural sound that might have been her name. Ciara held on to him with everything she had, wanting never to let go or start thinking again, instead of
feeling
.

He came down with most of his weight to one side, but he held on tight to her, too.

* * *

O
H, DAMN,
WAS ALL
he could think. It couldn’t have been as good as it seemed. Guilt niggled. Of course it wasn’t. He’d loved his wife. Making love with her had been everything he’d wanted. Satisfying.

It had been a long time, that was all.

He hadn’t felt guilty other times he’d had sex since Ginny died. All he’d been doing was scratching an itch. She’d have understood. But this—

Face buried in Ciara’s wealth of red-brown hair, he listened for his wife’s voice, and then gradually relaxed as he knew again. It had been a long time. She’d want him to be happy.