Simple Riches (15 page)

She felt his heart pounding, or was it hers? The feel of him, the smell of him, she wanted more, more,
more
. Then it was over and he was pulling away, his breathing hard, his gaze unreadable. They stared at each other, Alex looking up at him, confused…mortified…by what she’d just done in front of a room full of people, what she’d just admitted, to them…and to
him
. She tried to turn away, to get out before she humiliated herself any further, but Nick grabbed her arm and stopped her. He flung the pillow into the crowd and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Alex followed him outside, taking two steps for his every one. Was he angry? Upset? And if he was, with whom? Himself or her?

It was late afternoon and the sun slid over the trees, filtering through, scattering a dancing pattern of light on the back of Nick’s head, making his dark hair shimmer as he moved in front of her. When they reached the Navigator, he opened her door and she climbed in.

“I’m sorry.” They were the first words he’d spoken since they’d left the hall. Alex glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead, hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white.

Sorry. “For the kiss? Or the display?”

“The display. The kiss.” He shook his head. “Both.” He swung around, looked at her. “Jesus, Alex, I don’t know what the hell I’m sorry for.”

“Are you… sorry that you kissed me, Nick, or sorry that you did it in front of half the town?”
Don’t be sorry for the kiss, please, don’t be sorry for the kiss
.

“I couldn’t let that weasel slobber all over you,” he said, ignoring her question.

She turned away, focused on a maple twenty feet away, its dark red leaves a brilliant backdrop against the green lawn.
I wanted you to kiss me, Nick. I wanted you to, even when I knew it was the last thing you should do, even when I knew it wasn’t logical, or sensible.

“Alex?” He said her name with hesitancy, concern.

“It’s okay, Nick. I’m sorry, too.”

They sat in silence, the threads of polka music and laughter spilling out of the hall. “It’s not okay,” his words filled the space between them. “Look at me.” She turned slowly, met his gaze. He had the most beautiful dark brown eyes, like bittersweet chocolate. “I lied.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I’m not sorry I kissed you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing you since that night on the swing, even before that. Every time I looked at you, I thought about how you tasted, and I wanted more, but I kept telling myself it was crazy, I’d be a fool to get involved with somebody like you.” His words were coming out in a rush as though he had to get them all out now or they’d be gone forever. “That’s why I dragged Justin everywhere we went. I didn’t trust myself, didn’t trust the way I was feeling. And then you left.” He ran a hand through his hair, let out a long sigh. “I missed you.” It was a confession, one that didn’t seem to please him.

“Nick.”

He held up a hand. “I wanted you to come back and when I saw you today, the only thing I could think about was touching you, but you avoided me. You feel something for me too, I know it, Alex, whether you admit it to yourself or not. You can’t kiss me like that and pretend it’s nothing.”

“I know.” The words were a whisper.

“And sooner or later you’re going to have to admit that there’s a chemistry going on here—” He stared at her. “What did you just say?”

“I said, I know. I know I have to admit I have feelings for you.”

“So are you?”

Alex twisted her hands in her lap. It was one thing to harbor secret feelings for Nick Androvich, but to make them public, to tell the man himself, that was quite another. And yet, what choice did she have? Her heart was battling with her brain and for once,
for once
, it was winning.

“Alex?” He laid his hand over both of hers, stopped her fidgeting. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I have feelings for you, but—”

She got no further. Nick pulled her to him, half lifting her over the gearshift
column to sit in his lap. His hands framed her face, his lips moved over hers, hard, possessive, desperate, tongue plunging inside, taking, taking. Alex moaned, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the taste of whiskey filling her senses. She wanted to get closer,
needed
to get closer. Nick’s fingers worked their way down her neck to her breast, molding it with his palm, massaging her nipple through the soft fabric.

“Alex,” he whispered, “I dreamed this a thousand times.”

She moaned against his lips, too shaken to respond.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he said, trailing his tongue along the side of her neck, sucking gently. “I want you…” He slid a hand between her legs, parting them, pressed a finger against her heat, “…all of you.” Alex thrust her hips against his finger, once, twice, three times.

He let out a laugh, deep in his throat. “Come to me, Alex.” He stroked her through the silk of her panties, worked small circles over the sensitive flesh, sending shocks of sensation through her body. He kissed her again, drawing her tongue into his mouth, sucking, tasting, and all the time moving those magical fingers between her legs. It was too much, it wasn’t enough—she wanted more,
more
. She jerked against his touch, harder, faster, as he played her like a pianist who requires no music to honor his masterpiece. And when at last he slipped a finger beneath her panties, and stroked bare flesh, she fell apart, one chord at a time, splitting into a thousand melodies, grasping for that one final note.

Nick pulled her limp body to him, cradling her in his arms, protecting, perhaps for the briefest of moments, even cherishing. He brushed the hair from her face, planted a soft kiss on her temple. “I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.”

She buried her face against the solid wall of his chest, inhaled. He smelled of starch and whiskey and Davidoff Cool Water, scents that would be ingrained in her memory forever, as would this man, this place, this coming together.

“Alex?” His voice was low, gentle. “Are you okay?” He stroked her hair, once, twice, the softest of gestures, born of caring, pure and honest, and it was this touch, this gentleness that made her eyes burn, her throat swell.

She nodded, trying to blink away the tears.

He pulled her closer, whispered, “Let’s go to my place. It’s a little less cramped and a lot more private.”

“I…” she swallowed.
Follow your heart, for once, follow your heart
. “Yes. Yes, Nick.” She pressed her lips against his shirt. His heart beat steady, strong. “I want to be with you.”

***

Michael watched them leave. Any man with half a gonad would know what came next. Nick was taking Alex home to screw her brains out. Correction. “Have sex,” “get together,” “be intimate.”
Screw
was too crude a word for Nick and his sexual relationships with women. Screw was Michael’s word—it’s what he did with a woman. Screwed, banged.
Shit
, he was getting hard just thinking about screwing.

“Daddy, daddy, there’s Elise.” He followed his daughter’s finger and indeed, there she was, all decked out in some blue sleeveless concoction, moving around in the circle of the pillow dance. Her black hair was all piled up on her head and he could see a lot of neck and shoulders. Smooth, dark. His penis jerked.
Damn!
He looked away.

“Let’s go see Grandma,” he said, moving toward one of the long tables at the edge of the room.

“Dance, Daddy,” Sara said. “Dance with Elise.”

He should never have come. He hated weddings, hated watching the goo-goo-eyed bride and groom pledging their hearts, their love, their fidelity and every other imaginable bullshit to one another. How about the T-Fal frying pan? Why not pledge that, too? It was all fake, a lie, a scam. The groom was probably wondering what it would be like to jump the maid of honor’s bones, and if he were honest with himself, really honest, he’d be awfully depressed, if not downright pissed, that he’d pledged himself to one woman for the rest of his life.

It was such a bunch of shit. Michael pulled at his collar. This monkey suit was choking him. By the time he left he’d be dead from strangulation if the bullshit in this place didn’t suffocate him first. He would have stayed home and watched the Pirates if his mother hadn’t begged him to come.
Those children need to see you among people, Michael. You’re always alone. For heaven’s sake, can’t you take a few hours and show them you can act normal?

Normal? You mean like Nick, don’t you Ma?

No. I mean normal. Like a human being, interacting with people, with your children.
Then she’d looked at him and there’d been tears in her eyes, his mother, who rarely cried.
They need a father, Michael. You. They need you, not me, or Elise, or anybody else who watches them while you run off to do God knows what.

He’d said nothing, what could he say?
I got nothing to give them, Ma, I’m sucked dry?

“C’mon, Daddy. Let’s go.” Sara tugged his arm, pulling him toward the wide circle.

“Michael?” It was his mother, eyes bright and shining. “You came.” She said it like she’d known he would, spoken as a statement. How could she have known when he hadn’t known himself?

“Yeah, we made it.” He slid a finger underneath his shirt collar, tried to loosen it.

“I was looking for you at church.”

He shrugged. “One miracle at a time.”

She turned her attention to the children. “Hello, sweethearts.” She bent down, drew them into her arms for a big hug. “Sara, you look beautiful. Kevin, quite handsome. Just like your father.”

Michael felt the heat crawl up his neck. Damn this monkey suit. He’d give half a week’s pay for his jeans and ball cap. “How’s the food?”

“Delicious. Stuffed cabbage, kielbasa, parsley-buttered potatoes, chicken paprikash, and your favorite, beef stroganoff.”

“Lead the way.”

“Dance first, Daddy.”

“Sara—”

“Go, Michael. Elise Pentani’s out there.”

“So?”

“Dance, Daddy, dance.” Sara swung his arm back and forth. “Please?”

“She asked if you were coming.”

Yeah, so she can tell me how much time I’m not spending with my kids.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake—”

“Go.” His mother motioned for Sara and Kevin to come with her. “We’ll watch Daddy, okay kids?”

“Yeah. Dance with Elise, Daddy.” This, from Kevin.

“Traitor.” He pointed at Kevin. “One dance, that’s it.” He threw them all a disgusted look and headed for the wide circle of bodies moving slowly to the music. Elise was wedged between Hot Ed’s proprietors, Bernie and Alice. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, her mouth pinched shut as though she was in pain and maybe she was. It must be a bitch to watch somebody you loved sucking face with somebody else. He wouldn’t know, he’d never loved Betsy, she was more of an obligation, an oops-I-screwed-up-and-got-you-pregnant kind of commitment, though he’d been pissed when she up and left, more from a bruised ego than a bruised heart.

And Caroline, well she’d been a dream, a surreal desire to be cherished, a woman in need of being rescued.
Help me, Michael, help me. I hate it there, I don’t want to go back. Nick’s deserted me… I never see him… I’m all alone… help me…
He’d listened to her, allowed himself to believe that his brother, his best friend, was mistreating his wife, ignoring her, abandoning her, and he, Michael Androvich, was the only one who could save her. She’d needed and needed and needed in a sick way, deep down Michael knew that, and yet he couldn’t turn her away, couldn’t find the words to shut her down, send her back to Philly, because for once in his life, someone was turning to him, to
him,
not his older brother.
Stay here
, he’d told her the last time he saw her.
With me. I’ll help you raise the baby, here in Restalline. I… I love you, Caroline.
Her big blue eyes had filled with tears. She’d touched his cheek, her lips trembling as she smiled.
Oh
,
Michael, don’t you see? I can’t. I love Nick. I’ve always loved him. Always.

And then she was dead, and Michael felt both betrayer and betrayed. He’d loved his brother’s wife, a woman who’d come to him, cried to him, left him. How could he ever forgive himself for what he had been ready to do? He couldn’t, so he kept away from Nick as much as possible, sheltered with guilt and bad memories and an occasional fifth of Jack Daniels.

But he’d be damned if he’d ever fall in love again. He’d rot in hell first.

“Michael! Come on.” A tall, busty brunette yanked his hand forward and drew him into the circle. Cynthia Collichetti. Big boobs. He’d felt her up a few weeks ago in the back room of Cody’s. “You were supposed to call me.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy.” His gaze moved to Elise, who was staring at the floor, took in her blue shoes, darted past her tanned legs, all the way up, up, up to her thighs, her stomach, stopped at her breasts. Perfect. More than a mouthful was just a waste.
Damn!
What was the matter with him? He was drooling over Elise Pentani.