The Perfect Neighbor (20 page)

They’d make things simple again. Because simple was really what was best for both of them.

Steadier, she belted a long, silky blue robe, flicked her fingers through her nearly dry hair, and started downstairs.

She heard the music first. Low, dreamy. The kind that set the pulse for seduction. It didn’t puzzle her for long. After all, the man liked his music. But when she was halfway down the steps, she saw the candles burning. Dozens of them, with pinpoint flames that flickered and swayed.

He was standing in that shimmering light, waiting for her.

He’d changed into trousers and a black shirt and had shaved off the two days’ growth of beard. His hand was already held out for hers, and she stepped down to take it, more than a little dazzled at the way the light glinted on his hair and deepened the blue of his eyes.

“Feeling better?”

“I’m fine. What’s going on here?”

“We’re having dinner.”

“The set’s a little elaborate for …” He raised her hand to his lips, nibbled lightly at her knuckles, and had the breath strangling in her throat. “Pizza,” she managed, and he only smiled.

“I like looking at you in candlelight. Seeing what it does to your eyes. Those exotic, enormous eyes,” he murmured, and drew her close to kiss them gently closed. “And your skin.” He trailed his lips over her cheek. “That impossibly soft skin. I’m afraid I’ve put bruises on it forgetting just how soft it is.”

“What?” Her head seemed to be circling slowly.

“I’ve been careless with you, Cybil. I won’t be tonight.” He lifted her hands again, kissed them again, and had her heart stumbling.

“I have something for you,” he told her, and picked up a small square box with an elaborate pink bow from the counter.

Instantly, she whipped her hands behind her back. “I don’t need gifts. I don’t want them.”

He frowned, puzzled at the shaky edge in her voice. Then realized she was thinking of Pamela. “It’s not because you need them, or ask for them, or anything else for that matter. It’s because they made me think of you.” He held the box out. “Open it before you decide. Please.”

Feeling foolish, she took the box, gently removed the bow. “Well, who doesn’t like presents?” she said lightly. “And you missed my birthday.”

“I did?”

He said it with such guilty surprise she laughed. “Yes, it was in January, and just because you didn’t know me is really no excuse for not giving me a present. So this will …” She stopped, stared into the box at the earrings, two long dangles of hematite in the shape of a dozen tiny, foolish fish. Like minnows on the line.

She laughed, rolled with it as she took them out, held them up and shook so they would clack together. “They’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

“I love them.”

“I figured you would.”

Eyes sparkling, she slipped the thin wire backs through her ears. “Well, what do you think?”

“They’re you. Definitely.”

“It’s such a sweet thing to do.”

She tossed her arms around him, kissed him lavishly enough to have his blood heating. Then he heard the sniffle.

“Oh, God, don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Sorry.” She pressed her face to his throat. “It’s just—flowers and candles and silly fish all in one night. It’s so thoughtful.” But she drew a long breath, blew it out, stepped back. “There, all clear.”

“Thank God.” He brushed his thumb over her lashes where a tiny tear clung. “Ready for champagne?”

“Champagne?” Baffled, she lifted her hands. “Well, it’s tough not to be ready for champagne.”

She watched as he stepped into the kitchen, took a bottle from her own crystal ice bucket and began to open it. What in the world had gotten into him? she wondered. Suddenly, he was relaxed, happy, romantic …

“You finished your play! Oh, Preston, you finished it.”

“No, I didn’t. Not quite.” He popped the cork, poured the wine.

“Oh.” Trying to puzzle it out, she angled her head as he turned, handed her a glass full of straw-colored, bubbling wine. “Then what are we celebrating?”

“You.” He touched his glass to hers. “Just you.” He laid a hand on her cheek, then lifted his own glass to her lips.

She tasted the wine, a froth on the tongue, silk in the throat. But it was the way he looked at her that made her head spin. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Well, there’s an unprecedented event.” Smiling, he brought the wine to his own lips, tasted it. Tasted her.

“Ah, so this is all a ploy to shut me up.” Chuckling, relaxed again, she enjoyed the champagne. “Very clever, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t even started.” He took the glass from her, set it aside, then drew her into his arms. Even as she lifted her mouth, expecting the kiss—expecting, he was sure, demand and heat—he skimmed his cheek over hers and began to move to the rhythm of the music. “I’ve never asked you to dance.”

“No.” Her eyes drifted closed. “You haven’t.”

“Dance with me, Cybil.”

She ran her hands up his back, laid her head on his shoulder and fell into the music and him. They danced, swaying together in the kitchen washed with candle glow.

When his lips grazed her jaw, she turned her head so that his mouth cruised over hers. Her pulse was slow, slow and thick, her limbs weak as water.

“Preston.” She murmured it, rising on her toes to give him more.

“That must be dinner,” he said against her lips.

“What?”

“Dinner. The buzzer.”

“Oh.” She’d thought the buzzing was in her head, and had to brace a hand on the counter for balance when he left her to release the outer door.

“I hope you’re not disappointed,” he commented, unlocking her door. “It isn’t pizza.”

“Oh, that’s all right. Anything’s fine.” How was a woman supposed to eat when her stomach was full of tiny, energetic butterflies?

But her eyes widened when, rather than a delivery boy, two tuxedoed waiters appeared at the door.

She watched, astonished, as with discretion and efficiency they arranged food on the table Preston had already set with her best dishes. In less than ten minutes, they were gone, and she’d yet to find her voice.

“Hungry?”

“I … It looks wonderful.”

“Come, sit down.” He took her hand again, led her to the table in front of the window, then bent to brush a kiss at her nape.

She must have eaten. She would never be able to remember what, or how it had tasted. Her innate powers of observation had deserted her. All she could see was Preston. All she would remember was the way his fingers had brushed hers, how his mouth had skimmed over her knuckles. How he had smiled and poured more wine, until her head was swimming with it.

How he had looked at her when he’d risen and held out a hand for hers to bring her to her feet. The way her heart had tripped when he’d lifted her right off them and into his arms.

She suddenly seemed so delicate. So vulnerable when she trembled. Even if he’d wished it otherwise, he couldn’t have been anything but gentle.

He carried her up the steps, into the bedroom, and laid her on the pillows. He lit the candles as he had once before, but this time when he turned to her, when he came to her, his touch was feather soft.

And he took her, dreaming, into the kiss.

He gave more than he’d thought he had left in him. Found more in her open response than he’d believed possible. If she trembled, it wasn’t triumph he felt but tenderness.

And he gave it back to her.

Slow, silky, sumptuous kisses. Long, liquid, lingering caresses. He had her floating on some high, lace-edged cloud where the air was full of perfume and the world beyond it insignificant.

Gently, he slipped the robe from her, the glide of his hands sending silvery shivers along her skin and shimmering warmth beneath it. Through dazed eyes she watched as he drew back, as his gaze followed the lazy trail of a single fingertip over her body.

“You’re so lovely, Cybil.” Those suddenly intense blue eyes met hers. “How many times have I forgotten to tell you? To show you?”

“Preston—”

“No. Let me do both. Let me watch you enjoy being touched as I should have touched you before. Like this,” he murmured, skimming his fingertips over her.

Her breath caught, and the cloud beneath her began to rock. Then he lowered his head and let his mouth follow the path his fingertips had blazed.

Now she was drowning, slowly floating beneath the surface of a warm dark sea. Helpless there, drifting with only his hands and lips to anchor her. And that first wave came in a long, liquid crest that washed through her system to leave it weak and heavy with pleasure.

He wanted to have her steep in it, to sate her with it. No sharp flash this time but a slow burn. He explored and exploited every inch of her, lingering when her breath quickened, savoring when her body arched on each steadily building delight.

And his blood swam with it; his heart jolted until he was as lost and open as she.

He murmured her name as he slipped into her, moaned it as she wrapped around him in welcome.

With long, deep thrusts, he moved in her while their mouths met in a soft and stirring kiss. In a slow, sleek rhythm, she moved under him while their hands met to complete yet another link.

They swallowed each other’s sighs, gripped each other’s hands as they let themselves shatter.

And he was there when she awoke, holding her, as he’d held her while they slept.

* * *

“It’s definitely number one of the modern-day Top Ten Most Romantic Evenings.” Jody expertly changed Charlie’s diaper, cooing at him between commentary. “It knocks that Valentine’s Day carriage ride around the park and dozen white roses with diamond-chip earrings attached that my cousin Sharon experienced down to a poor second place. She’s going to be peeved.”

“No one’s ever paid that much attention,” Cybil murmured, hugging one of the teddy bears in Charlie’s vast collection. “Not just the you-know.”

“But the you-know.” Jody cocked her eyebrows as she fastened Charlie’s fresh diaper. “That was excellent, right?”

“It was spectacular. You know that scene in
Through the Mist
, where Dorian and Alessa find each other after being cruelly separated by her evil, ambitious uncle?”

“Oh.” Jody rolled her eyes, lifting Charlie up to bounce him. “Do I ever. I was up till two reading that book, then I woke up Chuck.” She smiled reminiscently. “We were both a little tired the next day but very, very loose. Anyway”—she shook herself before carrying Charlie into the living room so he could practice his crawling—“it was that good?”

“It was better.”

“No way.”

“It was like having him take my heart out and hold it, then give it back to me.”

“Oh, man.” Weak-kneed, Jody slipped into a chair. “That’s beautiful, Cyb. Just beautiful. You ought to write a romance novel yourself.”

“But it wasn’t just that. It was all of it. Everything.” Still giddy, she threw her arms out and twirled in a circle, making Charlie rock back on his butt and clap in delight.

“I’m so in love with him, Jody. I didn’t think you could be this much in love and not have it all just
come steaming out of you. There shouldn’t be room inside for it all.”

“Oh.” Jody’s sigh was long and loud. “When are you going to tell him?”

“I can’t.” With a sigh of her own, Cybil picked up Charlie’s red plastic hammer and tapped the oversize head on her palm. “I’m not brave enough to tell him something he doesn’t want to hear.”

“Cyb, the guy’s crazy about you.”

“He’s got feelings for me, and maybe, maybe if I can wait, if he realizes I’m not going to let him down, he’ll let himself feel more.”

“Let him down?” The very idea ruffled Jody’s feathers. “You never let anyone down. But maybe this time you’re letting Cybil down.”

“He’s got reasons to be careful,” she said, then shook her head before Jody could speak. “I can’t tell you about it. They’re his own.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks. I’ve got to go. I have a million errands to run. Need anything?”

“Actually, I do. If you’re going out anyway.”

“I’ll just add it to the list. I’ve got a few things to pick up for Mrs. Wolinsky, and I told Mr. Peebles I’d see if the green grapes looked good at the market. Just let me find my shopping list.”

“I’m only asking because you’re going out anyway and because it’s you.” Jody bit her lip, then grinned. “Don’t tell anybody what you’re getting for me, okay?”

“I won’t.” Absently, Cybil dug through her purse. “I know that list is in here somewhere.”

* * *

It took longer than she’d expected—but Cybil found shopping usually did. Then, by the time she’d delivered the goods to Mrs. Wolinsky, the grapes—which had looked appetizing enough for her to buy a pound of her own—to Mr. Peebles and knocked on Jody’s door, it was after five o’clock.

She hissed in frustration when Jody didn’t answer. It appeared her friend could stand the suspense, though Cybil herself wanted instant gratification. But either Jody had taken Charlie out for a little walk or she was visiting one of the other neighbors and they’d both just have to wait.

Arms loaded, Cybil took the elevator up.

And grinned like a fool when she saw Preston waiting for her in the hall. “Hi.”

“Hi, neighbor.” He scooped the bags out of her arms, then bent down and kissed her. “Hold it,” he said when she dropped back from her toes to the balls of her feet. “Let’s do that again.”

“Okay.” Laughing, she wound her arms around his neck, shifted back to her toes and put a great deal more energy into the greeting. “How’s that?”

“That was fine. What have you got in here? Bricks?”

Searching for her ever-elusive key, she laughed again. “Food mostly, and some cleaning supplies. Some this and some that. I picked up a few things for you. The apples looked very good, and they’re better for you to snack on while you’re working than candy bars or stale bagels.”

She found her key with a little
aha!
and unlocked the door. “Oh, and I got you some ammonia—it’ll take care of that grime you’re letting build up on your windows.”

“Apples and ammonia.” He set the bags on the counter. “What else could a man ask for?”

“Cheesecake, straight from the deli. It was irresistible.”