As she strolled through the snack aisle again, Marisol looked over her shoulder and noticed someone following her. He’d been behind her for some time, a middle aged man in a nice suit and undone tie, mildly attractive, yet definitely not her type. Divorced, Marisol calculated, and searching for love at the supermarket. Or maybe just a simple one-night stand.
Ian hadn’t been her type, either, far from it. If she’d met him at any other time in her life she might have rejected him, as well, might never have experienced his touch or his taste, the sound of his voice or the scent of his skin.
Marisol continued her aimless stroll, heading toward the freezer section in search of her favorite banana cake. She turned the corner onto the dairy aisle, suddenly craving onion dip, then froze. Her cart slid to a stop in front of the cream cheese. Ian stood ten feet away, perusing the yogurt selections. She glanced back over her shoulder, wondering if she might be able to turn around without being noticed, but when Marisol looked up again, she caught him staring at her.
He wasn’t wearing his uniform. Instead, he was dressed in a faded T-shirt that advertised some fishing service, baggy shorts that hung down nearly to his knees and battered flip-flops. His hair, usually so neatly combed, looked carelessly rumpled. Marisol took in the paint-stained sundress that she’d chosen, smoothing her hands over the wrinkled skirt. Drawing a deep breath, she started toward him, prepared to nod and pass him by if he didn’t say anything to her.
For a long moment, he just watched her with an unreadable expression, a carton of yogurt clutched in his hand. Then, Ian stepped out from behind the cart, dropped the yogurt on the floor and walked over to her. In one easy movement, he captured her face in his hands and kissed her, his tongue immediately invading her mouth.
Marisol was so surprised that she didn’t have time to react. The contact sent a shock wave through her dulled senses, but then came that wonderful rush of heat that his touch always brought. Her knees wobbled and he caught her around the waist to steady them both. Slowly, the ache that had settled into her body since the last time he’d touched her began to abate and she sank against him.
“That’s better,” he murmured when he finally drew away. He pressed his forehead to hers and looked down into her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about you all week.”
“I-I’ve been thinking about you,” she admitted. She didn’t really want him to know that he’d plagued her thoughts, but what harm could it do. They’d both been honest about their desires.
“I’ve wanted to-”
She placed her finger on his lips. “I’ve wanted to call you, too, but I-”
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to-” He paused. “Maybe we should stop with the excuses now? So, what are you doing here?”
“Getting something for supper.”
He glanced in her basket, then frowned. “And what are you planning to make?”
Marisol smiled wanly at the collection of junk food in her basket. “It’s an old Portuguese dish passed down from my grandmother.”
He took her hand and pressed a kiss onto the inside of her wrist, his lips lingering over her pulse point. “Come on, leave the groceries. I’ll take you out for the best steak on this side of Narragansett Bay.”
Marisol grabbed her purse and followed him out of the store. They passed the man in the suit and he gaped at her, obviously thinking that he ought to have introduced himself sooner.
Ian’s car was parked on the opposite side of the lot and Marisol wondered if their meeting had been fate. In the end, she really didn’t care. She and Ian were together again and nothing else mattered beyond this burning desire she had for the man.
When they reached the car, Ian grabbed her again and kissed her, his fingers furrowing through her hair as he molded his mouth to hers. She felt the possibilities in his kiss, the certainty that, once alone, kissing would never be enough.
She opened to him, her tongue teasing at his in a silent assurance that they both wanted the same thing. The taste of him was like a narcotic, erasing her worries and doubts. She needed Ian in her life, regardless of the risks. And maybe it was just for physical release, but why should that make a difference? If he wanted her and she wanted him, then they could come to some understanding.
“You’re hungry?” he asked, his words tinged with another meaning.
She nodded. “Starved.”
Ian grinned then took her hand and helped her into his car. As they pulled out of the lot, Marisol tipped her head back and closed her eyes, letting the warm night breeze caress her face, suddenly anxious to rid herself of her clothes.
They only drove for a few minutes before Ian pulled into the driveway of a pretty clapboard bungalow on a tree-lined street. She glanced around. “Where are we?”
“My place,” he said.
Marisol glanced over at the house and then at him. They’d always indulged on her turf, on her terms, not on his. She had invited him into her life, for her own purposes, but this was different. He was inviting her into his life now. She sent him an uneasy smile. “I-I thought we were going to go get a-”
“I make a mean steak,” he explained as he hopped out of the car. He circled to her door, then opened it and helped Marisol out. He held her hand as they walked up the front steps to the door, then opened it and steered her inside.
The living room was furnished beautifully in an arts and crafts style, with Stickley-inspired furniture throughout. She walked over to a chair and ran her hand along the cherry finish.
“My brother Marcus and I made the furniture,” Ian said. “He’s kind of an expert with wood.”
One side of the room was lined with bookshelves and they were filled from top to bottom. Marisol crossed the room and studied the titles, surprised at the variety. There were classics and contemporary fiction, how-to books and biographies. “Have you read all these?”
Ian nodded. “Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine?”
“That would be nice.”
He disappeared into the kitchen and Marisol continued her study of her surroundings. As she looked at the bits and pieces of his life, she realized she didn’t know Ian Quinn at all. They’d shared the most intimate of experiences, yet they were little more than strangers. He returned a few moments later with a bottle and a glass. But instead of pouring her a drink, Ian took her hand and pulled her along with him up the stairs.
At first, Marisol thought they might end up in the bedroom, but to her surprise, he took her to the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” she asked, wondering if he was about to repeat what they’d shared in the Templetons’ powder room.
“I’m drawing you a bath. It’s about time someone took care of you.” As he bent over the huge claw-foot tub, her eyes fixed on his shoulders, the muscles moving beneath the T-shirt. A lock of dark hair hung over his collar and she reached out to brush it aside with her fingers. He glanced up at her and smiled as the hot water poured into the tub.
No one had ever taken care of her before, she mused. But it seemed to come so naturally to him, as if he’d accepted the responsibility without a second thought and was happy for it. Ian held up a bottle of bath salts and she nodded.
The scent of rosemary filled the air and bubbles floated on the surface of the water. “I wouldn’t think you were the type to take bubble baths,” she said, kneeling down beside him to swirl her hand through the water.
“My sister gave me these for Christmas last year. She’s into aromatherapy.” He leaned against the edge of the tub, his gaze skimming over her face. Then he suddenly stood and pulled her to her feet, his hands sliding down along her arms then lower, to the hem of her sundress. Marisol held her breath as he drew it up over her head.
His gaze raked along the length of her naked body and he laughed softly. “Forgot the underwear again, huh?”
“Yes,” she murmured, watching him watch her. She liked how it made her feel when he couldn’t keep his eyes off her, the little shiver of anticipation that ran through her. He wanted to touch her; she could see it in the way his fingers twitched. But he was doing his best to resist for now.
Marisol reached for his T-shirt but he gently took her hands and kissed them both. “Why don’t you relax? I’ll go
