The hand resting on the small of her back propelled her up the street. Sam drew her off the sidewalk, between her truck and his car. She had to admit it was private. And quiet. Very quiet. Voices from the restaurant seemed distant. Somewhere a radio played. The night was warm and clear. Everything was in place and pretty darned perfect-except for her sudden need to throw up.
What had seemed sensible, even funny, when she’d talked with her sisters about having sex with a stranger now seemed insane. What had she been thinking? If she threw herself into the deep end, she was going to end up wet, cold, and quite possible caught up in a riptide. Not that pools had riptides, but still. There were-
Sam took her face in his hands, then bent low and kissed her. Just like that. She was stuck holding her purse and her keys, which meant she had nothing for her hands to do but sort of twist there on the ends of her arms. Real attractive. If she was the least bit-
Long dormant nerves came back to life with a loud yippee. She went from intellectual awareness of what he was doing to actually feeling it in a nanosecond. Sam was kissing her. His warm firm mouth brushed against hers, moving slowly, discovering, touching. She could feel heat, from him and within herself. His long fingers stroked her cheeks, then he dropped his hands to her shoulders. She felt both limp and energized. Nothing could have compelled her to move. She wanted the kiss to go on forever.
He tilted his head and pressed a little harder. Tingling sensations shot through her, making her heart pound harder. For the first time in years she remembered that her breasts were exquisitely sensitive. Her skin tightened everywhere, anticipating the touch of his hands. Hunger filled her and she realized she’d been starving for this kind of intimacy for what felt like three lifetimes.
He stroked her lower lip with his tongue. A shiver rippled through her as delight overtook whatever common sense she might have once possessed. She raised one hand-the one holding the keys-and wrapped her arm around the back of his neck. He was just tall enough that she had to go on tiptoes. Sam responded by pulling her close so that they touched… everywhere.
Hard to her soft. She’d heard the words a thousand times, read them in books, but never before had they made so much sense. Every part of him was hard, solid, and unyielding. Her curves molded around him. She felt soft and feminine. She felt safe. When he licked her lower lip again, she parted to admit him.
At the first brush of his tongue against hers, she felt as if she could fly. At the second, fire consumed her, heating without burning, exciting her to the point of confusion. She couldn’t remember sensations like this. Not when she’d been kissed in the past. She must have been doing something wrong before-or something right this time.
She wanted more. She wanted all of it. She wanted him to kiss her until she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel and want and need.
She tried to move closer. When that wasn’t possible, she started to kiss him back. Which was when he moved away, forcing her to pull her arm from around his neck.
“Street,” Sam said, stepping back a little.
Francesca stared at him. “Street?”
His gold-brown eyes seemed darker than they had before, and brighter. His lips were damp, making him look even more sexy and powerful. Desire swamped her.
One corner of his mouth turned up. “We’re standing on the street.”
Okay. And that mattered how?
Then reality sank in. The street. She glanced around and realized there were several houses nearby and cars. People out walking their dogs, patrons from the restaurant.
She swallowed. “You’re right. I guess-”
She stopped talking because she didn’t know what to say. A confession that she’d been overcome by passion would only be embarrassing. If not for him, then for her.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
All right? She was perfect. She was so good, she could have started singing opera.
She went for a cool, confident, I-do-this-sort-of-thing-all-the-time smile. “Absolutely.”
She turned toward her truck and headed for the driver’s door. Whatever sophistication she might have faked crumbled when she completely missed the door lock and nearly put the key through the side of her truck.
She felt herself blush. “Oops,” she muttered.
“Francesca?”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw him standing behind her.
“I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon and set up a time for tomorrow night. Will you be in?”
In? She would probably be curled up on the sofa, reliving the best kiss since Kelly McGillis and Tom Cruise did the tongue thing in Top Gun. “Sure. I have to work on my dissertation.”
“I’ll talk to you then.”
She nodded and climbed into the truck. Sam stepped close.
“Thank you for tonight,” he said and carefully closed her door.
She wanted to respond in kind, or say something clever. But her mind was still reeling from the kiss. So she settled on a wave, then she started her engine and pulled out onto the road.
As she drove through the intersection, she began humming a peppy tune from Toscanini.
Francesca didn’t sleep much that night, and woke with the sun the following morning, so it took half of a second pot of coffee to get her brain functioning.
Once she was able to think in complete sentences, she cleared her tiny kitchen table of a stack of textbooks, grabbed a sheet of notebook paper and sat down to make a list.
There were the usual chores of laundry, grocery shopping-always a challenge with her budget-and vacuuming. Then there was the outline for her dissertation that had been due ten days ago and was yet to be started. Finally there was the thrill of doing her best not to think about Sam, their previous date, their future date, and the impending phone call.
She felt giddy. She felt wonderfully alive and in tune with the cosmos. She felt more than a little stirring low in her belly. Her heretofore silent female bits were currently line dancing in anticipation of rousing activity.
“You don’t actually know he’s going to want to have sex,” she told herself sternly as she poured a fourth cup of coffee. “One kiss does not a physical relationship make.”
True. But it had been an amazing kiss. One that deserved, if not its own national holiday, then at least a stamp.
The way Sam had pulled her close and taken charge. The feel of his mouth on hers. The taste of him, the heat that they’d-
A knock on the door interrupted her musings. Reluctantly Francesca banished her R-rated thoughts and crossed to the door. When she pulled it open, she found Mia, her baby sister, standing on the threshold.
“I came to say good-bye,” Mia said as she stepped into the small apartment. “Do you have coffee? Something for breakfast? I’m starved.”
Francesca laughed. “Anything else in your list of demands? How about money? You want a loan?”
Mia hugged her. “No way. You’re broke.”
On that cheerful note she led the way into the kitchen.
Francesca followed, then leaned against the door frame as Mia poured coffee and added a large splash of milk. She took a sip, then set the mug on the counter and opened the freezer door.
“Did Brenna leave any doughnuts in here?” she asked as she rummaged through a couple of frozen entrees, ravioli sent over by Grandma Tessa, and an emergency pint of Ben & Jerry’s.
“I don’t think so,” Francesca said, then shook her head as Mia held up a foil-wrapped container.
“Don’t you check for stuff like this?” she asked. “Brenna lived with you for almost a month after she and Jeff split up. Didn’t it occur to you that she would have put doughnuts in the freezer?”
“Honestly, no.”
“For someone with a degree in psychology, you sure don’t know your twin.”
Francesca laughed. “I thought she’d take the doughnuts with her.”
“Uh-huh.”
Mia finished unwrapping the Krispy Kremes and slid them onto a paper towel. Then she set them in the microwave and punched in fifteen seconds.
The old machine whirred and shook slightly as it hummed to life. Mia frowned.
