Reality came rushing back. Metta was using her grinder, he realized. With a violent oath he wrenched away and lowered her until her feet touched the ground.
It was as if she had suddenly been deprived of oxygen. She felt dizzy, confused, bereft. “Amarillo?” she whispered. “What happened?”
“Damned good question.” A scowl deepened the lines of his face. With jerky motions he reached out and straightened her clothes.
He started to say something, then stopped. He lifted his hand as if he would touch her, then let it drop. Abruptly he turned and walked away.
Angelica felt as if a steamroller had just driven over her. He had walked away from her!
Her eyes hurt as she stared into the fog, but it had swallowed him up without a trace. She was completely alone, as If he had never been there with her. But her body knew better. Beneath the silk blouse her skin still burned where his hands had touched and her breast still ached for the feel of his mouth once again.
Why had he left her? Her mind screamed out the question, but no answer came back to her.
She swatted at her suddenly damp face with the back of her hand and came to the conclusion that Amarillo had the right idea. It was time to leave.
Once more at home, standing by one of the huge windows, Amarillo gazed out at the night. Why in God’s name had he done something as stupid as even getting near Angelica, much less kissing her? Years ago, with great deliberation, he had mentally pushed her out of the inner circle of his life. Over time he had watched as she had danced and laughed, fascinating first one young man and then another. He had been unmoved by the sight.
But then, suddenly, tonight he had closed the distance between them—and all it had taken was the feel of her lips on his cheek as she had given him a brotherly kiss good night. Something had snapped inside him. He had come undone.
His gut was tied in painful knots. He had to regain the distance between them, because if he didn’t, he was very much afraid that the one kiss and all that had gone with it would just be the start. He picked up a pillow and hurled it across the room.
* * *
Angelica closed the door of her renovated brownstone behind her and collapsed back against it. She felt as if a storm had thundered through her world and turned everything upside down.
She closed her eyes and remembered. The fog. The river sounds. Amarillo’s mouth on hers, on her breast. Her blood turned hot merely thinking about it. It was almost as if there'd been a part of her that had been waiting all these years for the moment when he would take her into his arms and make love to her. It was hard for her to believe, even harder for her to admit to herself, but it was true. And they had almost made love.
The intensity of what had happened between them jolted her to her very core. She wasn’t a woman to forget everything and let herself go completely with a man, no matter who the man was.
But the scary thing was she had done just that. And the man had been Amarillo.
What was he thinking about her, feeling about her? He had been the one to break away. She had been willing to—
The phone rang, and her heart leapt into her throat. Amarillo.
She raced to the phone and answered breathlessly. “Hello?”
“I told you to be a good girl, but you’re not minding."
She began to tremble. “W-what?”
“Good girls shouldn’t go out. They should stay home and do as they’re told.’’
The line went dead. Slowly she replaced the receiver in its cradle. Her hand went to her forehead and found it damp with perspiration.
Don’t you dare let this get to you, she ordered herself. Everyone got the occasional crank call.
Then why did this one bother her so much?
She wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged herself tightly. She supposed it was natural to be a little upset. Any woman who lived alone would be.
But the call meant nothing. Nothing.
Three
“Good morning, Miss DiFrenza.”
“Good
It was as if she had suddenly been deprived of oxygen. She felt dizzy, confused, bereft. “Amarillo?” she whispered. “What happened?”
“Damned good question.” A scowl deepened the lines of his face. With jerky motions he reached out and straightened her clothes.
He started to say something, then stopped. He lifted his hand as if he would touch her, then let it drop. Abruptly he turned and walked away.
Angelica felt as if a steamroller had just driven over her. He had walked away from her!
Her eyes hurt as she stared into the fog, but it had swallowed him up without a trace. She was completely alone, as If he had never been there with her. But her body knew better. Beneath the silk blouse her skin still burned where his hands had touched and her breast still ached for the feel of his mouth once again.
Why had he left her? Her mind screamed out the question, but no answer came back to her.
She swatted at her suddenly damp face with the back of her hand and came to the conclusion that Amarillo had the right idea. It was time to leave.
Once more at home, standing by one of the huge windows, Amarillo gazed out at the night. Why in God’s name had he done something as stupid as even getting near Angelica, much less kissing her? Years ago, with great deliberation, he had mentally pushed her out of the inner circle of his life. Over time he had watched as she had danced and laughed, fascinating first one young man and then another. He had been unmoved by the sight.
But then, suddenly, tonight he had closed the distance between them—and all it had taken was the feel of her lips on his cheek as she had given him a brotherly kiss good night. Something had snapped inside him. He had come undone.
His gut was tied in painful knots. He had to regain the distance between them, because if he didn’t, he was very much afraid that the one kiss and all that had gone with it would just be the start. He picked up a pillow and hurled it across the room.
* * *
Angelica closed the door of her renovated brownstone behind her and collapsed back against it. She felt as if a storm had thundered through her world and turned everything upside down.
She closed her eyes and remembered. The fog. The river sounds. Amarillo’s mouth on hers, on her breast. Her blood turned hot merely thinking about it. It was almost as if there'd been a part of her that had been waiting all these years for the moment when he would take her into his arms and make love to her. It was hard for her to believe, even harder for her to admit to herself, but it was true. And they had almost made love.
The intensity of what had happened between them jolted her to her very core. She wasn’t a woman to forget everything and let herself go completely with a man, no matter who the man was.
But the scary thing was she had done just that. And the man had been Amarillo.
What was he thinking about her, feeling about her? He had been the one to break away. She had been willing to—
The phone rang, and her heart leapt into her throat. Amarillo.
She raced to the phone and answered breathlessly. “Hello?”
“I told you to be a good girl, but you’re not minding."
She began to tremble. “W-what?”
“Good girls shouldn’t go out. They should stay home and do as they’re told.’’
The line went dead. Slowly she replaced the receiver in its cradle. Her hand went to her forehead and found it damp with perspiration.
Don’t you dare let this get to you, she ordered herself. Everyone got the occasional crank call.
Then why did this one bother her so much?
She wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged herself tightly. She supposed it was natural to be a little upset. Any woman who lived alone would be.
But the call meant nothing. Nothing.
Three
“Good morning, Miss DiFrenza.”
“Good
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