She heard the roar of his truck pulling away as she climbed her stairs.
And she wondered who Rocco was fucking right now.
TWENTY-ONE
CHLOE WOKE UP SUNDAY MORNING AND called both Tess and Rosie, needing someone to whine to. She struck out. Answering machines at both places. Which meant her friends were abed with their lovers while she was sharing her Sunday morning with George Stephanopoulos and two arguing political pundits.
Throwing on some clothes, she walked to the coffee shop for two double iced lattes and two croissants that would in some small measure give a kick-start to a morning that didn’t appear to be one of her better ones. Then she started working because if nothing else, she at least could make some money.
Small recompense for a broken spirit and heart, but at least she could buy a neat sports car to ride around in looking for happiness.
* * *
FOUR HOURS NORTH, Rocco woke in similar low spirits, not to mention hungover. The sun shining through the porch screens was hurting his eyes; he’d obviously not made it to the bedroom last night, he decided, turning over on the couch to get away from the excruciating light. And if he wanted a latte, which he did, it was a half-hour drive to Tower.
That half-hour drive was a real deterrent in his current physical state, and if someone would have delivered him a latte even for an exorbitant sum, he would have phoned in an order. But Betsy, who owned the shop, worked alone. He’d already tried to bribe her on previous occasions and failed.
An hour later, he was sitting in Betsy’s coffee shop, nursing his head and half listening to the steady stream of customers who came and went in the only espresso spot on the north end of the lake. The south end of the lake was an hour by boat and two hours by road, so Tower was a busy place. Everyone seemed happy except him; he took personal affront at their happiness. Had he asked for a crazy woman to target him for her fiancé? Was he responsible for a spoiled princess’s skewed view of the world? Could he help it if he’d taken Amy out in a weak moment? Well, yeah, he guessed he could have helped that. But how could he have known she was going to turn out to be a marriage stalker?
A latte and a triple espresso later, he was almost ready to face the world. Or at least the world four hours removed from any danger of running into Amy. Returning to his cabin, he spent the day chopping wood. It wasn’t a task for a summer day; it was fall work, when the weather was cool. But he practically filled the whole woodshed, sweating and working like someone on a southern chain gang, needing the physical torture to keep his mind off his mental torment.
But he drove by Chloe’s late that night on his way home and saw a pickup truck with a motorcycle in the back parked at the curb near her door and almost stormed in and beat the shit out of the guy.
But he didn’t.
He didn’t have the right.
She was free to see anyone she wished.
Like he was—if he’d felt the urge.
Like he was—if he even felt like looking at another woman.
Like he was—if he wasn’t going nuts over a woman who was obviously entertaining some guy who rode a damned nice motorcycle.
He parked across the street like some idiot and stared at Chloe’s windows and wondered if she was coming every ten seconds like she liked. He almost called Anthony and told him he couldn’t wait until Friday, but his car clock was brightly shining the midnight hour. Sylvie would blow a gasket if he called at midnight.
Shit.
He put the car in gear, pulled away from the curb and drove home.
* * *
ONE WOULD THINK when one was having multiple orgasms that all was right with the world.
One would think when some really sexy, handsome young guy was saying and doing really sweet, endearing things to you that life couldn’t get any better.
One would surely think that one wouldn’t be thinking of some other sexy, handsome guy at the same time.
Oh, God, she was coming again.
Oh, God, she hoped she screamed the right name.
But Colin was smiling when he kissed her a moment later, so she must have. And when he said, “I think I just blew off the top of my head—thanks,” she figured she must have been discreetly silent about her shameless fantasies.
So she smiled back and said something flattering to him because she was feeling guilty and then wished she hadn’t been quite so flattering because he said, “Then I’ll stay and make you feel that way a few more times.”
He’d been wanting to stay.
She’d been politely evading his requests.
And now she’d done it—he was going to stay, and unfortunately, great sex aside, she was blatantly cognizant that something was missing. Who would have thought? Who would have seriously thought that romance or love or affection could screw up sex in any way, shape or form? She was astonished and stupefied and now sadly wiser.
Rocco Vinelli had a helluva lot to answer for.
He was fucking up her perfectly good sex life; her really supremely good sex life; the sex life that had brought her great joy and comfort for many years.
And he was going to marry a beautiful heiress, like in a fairy tale.
And she was going to measure every damned sexual encounter against his expertise and end up disillusioned and incapable of that unalloyed pleasure she’d always enjoyed.
Oh—that did feel good, though . . . the sweet boy could last for hours—not that someone else she knew who would remain nameless couldn’t as well. Ummm . . . that was nice—he was strong too, lifting her like that . . . um-um-um and she decided if she was going to have a houseguest all night, she might as well take advantage of him.
Not that Colin McCarthy felt as though he was being taken advantage of. Not that he had any complaints at all.
And when he left in the morning, he was trying real hard to come back right after work that night.
“Call me,” Chloe said, smiling as she stood at the door with him. “And I’ll see how much I get done at work today.”
“Work hard. I want to come over later.”
He was barefoot, dressed only in jeans, his shirt and sandals in his hand, looking fresh and young, like he’d slept all night when he hadn’t. She grinned. “I’ll try.”
“I’m gonna pester you.” He pulled her close, held her hard against his body and said, softly, “I can’t get enough . . .”
“Thanks, now go home,” she whispered, pushing gently against his bare, muscled chest. “I’ve tons of work.”
He released her and stepped away. “I get off at one.” He grinned. “Take a nap.”
Her mouth twitched into a smile. “Don’t get pushy, kid.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
But she didn’t mind when he said it like that.
TWENTY-TWO
ROCCO WENT INTO HIS LAST DAY OF WORK very early because he hadn’t slept well. Or at all—unless his daydreams about Chloe counted. After clearing out his desk, he made the rounds, saying his goodbyes, was polite to everyone at his going-away party and flew out of town at two for his first sales trip as Marketing Director for Vinelli Enterprises. He’d scheduled four cities in four days, hours of meetings in each city, and he hoped like hell he could get his mind focused on what it needed to be focused on—making a success of their business.
* * *
CHLOE WAS IN dire need of a sounding board for the botched muddle of her life, and at last her friends came through. Tess and Rosie both called her Monday morning. They decided to meet for drinks at five.
“You look tired,” Rosie said as Chloe slid into the banquette at Zelo’s.
“With good reason.”
“How good?” Tess inquired with a grin.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” And over drinks, Chloe went on to explain her new revelation and/ or bewilderment apropos of sex and romance.
“I fall in love with everyone I ever go out with,” Tess said, “so don’t ask me to define the difference between sex and romance.?
??
“And I thought I was in love with Mark.” Rosie grimaced. “So how much do I know about anything?”
“Well, that was helpful,” Chloe muttered.
“And I’m in love again.” Tess grinned. “I’m the person all those touchy-feely cards are written for—you know, the ones where a barefoot couple is walking hand-in-hand on the beach with a dog running along beside them and the inscription is all about eternal love and devotion.”
“Ian certainly is making me believe in love again,” Rosie said softly.
“You just never put sex and love together before, Chloe,” Tess pointed out. “You’re a seriously liberated woman.”
Rosie nodded. “You’re like a man.”
Chloe sighed. “Why has it all changed, though? That’s what I’d like to know. I’m obsessed with Rocco in a way that’s really screwing up my life. He’s the last man in the world I should be dreaming about. He wouldn’t recognize love if it came to his door dressed in black leather and studs. Although, come to think of it, that might work for him after what I heard about his fiancée’s kinky fetishes.”
“What? Hey.” Tess held up her swizzle stick. “You can’t say black leather and kinky without an explanation.”
Chloe’s filled them in on Grace’s tidbit.
“Jeez, that should be an interesting marriage—oops, sorry. I’m sure there’s never going to be any marriage,” Tess quickly said. “She’s all wrong for him. He’ll discover she’s a huge mistake any minute now.”
“But if he’s engaged to her,” Rosie noted, “maybe he likes black leather and, oh dear.” She caught sight of Chloe’s expression.
“That’s okay, Rosie. You’re probably right.” Chloe sighed. “And if I’m going to try to calibrate love, I’d better not put Rocco in the equation. He’s totally indifferent to the concept; in fact, the last time I saw him, we screwed about ten feet away from his fiancée.”
Rosie said, “Eww,” with her nose all wrinkled up. “How could you?”
“I wasn’t thinking too clearly at the time.” Chloe ran her finger up the stem of her martini glass. “He makes me so hot, my brain melts.”
“I’ve never felt like that.”
Chloe looked up and grinned. “There’s a good and bad side to the feeling.”
Tess leaned her elbows on the table and gave Chloe a hard stare. “You want him to call, don’t you? Love or no love.”
“I guess. That’s the point. I don’t know what I want. And since he’s engaged to Miss Heiress, he’s not likely to dump her for anything more than a series of quickies. I’m not so sure I’m interested in that kind of sex.”
Rosie eyes opened wide; Chloe hadn’t been so scrupulous in the past. “You’re really serious about this Rocco.”
“See—that’s the problem. I don’t know what serious means. I miss the sex. That I know. But whether it’s more than sex escapes my obtuse or callous, or maybe cold-as-ice sensibilities—although I’ve never seen myself as cold-hearted. Nor does that cute bartender from Chino’s whom I spent the weekend with think that I’m—”
“The bartender who looks like Colin Farrell!” Tess squealed.
“That one. His name’s Colin, too, and he’s really nice.”
“Nice! Jesus, he’s God’s gift to women! I’d strip naked at the bar if he asked me to!”
“Well, fortunately, he didn’t ask me to, as I’m not sure I would have. Correction. I wouldn’t have. He doesn’t turn me on the same way as Rocco. Even though he’s really good in bed.”
“He’s good in bed!” Tess’s squeals were beginning to draw attention to them.
“Keep it down, Tess,” Chloe hissed. “And there’s another thing, too,” she murmured. “I need you guys to help me make up my mind about Colin. He wants to come over again tonight, and I’m not sure I want him to.”
“Are you crazy!” Tess exclaimed in a stifled squeal.
“Not about him, I’m not, which is why I’m beginning to think about all this stupid love stuff and how you can’t always make things work out. He’s hotter for me than I am for him, and I’m hotter for Rocco than he is for me, and everything’s really mixed up and confusing. So tell me what to do.”
“Tell Colin to come over, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!” Tess practically shouted which made everyone in the bar swivel around.
“Jesus, Tess, get a grip.” Chloe tried to pretend she was unaware of the intense scrutiny, of everyone leaning forward a little like at a tennis match.
“Have I seen this guy?” Rosie was clearly perplexed by Tess’s violent interest.
“Obviously not,” Tess retorted with an exasperated look, “if you can’t remember what he looks like. He’s a god.”
“He’s also twenty-one,” Chloe supplied.
“So, who cares as long as he’s eighteen?” Tess fluttered her fingers in a dismissive gesture. “He’s legal. My God, Chloe, tell me everything . . . every little thing from the minute he asked you out until he left your place. Don’t leave out a single detail.”
“I guess I should have let him videotape it after all.”
“Really? He wanted to? Oh, God, why didn’t you?”
Chloe leaned over and patted Tess’s hand. “I’m kidding, okay? Nobody wanted to videotape anything. And don’t get any ideas,” Chloe warned. “Or I’ll take my key back from you right now. And what ever happened to I’m in love again? What about Dave?”
“This has nothing to do with love. That bartender, Colin, is pure fantasy.”
“He’s also damned young.”
“And that hurts the fantasy—how?”
“May I say a few words about Ian now?” Rosie’s one-drink limit had been passed, her hands were no longer clasped in front of her on the tabletop, her cheeks were flushed and a small frown creased her brow. “I’d like to talk about Ian.”
“Talk away,” Chloe offered. “There’s no answer to the tumult in my life anyway. Tell us about Ian.”
Rosie smiled and sat up a little straighter like she was talking to her pupils. “He likes puppies.”
“Any special kind?” Chloe wasn’t sure where this was leading since none of them had or ever had had puppies.
“Little puppies.” Rosie held up her hands and measured a very small space. “We saw some puppies in the park on Sunday. They were teeny, tiny and ever so cute and Ian said he was thinking about getting a puppy now that he was back home. Isn’t that sweet? Mark didn’t like dogs. He said they were troublesome.”
Ah . . . that’s where this story was going. “The only thing Mark knows about is lying,” Chloe said. “Obviously Ian is a much nicer person. I’m glad you found him.”
“I’m glad too. Did I tell you he likes Italian food?”
“I thought you didn’t like Italian—” Tess abruptly curtailed her comment when Chloe kicked her under the table.
“You’ve always liked D’Amico’s desserts,” Chloe pointed out with a smile. “I’ll bet Ian would like them too.”
“I know he would. He likes everything I like.”
Chloe was hoping Rosie wasn’t going to use the phrase soul mates, but braced herself just in case.
“I’m probably a little drunk.” Rosie leaned back against the padded leather banquette, her smile curving upward slowly, as though her reflexes were half asleep. “But I don’t care. Ian kisses really, really nicely, too. Mark never kissed much. I like that Ian likes to kiss. It makes me feel all cuddly and cared for and wanted. I know that’s different from all the hot passion you like, Chloe, and you too Tess, but it’s just perfect for me. Ian’s sooo perfect. And he’s coming over to take me out to dinner, so . . .” She sat up and fumbled for her purse. “I really have to go. If it’s okay—I mean . . . if you know what you’re going to do and all, Chloe,” she said, half-apologetic, already sliding off the banquette.
Chloe nodded. “Everything’s figured out.” It wasn’t as though she’d actually expected an answer to her unsolvable problems anyway. And after a couple of drinks they see
med a whole lot less pressing. “I’ll drive you home. My car’s outside in the valet lot.”
Chloe and Tess saw that Rosie had something to eat on the way home, to temper some of the alcohol coursing through her hundred-pound body. Although if Ian was as perfect as Rosie described, he wouldn’t care if she was a little tipsy.
“I talked to a couple of my Vinelli cousins,” Tess said in a cautious tone, as she and Chloe drove away from Rosie’s. “And they wouldn’t recommend taking any bets on Rocco’s settling down. I debated telling you, but,” she sighed, “you seem to be vaguely aware of the situation already. He’s been a babe magnet for most of his life.” She made a moue. “Not exactly the white-picket-fence kind of guy. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I already knew. I had a gut feeling from the beginning. I was just trying to work around the cruel, harsh reality. I know enough to be sensible about a guy like him. And if his reputation wasn’t enough, let’s face it, he’s engaged. End of story.”
“Fortunately, you have Colin to amuse you,” Tess said with a grin.
“True. He’s definitely entertaining. Thanks for checking out Rocco with your relatives.” Chloe pulled up to Tess’s house. Her friends lived a block apart in arts-and-crafts bungalows they’d restored. “Have fun with Dave tonight.”
“We’re taking in a gallery showing somewhere—wire sculpture I think. Are you going to see Colin?”
Chloe shrugged. “I don’t know . . . probably—maybe. It depends how much I want to be amused, I guess.”
“If you do decide to see him,” Tess said with a wink, “take notes.”
“If I decide to see him, I’m going to have to go home and take a nap. I barely slept the last two nights.”
“If you want me to feel sorry for you, that’s not going to do it.” Tess gave her a narrow-eyed look. “And don’t give Rocco another thought.” She opened the car door and stepped out. “He’s not worth it.”
“Right,” Chloe murmured as the car door slammed. That should be as easy as making water run uphill. Maybe she did need Colin as a diversion tonight. Otherwise she’d mope and eat too much ice cream and then really feel sorry for herself for eating too much ice cream. Which would drive her to the cookie jar, which would—