"That's a hell of a body you've got there, Miz Spinelli."
She glanced over her shoulder as she wrapped herself in a short red robe. "Same to you, Quinn." She headed out to the kitchen, humming to herself as she turned the heat back on under the sauce, filled a pot with water for the pasta. Lord, it was lovely, she thought, to feel so loose, so limber, so liberated. However reckless it might be for her to take Cameron Quinn as a lover, the results were worth every risk.
He'd made her aware of every inch of her body, and every inch of his. He made her feel painfully alive. And best of all, she mused as she took out the bread she wanted to toast lightly, he seemed to understand her.
It was one thing to be wanted by a man, to be satisfied by a man. But it warmed her heart to be liked by the man who desired her.
She turned and picked up her wine just as Cam came out of the bedroom. He'd pulled on his slacks but hadn't bothered to hook them. Anna sipped slowly while she studied him over the rim of her glass. Broad shoulders, hard chest, the waist that tapered to narrow hips and long legs. Oh, yes, he had a terrific body.
And for now it was all hers.
She lifted a pepper from the tray and held it up to his lips.
"It's got bite," Cam said as the heat filled his mouth.
"Um-hmm. I like… bite." She picked up his wine and handed it to him. "Hungry?"
"As a matter of fact."
"It won't be long." And because she recognized the look in his eye, she slipped around the counter to stir her sauce. "The water's nearly on the boil."
"You know what they say about a watched pot," he began and started around the counter after her. It was the sketch on the refrigerator that distracted him from his half-formed plan to wrestle her to the kitchen floor. "Hey, that looks just like Foolish."
"It is Foolish. Seth drew it."
"Get out!" He hooked a thumb in his pocket as he took a closer study. "Really? It's damn good, isn't it? I didn't know the kid could draw."
"You would, if you spent more time with him."
"I spend time with him every day," Cam muttered. "He doesn't tell me dick." Cam didn't know where the vague annoyance had come from, but he didn't care for it. "How'd you get this out of him?"
"I asked," she said simply, and slid linguini into the boiling water. Cam shifted on his feet. "Look, I'm doing the best I can with the kid."
"I didn't say you weren't. I just think you'll do better—with a little more practice and a little more effort." She pushed her hair back. She hadn't meant to get into this. Her relationship with Cam was supposed to have two separate compartments, without their contents getting mixed up together. "You're doing a good job. I mean that. But you've got a long way to go, Cam, in gaining his trust, his affection. Giving your own. He's an obligation you're fulfilling, and that's admirable. But he's also a young boy. He needs love. You have feelings for him. I've seen them." She smiled over at him. "You just don't know what to do with them yet."
Cam scowled at the sketch. "So now I'm supposed to talk to him about drawing dogs?" Anna sighed, then turned to frame Cam's face in her hands. "Just talk to him. You're a good man with a good heart. The rest will come."
Annoyed again, he gripped her wrists. He couldn't have said why the quiet understanding in her voice, the amused compassion in her eyes made him nervous. "I'm not a good man." His grip tightened just enough to make her eyes narrow. "I'm selfish, impatient. I go for the thrills because that's what suits me. Paying your debts doesn't have anything to do with having a good heart. I'm a son of a bitch, and I like it that way."
She merely arched a brow. "It's always wise to know yourself."
He felt a little flutter of panic in his throat and ignored it. "I'll probably hurt you before we're done." Anna tilted her head. "Maybe I'll hurt you first. Willing to risk it?" He didn't know whether to laugh or swear and ended up pulling her into his arms for a smoldering kiss.
"Let's eat in bed."
"That was the plan," she told him.
the pasta was cold bythe time they got to it, but that didn't stop them from eating ravenously. They sat cross-legged on her bed, knees bumping, and ate in the glow of the half dozen candles she'd lighted.
Cam shoveled in linguini and closed his eyes in pure sensory pleasure. "Goddamn, this is good." Anna wound pasta expertly around her fork and bit. "You should taste my lasagna."
"I'm counting on it." Relaxed and lazy, he broke a piece of the crusty bread she'd put into a wicker basket and handed half to her.
Her bedroom, he'd noted, was different from the rest of the apartment. Here she hadn't gone for the practical, for the streamlined. The bed itself was a wide pool covered in soft rose sheets and a slick satin duvet in rich bronze. The headboard was a romantic arch of wrought iron, curvy and frivolous and plumped now with a dozen fat, colorful pillows.
The dresser he pegged as an antique, a heavy old piece of mahogany refinished to a rosy gleam. It was covered with pretty little bottles and bowls and a silver-backed brush. The mirror over it was a long oval. There was a mahogany lady's vanity with a skirted stool and glinting brass handles. For some reason he'd always found that particular type of furniture incredibly sexy.
A copper urn was filled with tall, fussy flowers, the walls were crowded with art, and the windows framed in the same rich bronze as the spread.
This, he thought idly, was Anna's room. The rest of the apartment was still Miz Spinelli's. The practical and the sensual. Both suited her.
He reached over the side of the bed to the floor, where he'd put the bottle of wine. He topped off her glass.
"Trying to get me drunk?"
He flashed a grin at her. Her hair was tangled, the robe loose enough to have one shoulder curving free. Her big dark eyes seemed to laugh at both of them. "Don't have to—but it might be interesting anyway." She smiled, shrugged and drank. "Why don't you tell me about your day?"
"Today?" He gave a mock shudder. "Nightmare time."
"Really." She twirled more pasta, fed it to him. "Details."
"Shopping. Shoes. Hideous." When she laughed, he felt the smile split his face. God, she had a great laugh. "I made Ethan and Phillip go with me. No way I was facing that alone. We had to practically handcuff the kid to get him to go. You'd think I was fitting him for a straitjacket instead of new high-tops."
She glanced over her shoulder as she wrapped herself in a short red robe. "Same to you, Quinn." She headed out to the kitchen, humming to herself as she turned the heat back on under the sauce, filled a pot with water for the pasta. Lord, it was lovely, she thought, to feel so loose, so limber, so liberated. However reckless it might be for her to take Cameron Quinn as a lover, the results were worth every risk.
He'd made her aware of every inch of her body, and every inch of his. He made her feel painfully alive. And best of all, she mused as she took out the bread she wanted to toast lightly, he seemed to understand her.
It was one thing to be wanted by a man, to be satisfied by a man. But it warmed her heart to be liked by the man who desired her.
She turned and picked up her wine just as Cam came out of the bedroom. He'd pulled on his slacks but hadn't bothered to hook them. Anna sipped slowly while she studied him over the rim of her glass. Broad shoulders, hard chest, the waist that tapered to narrow hips and long legs. Oh, yes, he had a terrific body.
And for now it was all hers.
She lifted a pepper from the tray and held it up to his lips.
"It's got bite," Cam said as the heat filled his mouth.
"Um-hmm. I like… bite." She picked up his wine and handed it to him. "Hungry?"
"As a matter of fact."
"It won't be long." And because she recognized the look in his eye, she slipped around the counter to stir her sauce. "The water's nearly on the boil."
"You know what they say about a watched pot," he began and started around the counter after her. It was the sketch on the refrigerator that distracted him from his half-formed plan to wrestle her to the kitchen floor. "Hey, that looks just like Foolish."
"It is Foolish. Seth drew it."
"Get out!" He hooked a thumb in his pocket as he took a closer study. "Really? It's damn good, isn't it? I didn't know the kid could draw."
"You would, if you spent more time with him."
"I spend time with him every day," Cam muttered. "He doesn't tell me dick." Cam didn't know where the vague annoyance had come from, but he didn't care for it. "How'd you get this out of him?"
"I asked," she said simply, and slid linguini into the boiling water. Cam shifted on his feet. "Look, I'm doing the best I can with the kid."
"I didn't say you weren't. I just think you'll do better—with a little more practice and a little more effort." She pushed her hair back. She hadn't meant to get into this. Her relationship with Cam was supposed to have two separate compartments, without their contents getting mixed up together. "You're doing a good job. I mean that. But you've got a long way to go, Cam, in gaining his trust, his affection. Giving your own. He's an obligation you're fulfilling, and that's admirable. But he's also a young boy. He needs love. You have feelings for him. I've seen them." She smiled over at him. "You just don't know what to do with them yet."
Cam scowled at the sketch. "So now I'm supposed to talk to him about drawing dogs?" Anna sighed, then turned to frame Cam's face in her hands. "Just talk to him. You're a good man with a good heart. The rest will come."
Annoyed again, he gripped her wrists. He couldn't have said why the quiet understanding in her voice, the amused compassion in her eyes made him nervous. "I'm not a good man." His grip tightened just enough to make her eyes narrow. "I'm selfish, impatient. I go for the thrills because that's what suits me. Paying your debts doesn't have anything to do with having a good heart. I'm a son of a bitch, and I like it that way."
She merely arched a brow. "It's always wise to know yourself."
He felt a little flutter of panic in his throat and ignored it. "I'll probably hurt you before we're done." Anna tilted her head. "Maybe I'll hurt you first. Willing to risk it?" He didn't know whether to laugh or swear and ended up pulling her into his arms for a smoldering kiss.
"Let's eat in bed."
"That was the plan," she told him.
the pasta was cold bythe time they got to it, but that didn't stop them from eating ravenously. They sat cross-legged on her bed, knees bumping, and ate in the glow of the half dozen candles she'd lighted.
Cam shoveled in linguini and closed his eyes in pure sensory pleasure. "Goddamn, this is good." Anna wound pasta expertly around her fork and bit. "You should taste my lasagna."
"I'm counting on it." Relaxed and lazy, he broke a piece of the crusty bread she'd put into a wicker basket and handed half to her.
Her bedroom, he'd noted, was different from the rest of the apartment. Here she hadn't gone for the practical, for the streamlined. The bed itself was a wide pool covered in soft rose sheets and a slick satin duvet in rich bronze. The headboard was a romantic arch of wrought iron, curvy and frivolous and plumped now with a dozen fat, colorful pillows.
The dresser he pegged as an antique, a heavy old piece of mahogany refinished to a rosy gleam. It was covered with pretty little bottles and bowls and a silver-backed brush. The mirror over it was a long oval. There was a mahogany lady's vanity with a skirted stool and glinting brass handles. For some reason he'd always found that particular type of furniture incredibly sexy.
A copper urn was filled with tall, fussy flowers, the walls were crowded with art, and the windows framed in the same rich bronze as the spread.
This, he thought idly, was Anna's room. The rest of the apartment was still Miz Spinelli's. The practical and the sensual. Both suited her.
He reached over the side of the bed to the floor, where he'd put the bottle of wine. He topped off her glass.
"Trying to get me drunk?"
He flashed a grin at her. Her hair was tangled, the robe loose enough to have one shoulder curving free. Her big dark eyes seemed to laugh at both of them. "Don't have to—but it might be interesting anyway." She smiled, shrugged and drank. "Why don't you tell me about your day?"
"Today?" He gave a mock shudder. "Nightmare time."
"Really." She twirled more pasta, fed it to him. "Details."
"Shopping. Shoes. Hideous." When she laughed, he felt the smile split his face. God, she had a great laugh. "I made Ethan and Phillip go with me. No way I was facing that alone. We had to practically handcuff the kid to get him to go. You'd think I was fitting him for a straitjacket instead of new high-tops."
