A Different Kind of Forever(38)

He was watching her. “You needed to relax tonight?”

Diane let out a slow breath. “I told you. I haven’t done this in a while.” She turned her head to look at him. “I was afraid I’d do something stupid.”

“We did just fine.”

She lay there, wanting to touch him again, just to feel the smoothness of his skin against her. She lifted her hand and he caught it, kissing her palm. She rolled to face him and kissed him again, without passion. He pulled her close, wrapping his leg around her. She lifted the thin silver chain that was around his neck.

“This is very beautiful.”

“It was my mother’s,” he explained. “She bought it in Rome, along with a crucifix. She had it blessed by the Pope. I have the cross at home.”

Diane heard a soft thump as Jasper leapt off the bed. He walked over and sat on the floor where their heads lay, almost touching, and began to purr.

“You have a cat,” Michael said.

“Yes. This is Jasper.”

“Was he watching?”

“Probably. Now he’ll run out and report to all his cat friends.”

“Tough room.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said lightly. “I bet when you leave, all the cats in the neighborhood will be lined up outside, applauding.”

He laughed softly and kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Are you hungry?” Diane asked.

“Yes. Where would you like to go?”

“I have food here.” She sat up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” She walked across the hall and into the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed and blotchy, eyes faintly red. She sat down and urinated, the flesh between her legs achy and sore. She had the smell of him everywhere. She splashed cold water on her face and smoothed back her hair.

The bedroom was empty. She picked up her dress and pulled it over her naked body.

He was in the kitchen. She watched him taking out eggs and cheese from the refrigerator. She crossed her arms over her breasts.

“If you can cook,” she said seriously, “I may have to propose.”

He threw her a smile. “I can make a great marinade for cooking anything out on a grill, and I make mashed potatoes that will take a year off your life from too much butter and cream. I also make perfect omelets. Cheese? Or would you prefer mushroom? You have a great kitchen. You must be serious about food.”

“Yes, we’re pretty serious about food around here. I have some ham. We could run a few slices under the broiler.”

“Fantastic. Is that sourdough from Jimmy’s up there? Great bread, just great.”

He was standing in front of her stove, barefoot, jeans riding low, his shirt still open. She came up behind him and put her arms around his waist, looking over his shoulder. His movements were quick and efficient. He was cracking eggs into a large bowl, one-handed. She watched him for a minute, enjoying the feel of her hands on his skin, the play of the muscles in his back against her breasts.

“I’ll set the table,” she said. He nodded, and gave her a quick kiss before she stepped away from him.

She carried dishes into the dining room, set out cloth napkins from the sideboard. The table was a long oak farm table, the wood golden and softly gleaming. In the center of the table were a cluster of candles, each on a different candlestick, brass, copper, pewter. Diane collected them, one from each of the dozen countries she had visited. She lit them carefully, and the room bloomed with soft light. She went to change the music, a jazz station, and then closed the drapes of her living room window against the darkness.

The meal was wonderful. She ate slowly, listening to him as he spoke, laughing with him. After they cleared the table, she brought a bowl of grapes into the living room, and they drank cold white wine and sat on opposite ends of the coach, facing each other, backs propped against the arms of the couch, feet and legs intertwined. She talked about her marriage, the girls. He talked about the movie, about being a celebrity. She refilled the wine glasses and lit more candles. He watched her as she moved about the room, his body relaxed, and his eyes bright and intense.

“Would you like to go sailing tomorrow?” he asked her as she settled back into her corner.

“Sailing? You have a boat?”

“Yeah, a small one. It’s fantastic - like flying.”

“I bet. I’d love to go with you. Where?”

“We’ll go to my place. Mendham.”