The Unknown Beloved(54)

He had not kissed a woman for so long. When had he last kissed Irene? Irene had not wanted passion, even before he left, and he had bridled his. Now he had no idea what to do with it.

He pulled back abruptly and let Dani go, embarrassed by his inability to act the part he’d been trying to play. Long ago, he’d learned to keep his cool in every circumstance. He’d gotten so good at it. But he was not cool now. He was sweating, and his heart was pounding. And he was still famished.

“Please leave, Dani,” he begged, not really meaning it.

She hesitated, her shoulders wilting. Then she took a deep breath, straightened, and rose up on her toes, pressing her lips to his once more.

“What are you doing?” he moaned against her mouth. “I am not the man for you. I am not.”

“I think you very well might be,” she said, withdrawing a hairsbreadth, just enough to speak. Her voice was plaintive. “And I’m trying to decide whether you don’t like me or if you just . . . don’t trust me.”

“I like you.” And he did. He liked her very much. Oh God, he liked her very, very much. “And I don’t trust anyone,” he added. That part really wasn’t personal.

She sighed, her breath tickling his lips, but she didn’t move away and neither did he. “How typical,” she whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, trying desperately to be strong, but his arms had crept back around her.

“If I were not . . . me, would you want me?” she said. Her hands had climbed to his face.

He wasn’t sure what she meant. He was quite sure that he couldn’t possibly want anyone more.

“There are some women you don’t . . . you don’t . . . dabble with,” he said, talking more to himself than to her. They were speaking with their foreheads pressed together, her hands cradling his cheeks, his arms wrapped around her slim waist.

“The world would be so much better if we didn’t dabble with anyone,” she said.

“Yes. Exactly. It would be. So I won’t be . . . dabbling . . . with you,” he said, but his mouth had inched down to hers, sneaking a taste of her bottom lip. She moaned like he was feeding her grapes, and he spent the next minute gulping the wine of her mouth, sipping and suckling, pouring himself another and another.

It was Dani who finally broke away, panting and rosy-lipped.

It was a good thing she did because he was drunk already. Years without kisses had made him a terrible lightweight.

“You’re probably right,” she gasped, resting her brow against his chest, her hands sliding from his cheeks and back to her own heart.

“I am?” he whispered, trying not to slur his words.

“Yes. I don’t think I will survive a dabbling.”

“No?” Now what were they talking about? He couldn’t think straight.

“No,” she whispered. “Because I will fall in love with you.”

The word love woke him up a bit, and he took a moment to order his thoughts. No, no, no. This would not do at all.

He released her decidedly and stepped back, ending the torture. “No, you won’t, Dani. You’ll just think you’re in love with me because you have no one and nothing to compare it to.”

She seemed to consider that, her eyes searching his, her lips parted, and he almost returned to them.

“Must we try everything to know something is wonderful?” she asked softly. “I don’t think so.”

She had him there. He took another step back from her and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, determined not to think about how truly wonderful it had been.

“Do you think you might be afraid of falling in love with me too?” she asked, her voice trembling. Was it fear that he would say yes? Or fear he would say no?

“Oh, Dani,” he said, feeling an ache in his chest that he couldn’t readily identify. But again, he could not answer her question.

“Is it too soon?” she asked gently. “Irene has not been gone very long.”

“Yes, it’s too soon,” he said. It would always be too soon. And it didn’t really have anything to do with Irene. At least . . . not in the way Dani meant.

She nodded, accepting that in silence, and he stared past her face for several seconds, collecting himself. He needed her to go, but she remained where she was, hands clasped and her eyes on the floor.

“Steve came by when you were gone,” she said in a rush.

“Steve?” He frowned, reeling at the change of subject. His legs were still trembling from that kiss.

“The boy who gave you the checkered cap? He was wearing your fedora and your overcoat. I found him standing in front of the house. He wanted to talk to Mike. I assumed that was you.”

He waited.

“He said he would check back, but he had some information you might want to know. He also said you would pay him. So I gave him a dime, and he told me instead. I promised to pass along the information.”

“W-what?” Malone sputtered.

“He seemed eager to tell someone.”

“Dani!”

“Yes?” Her brow furrowed.

“This is not a game. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Do you want to know what he said or not?” she snapped, throwing up her hands, revealing her own loss of equilibrium. “And you owe me a dime.”