The Villa

bell-bottoms?" he teased.
    "Naturally. I made a terrific pair out of paisley when I was Maddy's age."
    "Made? So many hidden talents." He maneuvered her—it was simply a matter of shifting closer—until her back was to the kitchen counter. "You didn't bring me a present."
    "I didn't know you'd be here."
    "And now that I am?" He edged closer, laying his palms on the counter on either side of her. "Got anything in your bag for me?"
    "Sorry." She tried to laugh, to keep it light, but it was hard when she was strangling. "Next time. I really should get back to the winery. I'm helping with a tour this afternoon."
    "What time?"
    "Four-thirty."
    "Mmm." He glanced at the kitchen clock. "An hour and a half. I wonder what we could do with ninety minutes?"
    "I could fix you lunch."
    "I've got a better idea." And with his hands at her waist, he circled her slowly toward the inside door.
    "David."
    "Nobody home but you and me," he said, nibbling at her jaw, her throat, her mouth as he guided her out of the kitchen. "You know what I was thinking the other day?"
    "No." How could she? She didn't know what she was thinking right now.
    "That it's a complex business. My girlfriend lives with her mother."
    She did laugh now, at the idea of being called anyone's girlfriend.
    "And I live with my kids. No place to go to do all the things I've imagined doing with you. Do you know the things I've imagined doing with you?"
    "I'm getting the picture. David, it's the middle of the day."
    "The middle of the day." He paused at the base of the steps. "And an opportunity. I hate wasted opportunities, don't you?"
    She was walking up the steps with him, which seemed a miraculous feat to her, since her knees were knocking and her heart laboring as if she'd already scaled a mountain. "I wasn't expecting…" Her words kept becoming muffled against his mouth. "I'm not prepared."
    "Sweetheart, I'll take care of that."
    Take care of it? How could he arrange for her to be wearing sexy underwear, or turn the merciless daylight into the soft, flattering shadows of night? How could he…
    Then it struck her that he meant protection and made her feel giddy and foolish.
    "No, I didn't mean… David, I'm not young."
    "Neither am I." He eased back slightly at his bedroom door. Sweeping her inside wasn't the right way. She needed words, and maybe, he realized, so did he. "Pilar, I have a lot of complicated feelings for you. One that isn't complicated, for me, is that it's you I want. All there is of you."
    Nerves were swimming now, in a stream of heat. "David, you need to know. Tony was my first. And he was my last. It's been a very long time. And I'm… God. I'm so out of practice."
    "Knowing there hasn't been anyone else flatters me, Pilar." He brushed his lips over hers. "It humbles me." And again. "It excites me." His mouth came back to hers a third time in a kiss that trembled on the edge between seduction and demand.
    "Come to my bed." He guided her toward it, fascinated by the way their hearts hammered together. "Let me touch you. Touch me."
    "I can't get my breath." She struggled to gulp in air as he slipped her jacket off. "I know I'm tense, I'm sorry. I can't seem to relax."
    "I don't want you relaxed." He kept his eyes on hers as he unbuttoned her blouse, while his fingers whispered along exposed flesh. "Not this time. Put your hands on my shoulders, Pilar. Step out of your shoes."
    She was trembling, and so was he. Like the first time, he thought. For her. For him. And just as terrifying and tremendous.
    The late winter sun was a white wash of light through the windows. In the silence of the house he could hear every catch of her breath. When he skimmed his fingers lightly over her, she was all soft skin and quivers.
    "Smooth. Warm. Beautiful."
    He was making her believe his words. And if her fingers shook as she unbuttoned his shirt, he didn't seem to mind. If she jerked stupidly when his knuckles brushed her midriff, when he unhooked her trousers, he didn't sneer impatiently.
    And best of all, he didn't stop.
    His hands stroked her, slow and firm. It made her want to weep to be touched again. To feel again that gathering of heat in the belly, the long, liquid pulls that followed it. It seemed natural to lie back on the bed, to have his body, the hard weight of it, press down on hers.
    It seemed natural, and glorious, to finally give herself again.
    She forgot about the sunlight, and all the flaws it would reveal. And she reveled in the sensation of