Naughty Neighbor Part 6

"Something wrong?"

Her face had turned scarlet. She looked down at the sweats.h.i.+rt still bunched in his hand. "You've accidentally unhooked the front closure to my bra."

His grin was lazy, his eyes soft with a mixture of sensuality and amus.e.m.e.nt. It had been no accident. He had one of the most talented thumbs in the country...maybe in the world.

"Sorry," he said, releasing the s.h.i.+rt. "Guess I got carried away." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He was finally in love. No doubt about it.

Louisa b.u.t.toned her navy pea coat up to her throat as she left the Post building and walked west to the Farragut North Metro station. She would have been done with the papers a lot sooner if Pete hadn't kissed her after lunch, she thought. Her mind had been stuck on it all afternoon. The kiss had been warm and friendly with just a suggestion of pa.s.sion. In fact, it had been almost playful. Just what you'd expect from a man who ate marshmallow goop for lunch.

Still, it had surprised her. She'd been mentally prepared for a different sort of kiss...a much more aggressive sort. She'd been ready to firmly reject his advances, and it hadn't been necessary. She reluctantly admitted she was experiencing an emotion that felt a lot like disappointment.

She took the escalator to the underground lobby, bought a fare card, and pa.s.sed through an electronic gate, telling herself there was no reason to be depressed just because she didn't inspire flaming pa.s.sion in the man. After all, she'd told him on several occasions how much she disliked him. And she'd warned him against groping. It was just that she didn't know what to make of the kiss, she told herself. It had been so...happy.

She was still thinking about the kiss when she knocked on his front door a half hour later.

"Reporting in on the newspaper a.s.signment, sir," she said when he opened the door, the theory being when dis...o...b..bulated over a s.e.xual attraction, resort to juvenile behavior.

He closed his front door behind her, unb.u.t.toned her jacket, pulled her to him by her lapels, and lowered his mouth to hers. It was a h.e.l.lo, welcome-home kiss. It was an I-like-you kiss. It was pretty d.a.m.n happy. It was grossly disappointing. All lips and no tongue and much too short. Louisa swayed a little when he stepped away from her. "Darn," she said.

"Something wrong?"

"You unhooked my bra again."

"Must be a faulty clasp."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't trust you."

"Boy, Lou, that really hurts. Here I've been slaving over a hot stove all day, making a nutritious home-cooked meal for you, and I get nothing but insults."

Louisa sniffed the air. It smelled wonderful-like spaghetti sauce and garlic bread. She trudged up the stairs and crossed to the kitchen area. The table was set for two with a white linen tablecloth, winegla.s.ses, and lavender candles. There was a daisy on her plate. It only had one petal left. Without thinking, she automatically played the game and plucked the remaining petal, silently chanting "He loves me."

"It's true," he said.

She rolled her eyes.

"You don't believe me?"

"Not for an instant."

Smart woman, he thought. He could hardly believe it himself. He dropped spaghetti into a pot of boiling water, took two salads from the refrigerator and garlic bread from the oven. He filled the winegla.s.ses with sparkling water. "Did you find anything interesting in any of the papers?"

She hung her coat on the coatrack and took a seat at the table. "No. There was just that one little article about the pig. Nothing about Maislin. Nothing I could pick up about any of his related interests."

She watched him work at the stove, and thought it was nice that he'd gone to some trouble for her. He'd bought a daisy and set the table with linen and crystal. She wasn't sure of his motives, but she appreciated the effort all the same. And she had to admit, she enjoyed the companions.h.i.+p.

Her gaze drifted the length of him, and desire rushed through her in a scalding wave. She shook her head and muttered a warning to herself.

The intensity of the attraction was inappropriate. She didn't take s.e.x lightly, and he wasn't a man she'd choose for a serious relations.h.i.+p. It was a waste of perfectly good hormones, she thought. She'd waited all these years for her body to respond to a man, and wouldn't you know it would be to a wrong number like Pete Streeter. There was no justice in the world.

Pete noticed she was muttering again. He brought the hot food to the table and watched for a few seconds while she conversed with herself. She was a little crazy, he decided. A jillion women in the world, and he had to fall in love with one who was crazy. It figured.

She smacked herself on the forehead with the heel of her hand. "Unh!"

"Now what?"

"And another thing," she said. "I'm not going to sleep with you, so you can just forget it."

He grinned and pa.s.sed her the spaghetti. She was crazy all right, but it was kind of cute. "Of course you'll sleep with me."

A look of astonishment appeared on her face, and her mouth fell open.

He sighed and forked spaghetti onto her plate. Probably he shouldn't have said that, he thought. Sometimes it didn't pay to be entirely honest with women. He helped himself to the spaghetti and realized she was still sitting there in dumbfounded apoplexy so he spooned sauce over both their plates and added grated cheese.

He didn't know why she looked so disconcerted. It was obvious they were going to be lovers. It was just a matter of time. True, she didn't think he was all that great right now, but he was sure she'd come around.

Louisa snapped her mouth closed and stabbed her fork into her spaghetti. Of all the nerve! If she wasn't so hungry, she'd get up and walk right out of there, she told herself, but no sense turning her back on a good meal. She tapped her fork against her plate and narrowed her eyes. "How can you be so sure we'll end up in bed?"

How could he be sure? Every instinct he possessed told him so. Being next to her was like getting trapped in a force field of carnal electricity. Every molecule in his body hummed with desire. And when he kissed her, he could feel her need for him. It was there. He was sure of it. Did she want to hear any of that? Probably not. He shrugged and took a piece of warm bread. "I like to think positive."

Another whack on her forehead. "Unh!"

"I guess that means I said the wrong thing again."

"You have much success with women?"

"Well, I don't like to brag..."

Louisa held her hand up. "Stop. Forget I asked."

It was a dumb question, anyway, she thought. Women probably threw themselves in front of his car for five minutes of attention. Probably, he had so many women following him around that he had to beat them off with a stick. Of course, that was because they didn't know about his laundry habits.

"Maybe we should change the subject. Maybe we should get back to the pig problem."

"I'd like to take a look at the guy who delivered the pig. His name's Bucky Dunowski. He works at the pig farm as a security guard, and he lives a few miles south of the facility, just over the state line."

"You think he became attached to Miss Piggy and took her home?"

"Anything's possible. The pig farm is about an hour's drive from here...maybe a little longer. How about if we go to Pennsylvania tonight and check out ol' Bucky."

"Tonight?"

"Sure. It's perfect. We can skulk around in the dark, looking for pigs. No one will ever see us." He didn't really think he'd find a pig in Bucky's backyard, but skulking around in the dark with Louisa sounded like a good idea.

"No! Definitely not. It was bad enough lying to Amy Maislin. I am not going to Pennsylvania with you. And I am absolutely, positively not going to skulk."

Two hours later, Louisa slouched low in the Porsche as she looked for house numbers painted on mailboxes. They were in a mixed neighborhood of small, not especially well-kept bungalows and larger, newer homes. The houses were set on heavily treed lots, frequently separated by patches of woods. The street was dark and windy. Louisa shook her head in disbelief. Against her better judgment she was about to spy on Bucky Dunowski.

Her mouth tightened into a grimace as she glanced over at Pete. His profile was outlined in moonlight, all mysterious shadows and hard, masculine planes. He was obscenely handsome and hopelessly well adjusted. He also had bra.s.s doodles and didn't know the meaning of the word no. Not the sort of man she wanted to become romantically involved with, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time.

Unfortunately, that was an intellectual decision and had little bearing on her emotions. The truth was, Pete Streeter was looking better with each pa.s.sing second. It was one of those miracles of nature-romantic dementia. And it occurred whenever she was within arm's reach of Streeter. His laundry habits were seeming trivial. His inability to find his own parking s.p.a.ce was becoming endearing. The fit of his jeans overshadowed all else.

She rested her forehead against the side window and sighed.

"Something wrong?"

"Only everything."

He patted her knee. "Good to know you're not one of those sickening optimists."

She noticed his hand was lingering on her leg. She should call his attention to it, she thought, but she wasn't sure she wanted him to remove it. His hand was warm and rea.s.suring, and it was sending pleasurable sensations to other parts of her body. It had been a long time since she'd enjoyed those kinds of sensations. Now that she gave it serious thought, maybe she'd never experienced them. Certainly the feelings were beyond her memory.

They rolled past two mailboxes before Louisa realized one of them must have been Bucky's. "Hold up," she said. "I think we just missed it."

Pete pulled onto the shoulder a few yards down the road. "This is a good place to park. It's dark and fairly secluded." He slid his arm across the back of her seat. "We don't want to park where we can be seen," he said, trailing his hand over her shoulder, down her coat sleeve.

He felt like Goldilocks, settling in to eat Little Bear's bowl of porridge. After all that previous sampling, he'd finally found a woman who was just right. The knowledge was more intuitive, more emotional than rational, but he'd always trusted his instincts, and he saw no reason not to trust them now.

He saw that she was very still, not moving from his touch. She was making decisions, he thought. She was trying to come to terms with her own feelings. He hoped she decided on positive action.

"You know, maybe we were hasty about this pig business. Maybe it's not such a good idea to go chasing around at night," he said. Maybe it would be better to stay here and take our clothes off, he thought. Disrobing in a Porsche wasn't his idea of the perfect prelude to lovemaking, but he was willing to sacrifice comfort for the good of the cause. Besides, there was something to be said for spontaneity, right? And there was something to be said for sanity, and the fact that he was going to lose his if the cause didn't get served soon.

He tentatively caressed a silky tendril of her hair, and the contact sent affection surging through him. The affection tempered l.u.s.t and provoked an attack of conscience. He knew he was rus.h.i.+ng things. They'd only known each other for a few days, and she was still laboring under the delusion that she didn't like him. Encouraging her to take her clothes off probably wasn't a good idea. He didn't want to be accused of being pushy and of only having one thing on his mind...especially if it was true.

His fingertip followed the curve of her ear down to the line of her jaw, and the contact sent out another shot of desire. He was engaging in self-indulgent torture, he thought. He'd be better off not to touch her at all, but he was incapable of exercising that much self-control. Nothing short of cutting off his hands would keep them from reaching out for Louisa. He skimmed his thumb over the pulse point, and his fingers curled around the nape of her neck.

He had wonderful hands, Louisa concluded, strong and sensual. She watched the rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was slightly labored. She knew she was the cause, and the knowledge excited her. She was succ.u.mbing to the intoxication of the moment, she thought dimly. She was falling victim to the physical attraction, and she was undoubtedly making a big mistake.

She considered her surroundings and decided the mistake would most likely be little as opposed to big. It would be incredibly uncomfortable and next to impossible to make a big mistake in a Porsche. Actually, his Porsche was sort of an automotive chast.i.ty belt, she decided. It was the ideal setting to indulge in an exploratory kiss and not have to worry about losing control of the situation.

"Well," she said.

Her voice was husky and slightly breathless, and Pete felt the single word hanging in the air between them, fat and pregnant with erotic potential. "Well," he said back, unsure what to do next, afraid if he moved too fast, his fantasy-come-true would pop like a soap bubble.

Louisa curled her fingers into Pete's jacket and pulled him within inches. He looked like a kid who'd been told he could have ice cream for supper and didn't believe it.

"So," she said, "all smoke and no fire, huh?"

"I was under the impression you didn't want fire."

She leaned forward until their noses almost touched. "I was under the impression you didn't care what I wanted. This is a heck of a time to get sensitive."

He had his seat back, and Louisa on his lap faster than she could formulate a protest. His hand moved under her coat, under her s.h.i.+rt, flesh to heated flesh, and his mouth covered hers in a kiss that made no effort at restraint.

There was fire there, all right. More than she'd expected. Much more than she'd actually wanted. Their tongues tangled, his hand moved higher, and in a flash of panic, Louisa realized this wasn't the first time Pete Streeter had made a mistake in his Porsche-and the size of the present mistake was much larger than she'd originally antic.i.p.ated.

It was the last coherent thought she had before pa.s.sion took over. After that moment there was only heat and need and aching desire. She writhed in his arms as his fingers stroked and inflamed her. She struggled with her clothes and whimpered in despair and delight when his mouth left hers to move lower. But she'd been right. Union was awkward in the cramped quarters.

Chapter 5.

"Hold it," Louisa said. "I don't think this is gonna work."

Pete had reached the same conclusion, but he wasn't willing to give up so easily. "Let's just roll out into the woods."

"I'm not rolling around in the woods! It's freezing out there." Louisa pushed her tangled hair back from her face and struggled to regain some focus. It had all happened so fast. She was naked, and she was in an obscenely embarra.s.sing position with her foot stuck in the steering wheel. She looked down at herself and groaned. "How did I manage to get my clothes off in this tiny car?"

His grin widened as he snagged her panties from the rearview mirror. "It was nothing short of a miracle. You were a desperate woman."

She s.n.a.t.c.hed her panties from him and tried to extricate her foot, feeling the humiliation crawling up her spine, burning her earlobes. If she lived through this, she'd be a changed woman, she promised herself. She'd turn celibate for life, and she'd never again ride in a Porsche. Right now, her most pressing need was to get both feet on the floor.

"I think I have a problem here," she said, twisting her foot this way and that, having no luck at wriggling it free.

Pete didn't think it was a problem. As far as he was concerned, she could stay in that position for the next sixty years. He'd never seen anything so s.e.xy in his entire life, and he hadn't exactly been a choirboy.

"Well, for crying out loud," Louisa said. "Do something!" Here she was strung up like the Christmas goose, and Pete was just sitting there staring at her.

He smiled silkily and slid his hands up the insides of her thighs.

"That's not going to help." She gasped. "It's my ankle that's stuck!"

"No need to shout. You weren't specific about what I should do. Besides, this is very enticing."

His touch was lovely, but Louisa's foot was falling asleep, and her modesty was a.s.serting itself. She was naked, and Pete Streeter was completely clothed. Five minutes earlier she'd approved of that arrangement; at the present moment she'd be grateful if she could just drop off the face of the earth.

"My toes are numb. My foot's going to have to be amputated."

Pete sighed. He didn't want her foot to be amputated, but d.a.m.ned if he didn't like looking at her with her leg hooked up onto the dashboard. "I'll help you get loose, but we'll have to do this again sometime," he said, inching her foot through the opening in the wheel.

"When h.e.l.l freezes over. This has been the most embarra.s.sing night of my life. Let me get my clothes on, and then push me out the door. When you get home you can send a cab to come get me. I don't ever want to see you again. I'm moving to Montana tomorrow. Maybe I'll be a cowboy. Do they still have cowboys?" She searched under the seat. "I can't find a sock."

"Moving to Montana isn't a good idea. You'd miss the air pollution, the traffic jams, the lines at the supermarket checkout. I think you should stay here. We could get married."

"I don't want to get married. The only thing I want to get is dressed. And I'm never taking my clothes off again. Not ever. Not even when I take a shower."

He didn't understand her embarra.s.sment. It wasn't as if they were strangers. They'd just almost made love. True, it hadn't been exactly as he'd imagined their first lovemaking would be, but he thought it should count for something. Maybe that was the problem, he decided. They had gone too fast, been too frantic. They should try it again, slowly, with tender words and maddeningly gentle touches. He looked down at his jeans. He could do it. Watching her gather her clothes had reinspired him. She still hadn't managed to get her s.h.i.+rt on. More inspiration.

She worked at untangling her bra from the gears.h.i.+ft, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s jiggled with the effort. That tears it, Pete thought. A man could only take so much.

"I don't want you to feel awkward," he said, popping the top snap on his jeans. "The problem here is that I have too many clothes on, so I'll take some off."