Kimani Romance Online Read

One Night Only
by Ann Christopher

Rosa Matthews is ready to start living again. Since the death of her husband two years ago, Rosa has devoted herself to raising her young son Brennan, and to pursuing her law career. But it’s time to move on, and accompanying Brennan’s dentist to a fundraising gala seems like a good, safe place to start.

But the evening is quickly interrupted by a man from Rosa ’s past—her late husband’s best friend. Millionaire Philip Anderson’s contempt for Rosa has always been obvious to her, and now his expression makes it clear that he does not approve of her return to the dating scene. Or could it be that his arrogance is masking other, deeper feelings?

Chapter One

Rosa Matthews was beginning to think the red gown was a mistake.

“You look amazing.” Greg the Dentist hooked Rosa’s hand over his arm and studied her with an appreciative gaze that made her cheeks burn.

“Thanks.”

She caught herself twisting her wedding band in her favorite nervous gesture and stopped. Telling herself to get a grip, Rosa worked up a self-assured smile that would, hopefully, disguise the butterflies swooping like bats in her belly. Luckily, the elevator’s ping interrupted the moment of uncomfortable intimacy and the mirrored doors slid open, letting in a burst of jazzy music from a live band somewhere nearby. As Greg steered her into the crowded and candlelit ballroom, Rosa adjusted the glittery silver pashmina around her bare shoulders and wondered how soon they could leave.

Yeah, this whole date thing was a mistake, starting with the gown. It was a filmy number that dipped low between her breasts, floated in layers down to her ankles and had a sparkling crystal elephant pin on one shoulder, because she loved elephants. It’d seemed elegant and lovely in the Macy’s dressing room the other day, but she’d foolishly discounted the cleavage factor and the awkwardness of having male eyes—like Greg the Dentist’s here—study her with sexual interest. Discreet and respectful interest, true, but still sexual.

No one but her husband, Jake, had looked at her this way in years. But Jake was dead and she was here at a pre-Valentine’s Day breast cancer fund-raiser with her five-year-old son, Brennan’s, dentist, the man famously known for his wide selection of sugar-free lollipops for well-behaved children.

With no prior warning, Greg the Dentist (she really needed to think of him as Greg) had asked her out during Brennan’s checkup last week, right after the fluoride treatment. This had prompted her to notice him as a man rather than a blue-masked and rubber-gloved medical professional, and what she noticed was…nice. He had warm brown eyes and a wide smile that put mothers and nervous children alike at ease.

To her surprise, after a second or two of stammering she’d said yes. Why not? She was only thirty-five and there should be more to her life than her career as a corporate attorney and her son. Jake had been dead for two years and sick with a brain tumor for three before that. She’d been a dutiful caregiver and then widow. Wasn’t it time to have fun with adults again? Dress up? Wear makeup and possibly even…dance?

Rejoin the living, Rosa , she’d told herself, but that had been last week, when the actual outing with a man was still several days away.

Those days had since passed in a head-spinning blur and now here she was. On a date. And it was all a terrible mistake because she could never love another man the way she’d loved Jake, so why even bother with foolishness like dates?

Some of her turmoil must have shown—she was twiddling her wedding band again—because Greg smiled gently. “Nervous?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I thought you were going to cancel on me.”

“I almost did,” she admitted. “Six or seven times.”

“Ouch.” He shifted closer, looking puppy-dog hopeful and pleased rather than hurt. “Thanks for not standing me up.”

Before she could register a protest, he leaned in and brushed her cheek with his soft lips and the wiry bristle of mustache. It was over in a blink and she stared at him, stunned at this first kiss in two years.

Pulling back, he smiled. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

To her astonishment, it wasn’t.

“No,” she said, and they laughed together, the tension broken.

This date could be fun after all, she thought. But then Greg shifted and the smile died on her lips as someone loomed into view over his shoulder—someone tall, dark and unsmiling, with a glittering brown crystal gaze that skewered her like an insect to a display board.

My God.

Caught and guilty, her pulse running at the speed of light, Rosa took a quick step away from Greg because this unexpected ghost from her past wouldn’t approve of another man’s hand on her arm or lips on her face.

Oh, no, he would not.

Shoring up her courage, she flashed a cool smile and braced herself for what was sure to be an unpleasant encounter of the worst kind.

“Hello, Philip,” she said.

Chapter Two

"Rosa." Millionaire Philip Anderson, her dead husband's best friend and a man who took arrogance to a whole new level, stepped closer. One corner of his lush mouth turned up in a smile as disquieting as it was crooked. "You look surprised to see me."

"I am,” she said. She hadn’t seen him since Jake’s funeral. “I thought you were still in Boston, ruling your software empire."

The corners of his eyes crinkled with fleeting amusement. “It was time for me to move back home, so I’m ruling my, ah, empire from here now.”

“Oh.”

Rosa hated, but couldn’t help, the new breathiness in her voice. Nor could she stop the tiny shivers that chased across her arms as Philip watched her with that unrelenting stare.

It didn't help that he was so tall and imposing that he made her feel trapped inside her own too-tight skin whenever he walked in the room. The rugged perfection of his harsh features—the black curls, the slashing dark brows, the smooth olive skin, the sleek cut of his cheekbones—all made her feel tacky and inadequate, even now, when she knew she looked great. Especially now, when his black tuxedo gave him a James Bond air of danger and sophistication.

He’d always affected her this way. Every interaction they'd ever had had ended with Rosa's belly tied in knots. From the moment Jake had introduced her to his best friend all those years ago, Rosa had felt the sharp edge of Philip’s intense dislike.

Why? She’d never known.

All she knew was that Philip hated her down to the marrow of her bones and had, with unwavering determination, systematically refused all of her many efforts to befriend him. For this unforgivable injustice—everyone else liked her, why didn't he?—she hated him right back.

"What are you doing here?" Rosa kept her chin up and her expression blank. The Prince of Arrogance would not reduce her to a fidgeting mess of nerves.

"Raising money for charity." Philip paused long enough to give her a pointed once-over. "I see you're out of mourning."

There it was. And it had only taken—what?—thirty seconds for him to try to make her feel bad. A new world record, even for him. Who the hell did he think he was? The sole keeper of Jake's memory? Did he think she should hide in a darkened house and wear black clothes for the rest of her life? Jackass.

Defiant now, she let the pashmina slide away to reveal her cleavage and the gown in all its bright glory. Take that. Then she hooked Greg's arm and reeled him in.

Angry color rose high over Philip’s cheeks.

“Dr. Greg Wood, I'd like you to meet Philip Anderson. Philip is an…old friend."

It took Philip a second or two to notice Greg’s extended hand. Finally he looked down his straight nose to Greg, who was much shorter, took his hand and cracked open his tight lips.

“Pleasure,” he said, managing roughly the enthusiasm of a man about to undergo a prostate exam.

Philip’s absolute focus reverted to Rosa, who raised one eyebrow and waited, hoping she looked imperious. "Enjoy your evening," he murmured, and slipped away into the crowd.

Rosa floundered for a second, trying to follow his progress as he disappeared. She felt strangely deflated. When Greg offered to get drinks, she took the opportunity to slip through the French doors and out onto the terrace, where it was quieter, to call home and make sure Brennan had gone to bed without incident. He had, thank goodness.

She’d just returned her phone to her beaded bag when someone came up behind her. The prickle of awareness and faint delicious scent of expensive cologne—something earthy with a hint of leather, she thought—told her it was Philip, although she was unprepared for him to come so close or for her heart to skitter so frantically.

Ignoring her body’s violent reaction—God, it was everywhere: aching in her breasts, throbbing between her thighs; a primal response she’d never had for any other man, ever—she faced him with a growing and unaccountable feeling of excitement.

"We need to talk, Rosa," he said, and her senses played tricks on her because she saw heat in his dark eyes and heard desire in his low murmur.

Chapter Three

Goose bumps erupted over Rosa’s arms and shoulders, but they had nothing to do with the weather, which was balmy for the middle of February in Cincinnati.

The setting and the man were to blame.

They were alone on an intensely romantic terrace overlooking the Ohio River from high atop a hillside perch. Thousands of white lights blinked in the trees and everywhere else she looked.

Worst of all was the husky note in his black-magic voice and the heat blasting from his big body as he leaned one elbow against the railing and regarded her with that unreadable expression. Something about him was different than it had been minutes ago—softer, maybe—and something primal inside her awakened.

Responded.

This was dangerous, she realized. Unexpected, unsettling and…dangerous.

“Talk?” Drawing the pashmina tighter, she threw one end over her shoulder, realized she was fidgeting, and stopped. "What have you ever had to say to me?"

“More than you know." He glanced at her wrap. "Are you cold?"

"Yes," she lied.

Amusement lit his face even if it didn't curve his lips. "You’re flushed."

Yeah. She was.

Infuriated that he could read her so easily, Rosa swore she wouldn't give an inch to this bully. Hitching up her chin, she mustered all the haughty disdain she could manage. "You came all the way out here to discuss my body temperature?"

"No, although the subject does interest me. A lot.”

Rosa gaped.

“I came out here to discuss your dress."

Rosa tried to stay focused and work up some bravado but it was hard because he was crossing all kinds of lines tonight, rearranging her known world. “Y-you don't like red?"

"Rosa," he said with utter sincerity as he eased closer, "red is my new favorite color."

Flustered and speechless, Rosa searched his expression for the familiar animosity, but it was gone. Something new was there in its place: open sexual desire and appreciation.

This unexpected change was so stunning—she would've been less surprised to see Philip turn into a pterodactyl and back again—that it took her an eternity to speak.

"What are you doing?"

"Letting you know how I feel about you."

"That's easy." Another lie. Nothing about this night had been easy, especially the slight tremble that had begun in her legs and now seemed to be spreading throughout her entire body.

Rosa locked her knees and tried to ignore the leashed excitement that shimmered around him like an aura and the unmistakable glow of adoration in his face. "You hate me. End of conversation."

"I don't hate you, Rosa."

He was deadly serious now and she was deathly afraid. This chemical reaction she felt, this…this…sudden attraction, if that’s what it was, shouldn’t be happening between them. She was a widowed single mother who’d left the house tonight for a safe date with a dentist. She was not a woman looking for romance or even sex, especially not with her dead husband's best friend.

Even if he was one of the sexiest men she'd ever seen.

"Of course you hate me.” God, she couldn’t even think, could barely get the words out. “You’ve hated me since you laid eyes on me."

"I've never hated you, sweetheart."

The aching tenderness in his voice was bad enough, and the endearment was worse, but then something terrible happened. With no further warning, he cupped her face in his gentle hand, stepped closer until they were thigh-to-thigh and belly-to-belly, and set off a nuclear reaction strong enough to incinerate her poor body to dust.

Chapter Four

Rosa had never been struck by lightning, but she imagined it felt a lot like this: the scorching heat at the point of contact; the reverberations in every far corner of her body; the earth’s dizzy spin beneath her feet. Far beyond her control now, her body began to issue a series of demands. Her mouth wanted to kiss him, her tongue to suck and her teeth to bite. Her fingers clenched with the urge to run through his silky dark curls, and between her thighs honey flowed for him, hot and thick.

Philip. God, Philip.

With a low murmur—she couldn't quite hear what he said—he shifted until the heavy bulge of his erection just brushed her sex.

That fleeting pleasure nearly knocked her out cold.

Yes.

Her heavy head fell back and her lids began to close, but then Jake's face flashed through her mind and sanity intruded.

Gasping, she broke away. Tried to think, to regulate her heartbeat.

Long seconds passed and the connection between them remained, unbroken and brighter than ever. She felt branded, marked. Breathless fool that she was, she wanted him to take those amazing hands and mark the rest of her over-sensitized flesh.

Choked with desire, she couldn't speak.

He wasn’t doing much better. A shudder racked his body as he braced his hands on the rail and waged an obvious struggle with his control.

After a tense moment or two, he looked at her. "Rosa—”

"This isn't going to happen."

"It's happening. We both feel it."

Yeah, she felt it, but that didn't mean she was going to acknowledge it. "I don't understand you. You can’t be that turned on by a dress."

"I'm that turned on by you."

"Since when?"

He looked away. Opened his mouth and closed it again. Rubbed the back of his head and finally faced her with color rising over his cheeks. "I don't think you're ready to hear the whole story just yet."

"You're right about that." Her fear put her on the offensive. "I don't believe in casual sex. You know that, right?"

Grim satisfaction bracketed his mouth. "Good. I’m not planning to have casual sex with you. I assume that means you're not sleeping with the knucklehead who brought you…?"

"Greg." At least she thought that was his name, but it was a little hard to remember at the moment. "Greg. And who I sleep with is none of your business."

Predictably, he ignored the none-of-your-business part. "I'm going to take that as a no—”

She spluttered a protest but he ignored that, too.

“So here’s my next question—when can we go to dinner to talk about this?"

"Let’s talk now. Why wait? Hmm.” Cocking her head, she pretended to think. “What do you suppose your dead best friend Jake would say if he could see you hitting on his widow? How about that?"

Philip paused, a look of utmost tenderness softening his eyes. "Jake is dead, sweetheart. We’re alive."

Rosa shook her head. She wanted to cover her ears, to protect her heart.

"I like to think he'd want the two of us to be happy together."

"I'm not in the market to be happy with anyone. I was happy with Jake, but that's over.” She tried to sound forceful, as though she hadn’t just been rethinking her life choices a little while ago. “Now my life is about my son and my career. Not sex."

"Interesting."

She was so mesmerized by the dark depths of his eyes that she didn't notice his hand at her shoulder until it was too late and paralysis had set in.

She waited…waited to see what he would do.

"This is about more than sex to me, Rosa, but let's talk about sex for a minute."

He tugged one end of the shawl and the fine cashmere slid across her bare skin with a friction so delicious she almost moaned.

"Are you saying you don't want to have sex with me?"

Chapter Five

“No. I don’t want to have sex with you,” Rosa whispered, the biggest lie she’d ever told.

Inch by slow inch, Philip pulled her pashmina until the fringes at the far end trailed across the sensitive hollow between her neck and shoulders and down into the valley between her heaving breasts.

Agonized, she waited for it to finally fall away and almost wept with disappointment when it did.

To her astonishment, Philip gathered it up with a careful touch that was almost reverent, as though he’d never held anything so precious and never would again, pressed his nose to it and inhaled deeply. She watched his eyes roll closed, and if she didn’t know better she’d think that the scent of her spicy perfume intoxicated him. Drove him wild, to the very edge of his limits.

At last his lids flicked open and he threw the worst possible accusation at her. "You're a liar."

“I have to go."

Reaching out, he caught her before she could escape.

She tipped her face up and didn't even think of pulling away as he settled his hands low on the curves of her hips. Her guilty conscience gave one feeble squirm—she had just been caught in an outright lie, after all—but then there was only Philip.

Splaying his fingers, he exerted enough gentle pressure to rub her against his insistent erection and her sex clenched, needing him. Once he’d settled her against him, he ran his hands up her bare back, and then down, around, until his thumbs just brushed the outer curves of her breasts on their descent to her waist.

Her hands, meanwhile, had stopped taking direction from her brain and were now resting at his nape, where the tips of her fingers could touch that soft dark hair and anchor him to her.

His lips nuzzled her temple and then found their way to her ear, where they rested just long enough to drive her insane with their humid warmth.

Rosa shuddered and gave herself up to this suspended moment in time, bewildering as it was. Nothing existed except Philip, whose huge, muscled body felt strange and yet right. Her date, what’s-his-name-the-dentist, didn’t matter. Jake was dead and her fears could be overcome as long as this man was touching her.

There was only Philip.

“Let me kiss you,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve waited so long for you… Let me kiss you…please.”

The echo of her unspoken response was there, deep inside her, and she didn’t know where it came from, only that it was real: I’ve waited for you, too.

Unable to wait another second, she turned her head and surrendered.

He caught her lips beneath his, and the kiss was tender, unbearably sweet. An approving croon rumbled from the depths of his chest, heating her senses to boiling, and she opened for him, tasting a hint of tart champagne and something darker and more thrilling, something only Philip.

Yes.

He'd just tunneled his fingers into her hair and angled her head the way he wanted it, deepening the kiss, thrusting and retreating with his tongue, driving her wilder and higher until she was almost obliterated by the driving need to spread her thighs and take him as far inside her body as he could possibly go, when the door to the ballroom banged open behind them.

"Rosa?"

They sprang apart at Greg's plaintive voice, and Rosa’s hot cheeks glowed with mortification until it felt as if they would light up the starry sky.

Flustered, she tried to think. Not about Philip—oh, God, Philip—but about the look of dawning hurt and humiliation on Greg's face.

"I'm so sorry, Greg." The apology seemed incredibly inadequate but she owed it to the poor man. "It's not what it looks—”

"Yes, it is.” Philip divided his implacable gaze between her and Greg. "It's exactly what it looks like."

"What the hell—?” Anger had begun to color Greg’s face, but Philip interrupted him.

"I'm…sorry," he told Greg, his jaw tight. "You seem like a decent guy, but you should know—I’m wild about Rosa, and if I have my way, you won't be seeing her again after tonight.”

This declaration was so unexpected and outrageous that Rosa and Greg could only stammer with surprise. Philip, naturally, took advantage of the silence. Making sure he had Rosa’s attention, he raised the pashmina to his lips and kissed it.

Deep in Rosa's belly, she felt a renewed surge of desire and wanted that horrible man in all his glorious arrogance. His parting words only intensified the want until she had to clench her hands to keep from reaching for him.

"I'm coming for you, Rosa,” Philip said over his shoulder as he left with her wrap. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Chapter Six

"You're a sticky mess," Rosa told her gooey-faced five-year-old son Brennan early the next morning. She watched him swirl his fork in the half-inch puddle of syrup on his otherwise empty plate, not sure whether to be amused or disgusted. "And that's enough with the syrup."

Brennan looked up at her, his wide eyes hopeful. "Can I have more pancakes?"

"No." Rosa moved to the kitchen sink and began to rinse dishes. She was well aware of Brennan’s furtive fork-licking, but chose to ignore it. Drinking excess maple syrup was one of the biggest joys of childhood and a rare weekend treat for Brennan.

"Bacon? Eggs?" Brennan persisted.

"You are done." Exasperated now, Rosa turned off the water and flicked Brennan with a handful of suds. He ducked, squealing with laughter and revealing a two-inch gap in his front teeth. "Now get outta here and get ready for your shower. And your haircut."

Brennan clamped his tiny hands on either side of his head, anchoring his overgrown sandy curls in place. "I don't need a haircut."

"Okay.” She shrugged. “Maybe we can use a barrette to keep your hair out of your eyes. I have a nice pink one you can borrow."

That did it. Brennan hopped down from his chair and, shrieking, ran for his life, his feet in their footed pajamas slip-sliding around the corner as he disappeared down the hall.

Rosa turned back to the dishes and was still chuckling when her mother-in-law, Lucille, appeared in her fluffy blue bathrobe, her salt-and-pepper hair still pinned under its sleeping net. Lucille had moved in following Jake's death because the heartbroken women had needed each other and now, two years later, Rosa couldn’t imagine life without her. Rosa considered herself lucky to have Lucille's loving support with Brennan, who was a handful on a good day.

"Good morning." Yawning, Lucille accepted Rosa’s peck on the cheek and a steaming mug of coffee. "How was your date?"

"Not good. I ran into Philip. He's back in town."

“Umm.” Lucille sipped her coffee, her expression neutral.

That noncommittal umm put Rosa on heightened alert because Philip and Jake had grown up together and Lucille considered Philip something of a second son. "You knew he was back?"

"Yes."

"You've seen him?"

"Well," Lucille said, with the kind of nonchalant expression it took years of practice to master. "Philip likes to stay in touch. See how we're all doing. You know."

This information made Rosa feel sulky. So much for his wanting her “for so long,” or whatever he’d claimed; he hadn't even bothered to let her know he’d moved back in town. "He never liked me," she grumbled, but then, from nowhere, a flash of memory streaked through her mind.

“Philip, this is Rosa," Jake said.

Smiling and thrilled to finally meet the famous Philip, her fiancé's best friend, Rosa extended her hand and found herself staring up into a pair of stunned and stunning brown eyes. Wow. Jake had never mentioned how handsome Philip was, but of course that wasn't the kind of thing men talked about.

"I've heard a lot about you, Philip.” She tried not to gape, tried to regulate her breathing, tried not to feel the spark of hot awareness that traveled up her arm as he took her hand in his firm grip. “I'm not sure whether any of it’s true or not, though.”

Philip stared at her. There was no other word for it. His welcoming smile now seemed frozen in place and Rosa flushed, wondering if she had lettuce from dinner stuck between her teeth. What else could account for this reaction? But then, when enough beats had passed for the moment to become awkward, he sobered, blinked and cleared his throat.

If he’d ever smiled at her again between that moment all those years ago and last night, Rosa had missed it.

“Jake told me about you, too, Rosa. He said you were beautiful.” There was a strange look in Philip’s eyes now, a new sadness that she couldn’t understand and wondered about later. “He didn’t get it even half right.”

“Rosa? Stop your daydreaming, dear.” Lucille’s voice intruded on her thoughts, jarring her back to the present with an unpleasant jolt. "Philip’s car just pulled up out front. He must be here to see you."

Chapter Seven

While her mother-in-law went to let Philip in, Rosa panicked.

Oh, my God.

After one second of paralyzed helplessness, she jumped to her feet, checked her reflection in the tiny mirror over the stove, fluffed her hair and wished she'd thrown on something other than her faded jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt.

Ah, well—too late now. At least she’d brushed her teeth.

She arrived in the foyer in time to see the tail end of a bear hug between Philip and Lucille. Philip had been laughing—he had a devastating smile, all flashing white teeth and dimples—and he caught Rosa's gaze over Lucille's shoulder.

For the first time ever, he didn't treat Rosa to one of his automatic scowls. Instead, his smile widened a notch or two, and Rosa’s knees weakened accordingly.

Surely that wasn’t a normal smile; it felt like a gift, a bright rainbow, a wonderful surprise and the promise of beautiful things to come.

Rosa’s heart contracted and she had to look away.

Pulling out of Lucille's arms, Philip gave the old woman a kiss on the forehead but spoke to Rosa in an intimate tone that was for her alone. "Good morning."

How was she supposed to think clearly with him looking so happy to see her? "Hi," she said.

"Have you got a minute?” he asked. “I don't feel like we finished our conversation last night."

The poorly hidden vulnerability and hope in his eyes disarmed Rosa almost as much as seeing him in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt rather than his usual corporate suit and tie. She was used to thinking of him as a glowering enemy rather than an approachable man, and she wasn't sure she liked the change.

"That's not such a good—” she began.

"Philip!"

Brennan, now wearing only blue Batman undies on his narrow backside and sporting wet hair that dripped down his back, appeared at the top of the staircase and raced down the steps like Carl Lewis trying to set a new world record. Reacting quickly, Philip squatted, caught him and swung him in a circle that sent the boy's skinny legs flying.

Rosa’s jaw dropped because she'd had no idea that Philip and Brennan were on such good terms. A sneaking suspicion made her glance at Lucille, who had the grace to hang her head and look guilty. Rosa narrowed her eyes at her mother-in-law, making a mental note to deal with her later.

"Are you going to play baseball with me at the park today?" Brennan asked.

Rosa stifled a snort as the light came on over her head. All those grandmother-grandson trips to the park, all those secret giggles between Lucille and Brennan. She should have known something suspicious was going on.

Before Philip could answer Brennan, Lucille, who was obviously anxious to get out of the hot seat, hurried forward to take her grandson’s hand. "You'll see Philip later. Right now, you need to put some clothes on this tiny hiney.”

Ignoring the boy’s loud protests, Lucille took him back upstairs.

In the echoing silence, Rosa could hardly bring herself to look at Philip. His gaze was too intense, his interest too sharp. And her body's reaction to him was too acute.

Especially when he edged closer, took her hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. "Hi."

Hot sparks of unwelcome sensation shot through her. Pulling away, she shoved her hands in her pockets, where they were safe. "Hi. You shouldn't have come."

A subtle change came over his face, a hurt he couldn’t disguise. "No?"

"No. And you really put me in a tight spot with Greg last night. He was very upset. I’m going to have to find Brennan a new dentist."

"I apologized to him. And I didn't come to talk about Greg. I came to talk about our date tonight."

"We don't have a date tonight."

"We absolutely have a date tonight.” Philip flashed that grin at her again and it was wicked this time, thrilling—as tempting as an open box of Godiva milk chocolates. “It's Valentine's Day and I have a proposition for you. Would you like to hear it?"

Chapter Eight

It was all Philip could do to keep his hands to himself as he followed Rosa, she tempted him that much. The angry sway of her hips in those low-slung jeans tied his belly in knots. The round curve of her butt taunted him until he had to focus on walking straight. The heavy swish of all that wavy black hair as she tossed her head distracted him with need.

Everything about her enticed him and always had. It wasn’t just physical but, man, the physical was killing him right now. He wanted to hold those hips and anchor her to him as she straddled him and pumped, hard and fast, slow and easy and every permutation in between; to bite that bare ass; to sink his fingers into that dark silk as it spread over his lap and she took him in her mouth. His hands shook with the want and his palms were clammy with it.

Stay cool, Anderson , he told himself as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Don’t blow it now when you’ve waited this long.

Looking as though she was determined to be brave while she faced certain doom, Rosa stalked to the vaulted living room, her body stiff. Once there, she selected an overstuffed chair and sat with an apparent iron rod in her spine that wouldn't let her relax.

Clasping her hands in her lap, she looked up at him with suspicious doe eyes that had been so sultry a few short hours ago. "What's this proposal?" she demanded.

Ah, yes. He could see where this was going. She planned to listen politely, claim that last night's kiss had been a mistake, reject any further attempts at seduction and get rid of him as soon as possible. That was her plan.

Too bad she didn't know that he had a better plan.

Settling on the coffee table in front of her, Philip rested his elbows on his knees and ignored her start of surprise; she’d probably expected him to sit a safe distance away, on the sofa. Not this time, sweetheart. His closeness affected her and that was a good thing seeing as how her closeness damn sure affected him.

Always had.

“I propose that we go out tonight for Valentine’s Day. See what happens.”

You’d think he’d suggested a noon skinny-dip at the local pool on the busiest day of summer by the way her face scrunched and flushed with discomfort. “That kiss last night was a mistake. It’s given you the wrong idea. I’m not having sex with you.”

She would, and, judging by her passionate reaction to him last night, it would be sooner rather than later, but now wasn’t the time to get into that. “Who said anything about sex? I’m talking about us spending a little time together. It’s called a date.”

“We’re not dating. I’m not dating anyone.”

“You dated that knucklehead last night.”

“That was different.” Immediately she clamped her pouty lips together and looked as though she’d like to bite off her own tongue as punishment for saying something so foolish. Her gaze skittered away and refused to meet his.

Philip’s heart thudded into overdrive. Watching her face and seeing the color rise in her high cheekbones until her brown skin looked sun-kissed, one thing became perfectly and painfully clear: she was petrified. It’d been years since she’d been with a man, and the man she’d chosen had died on her. Better to hide behind meaningless absolutes like I’m not dating anyone than open herself up for any more heartbreak in this lifetime.

And, of course, the chemistry they felt together was explosive and scary.

“Of course it was different. That guy last night was safe. You could never fall in love with someone like him.” Philip paused and kept his tone gentle. “I’m not safe, am I, sweetheart?”

Their gazes locked and held for the longest moment of his life. He felt the subtle hitch in her breath and saw the instant that her nipples peaked underneath that thin T-shirt. And his penis reacted, hardening into an ache of awareness until he had to shift his hips and change his position.

“Tell me something, Philip.” God, she was drowning him in those brilliant brown eyes. “When did you stop hating me?”

For long seconds he couldn’t speak—couldn’t trust his heart to keep quiet if he opened his mouth. And, of course, he was scared because she had the power to make the sun shine on his face, or to cast him into eternal darkness with her rejection. But now was the moment he’d waited so long for and he wouldn’t let his fears keep him quiet.

He took a deep breath. “Do you really not know how I feel about you? How I’ve always felt?”

Chapter Nine

Yeah, Rosa knew how he felt about her; Philip saw the sudden knowledge widen her dark eyes, felt her unease in her new stillness. Trying to deflect him with sarcasm, she kept her tone light.

"Never hated me, eh? That must be why you always left the room whenever I showed up. Also why you never smiled at me, never talked to me and pretty much pretended I didn't exist the whole time Jake was alive. You even managed to ignore me every time you came here for dinner, and that was a real trick." Rosa smacked her forehead. "Gosh. Wow. I don't know where I ever got the idea that I wasn’t your favorite person. You'll have to forgive me, okay? I'm so stupid. Duh."

A sudden flash of insight hit him: her bravado hid a wound that had scabbed but never healed. Seeing it surprised and pained him; surprised because he hadn't thought she cared enough about him to be much bothered by his aloofness over the years, pained because he would have died rather than hurt her. Ever.

"What should I have done," he wondered, "about my feelings for my best friend's wife?"

She gaped and he took advantage of her silence.

"Should I have told Jake, ‘Hey, man, you know your wife, right? I just thought I'd mention that I want her more than I’ve ever wanted another woman in my life. Hope you don't mind.’ I don't think that conversation would've gone so well, Rosa. Do you?"

Rosa didn’t move and yet vibrated with something that looked barely controlled, primal. He wanted to touch her, to see if he could break through her walls and shatter her reserve, but he kept his hands to himself and tried to take this slow and easy.

"Wanted?" she echoed faintly. "Don't men always want what they can't have?"

Oh, no. That wouldn’t work. "Don't do that,” he told her, vehement. “Don't dismiss this. I remember everything about you. I remember the blue dress you wore the day I met you—”

She gasped with surprise.

“—and I remember that you ordered an amaretto sour when I took you and Jake out for a drink after you both passed the bar exam. I remember the way you touched my arm at my father's funeral—”

“Philip—”

“—and I still have the sympathy card you sent me. Do you remember what you wrote? I do. ‘I hope that in the days to come you’ll take comfort in your memories and the support of your friends. Love, Rosa.’” He paused, choked on the backlog of emotion. "Are you getting the picture yet?"

She was, judging by the sparkle of tears in her eyes, but he still didn’t think she quite got it, so he did a little more convincing. “You’re smart, you’re funny and you’re strong. You took care of Jake when he was dying and you did it with courage and grace. You’re raising an amazing kid, all by yourself. And you make my heart stop every time I look at you.”

Ah, hell. He hadn’t meant to say that last part. Too late to take it back now.

"My God,” she said. “Why now, Philip?"

Taking what felt like an even bigger risk, he reached for her fisted hands, uncurled them and raised one soft palm to his lips. He kissed it and let his eyes roll closed at the thrill of her tiny sigh. "Because you've had two years to mourn and you’ve started dating again. And I can't stay away from you for one more second."

One solitary tear trickled down her cheek as she looked to a framed photo of Jake sitting on the mantelpiece next to the simple black urn that held his ashes. Philip had no intention of letting a ghost come between them, so he slid onto the chair next to her, purposely blocking her view of Jake.

She watched him with eyes that were wary and, beneath that, sultry.

"Don't think about him, sweetheart." Cupping her face between his hands, Philip lowered his head until her sweet breath feathered his lips. "Think about me. Think about us."

And then he kissed her.

Chapter Ten

Philip brushed his mouth across hers, memorizing the shape of her lips, their texture and taste. She tilted her chin up, and that encouragement, along with a tiny mewl of pleasure that vibrated in her throat, was all he needed.

An easy stroke of his tongue had her opening for him, taking him deep inside the silky warmth of her mouth until his head spun with the pleasure and his body engorged to rock-hard readiness. He'd had vague thoughts of taking things slow, but that was impossible when he had her fragrant satin curls fisted in his hands and her greedy enthusiasm matched his.

Trembling with the force of his lust, sweating with it, he ran his hands down her sides and inched them under her T-shirt—he had to touch her; his life depended on it—raising the soft cotton until it was out of his way. The heat of that silky skin almost blistered his palms, and the hard points of her nipples as she arched into him caused the last of his good sense to disintegrate.

Frenzied now, he cupped the heavy weight of her breasts and traced wide loops with his thumbs until, crying out with frustration, she grabbed his wrists, moved his hands so that they covered her nipples and made a choked sound of relief as she murmured his name.

Ecstatic and triumphant because he’d known they’d be explosive together (but this reality was so much better than any fantasy) he flattened his palms and circled her nipples, roughening his touch until her cries rose and she panted against his mouth.

“Philip,” she whispered over and over again, “oh, God, Philip…Philip.”

Was she about to come? Desperate to feel how wet she was, how close, he reached for her zipper, fumbled with it and—

"Mommy?"

They leapt apart at that distant voice and the sound of running feet, working together to lower Rosa’s shirt. Philip shook with frustration and he clenched his fists, trying to regain control.

“Rosa,” he said, needing to say something.

But Rosa shook her head and smoothed her clothes, refusing to look at him.

By the time Brennan raced into the room, now wearing jeans and a sweater; they'd caught their breath a little, although Rosa’s flaming color was a neon sign that she'd nearly been making love. Thank goodness Lucille was nowhere in sight. She’d know at a glance what they’d just been up to.

“Mommy?”

"Yes, baby?" Rosa stood and gave her son a shaky smile.

"Can I play baseball outside?" Brennan held up a ratty glove that had obviously seen a lot of action in his young life.

"Absolutely. I'll be right there."

"Can you play with me, Philip?" Brennan danced from one foot to the other, too excited to stand still while he waited for his answer.

"Absolutely," Philip told him. “Wait for me, okay?”

Brennan flashed a joyous smile and raced from the room.

Rosa looked as though she wished she could escape with him. "That shouldn't have happened—”

Philip had known she’d say this, but hearing it still hurt. "It did happen."

"— and it won't happen again."

The hell it wouldn't.

"Be ready at five o'clock tonight,” he continued, fighting his irritation. They’d just been so close. So damn close. Now he was back to square one, right where he started. “Check with Lucille and make sure she can watch Brennan."

Rosa’s jaw dropped. "Are you not listening—?”

“Not really. No.”

“—and it's better if you don't spend too much time with Brennan. He's desperate for a man's attention, and I don't want him to get the wrong—”

"Brennan’s a great kid. I’d love to see more of him."

"—idea and I'm not dating anyone, anyway." That pointy chin of hers hitched up, stubborn as a mule family convention. "And I'm not going anywhere with you tonight."

He almost smiled at her intransigence, but too much was at stake for this to be funny. "Five o'clock," he told her. "Wear something casual, but red. I like the red."

She was still spluttering when he left the room to find Brennan.

Chapter Eleven

When the doorbell rang at precisely five o’clock that night, Rosa was ready.

She’d had all day to perfect her speech and knew exactly what she’d say, had all her excuses listed and rehearsed: I'm sorry I’ve given you the wrong idea, Philip, but we’re not going to have a relationship. My life is all about Brennan now and I don't believe in casual sex. I've had my great love and no other man could ever compare to Jake. I'd only be wasting your time.

True, she had put on her sexiest red satin blouse with her jeans, the one with the ruffles that dipped low in the front, and, true, her body was still hot and agitated from the interlude with Philip earlier on the sofa and, yeah, it was true that she'd begun to wonder what could happen if she and Philip began a relationship, but all that was beside the point.

The point—and she was going to remember this the next time she saw the flash of Philip’s wicked eyes and felt the rumble of his velvety voice deep in her belly—was that she was not ready for an affair and could never have one with him.

Period. End of story.

So she was strangely disappointed when she opened the door and Philip was nowhere in sight. What was in sight was a dark sedan idling at the curb and a uniformed chauffeur carrying what looked like six or eight hundred white roses over one arm.

"Hi," Rosa said, aware of Lucille coming to stand behind her.

"Ms. Matthews? These are for you." Smiling, the chauffeur transferred the fragrant bouquet—oh, wow, it was heavy—to Rosa. "And these." He handed her a two-pound bag of strawberry Twizzlers.

Astonished, Rosa took the candy and stared at it, a sudden lump of emotion in her throat.

This could not be happening.

Philip had remembered both her favorite flower and her favorite candy, and she had no idea when she'd ever mentioned either to him. Had Jake told him? No. She'd bet money that he hadn't. Jake had been many wonderful things—athletic, a decent cook and a great father came to mind—but a romantic wasn't one of them. If forced at gunpoint, she doubted her husband would've been able to name her favorite anything.

"There's a card," the chauffeur told her.

Rosa had just discovered it tied with a blue satin ribbon to a single red rose amid the white. The white roses are because they’re your favorite, Philip had written in his bold scrawl, but the red one represents a little of my passion for you. P.

My God, how that man touched her.

Undone, Rosa pressed the card to her heart and wondered what to do now.

“Oh, and he said to give you this too.” The chauffeur handed her another card from his breast pocket. Rosa took it warily, not sure how much more sentiment she could handle for the day.

Are you wearing red?

She snorted with laughter. It must have had a hysterical edge to it, because Lucille hurried forward and held her arm toward the door to steer the chauffeur out. “Please tell Philip that Rosa says thank you. But unfortunately she won’t be able to—”

“Yes, I will,” Rosa interjected quickly, ignoring the annoying flash of triumph in Lucille’s quickly-subdued smile. She grabbed her purse and jacket from the chair, thinking that a single date with Philip—only this one time—wouldn’t kill her.

The passion she’d felt in the last several hours, the excitement and the unspeakable hope were all intoxicating and she wanted more of them. She wanted this time with Philip. Couldn’t she enjoy a few more hours of lightness this Valentine’s Day and then revert to the dutiful widow and single mother tomorrow? What could it hurt?

She gave Lucille a hurried hug and transferred the roses to her. “Kiss Brennan for me, okay? Tell him I’ll be back after he’s asleep.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Lucille told her. “Enjoy yourself.”

“I intend to.”

Chapter Twelve

Memories scanned through her mind, and she viewed them through the new lens of Philip’s stifled feelings for her. Things she’d always wondered about suddenly made sense.

Philip, slightly drunk at Rosa’s wedding reception, raising his champagne flute to toast her as she stood with her back to Jake, safe within the protective embrace of her new husband’s arms.

“To the beautiful bride,” Philip murmured. “A lifetime of happiness.”

There was something dark in Philip’s expression, a gaping emptiness that wouldn’t be filled by this sip of champagne or the next glass or even the entire bottle.

“You’re drunk,” she’d said, thinking he was mocking her.

“Damn straight.”

“Philip loves a good reception,” Jake said behind her, chuckling, but Jake apparently didn’t see the disquieting light in his best man’s eyes.

“I didn’t get to kiss the bride,” Philip said.

Staring up at Philip with her husband’s hands on her hips, Rosa wanted to say no, but there was something about Philip that had always called to her, touched her, no matter how she tried to ignore it.

Tilting her cheek, sandwiched between the two men, Rosa accepted Philip’s kiss, which touched the outer corner of her mouth, lingered too long and sparked a flutter of something illicit deep in her belly.

Philip pulled away, smiled that crooked smile of unbearable sadness, and disappeared into the crowd on the dance floor.

“Almost there, now.” The chauffeur caught her eye in the rear-view mirror and winked.

“Great.”

Another memory slipped forward to take center stage in her mind: Philip comforting her at Jake’s memorial service. She’d been wrecked—barely able to put one foot in front of the other—and yet blessedly numb.

Philip took her cold hands in his strong warm ones. “You’ll get through this.”

Listless, she shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I know so,” he said. “You’re the strongest woman I know.” Emotion colored his cheeks and she saw the rough bob of his Adam’s apple. “And you’re the best thing that ever happened to Jake.”

She wanted to sob, to collapse, to die. “Thank you.”

“He asked me to look out for you and Brennan…”

“Here we are.”

Rosa blinked herself out of her daydream in time to see the car turn down a long private drive and roll to a stop in front of an enormous red brick Georgian house with black shutters.

She gasped. Was this his house?

Philip was there on the porch, wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and a thrilled smile a mile wide. He opened the door and she started to climb out, but he climbed in, scooting her across the seat and settling next to her.

He kissed her cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He took her hand and slung his other arm across the seat behind her. She had the fleeting thought that now was the time for establishing ground rules such as no touching, but she couldn’t make her mouth say the words when their fingers intertwined so perfectly and his surrounding warmth felt so right.

“I can’t believe I’m here.” She stared back at the house as the car rolled off. “Aren’t we staying at your house? That is your house, right? Or did you just sneak onto the most beautiful property in the city to try to impress me before the real owners discovered you?”

He laughed, and then she laughed, and then he had her face in his hands and was kissing her as if he absolutely could not refuse the temptation.

“Sorry,” he said when they broke apart. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“You’ll be severely punished later.” Breathless, she tried and failed to repress her grin.

“That is my house, but we’re going to Columbus tonight, so I hope you can stand an hour or so in the car with me. Casablanca is showing at an art theater.”

“Casablanca?” She tried to pick her jaw up off the floor. “That’s my favorite—”

“—movie, yeah, I know. You mentioned it that night we double-dated and saw Gladiator. Remember?”

“And you remembered I liked Twizzlers too, huh?”

“Of course.”

“I can’t believe you went to this trouble, Philip. You make me feel so special.”

“You are special.” Leaning in, he kissed her again, hard and quick this time. “I do have a few rules for the night, though. For one: I get to kiss you whenever I want to.”

“Well,” she said, feeling lighthearted and enthralled, enchanted by this man and the possibilities of this night. “I wouldn’t want to break any rules.”

“Rule two: let’s just see what happens tonight, okay?”

Yes, her heart said, but she was too old and too smart to let her heart run wild with girlish flights of fancy. She was a widow and a single mother with responsibilities, and this was nothing but a moment out of time before she resumed life as usual.

“This is only for one night, Philip. I’m not ready for a relationship. I hope you can understand and respect that.”

To her consternation, the gleaming light of determination in his eyes intensified. She realized he was about to use every tool in his considerable arsenal to change her mind. Seduce her. And she’d be damned if there wasn’t a tiny rebellious piece of her soul that wished he would.

“If I’ve only got one night with you,” he murmured, running his thumb along her bottom lip, melting her resistance bit by slow bit until she knew she’d end the night as a puddle of overheated flesh and overactive hormones at his feet, “I’d better get started.”

Chapter Thirteen

After the movie, they wandered out to the lobby to wait for the car, their fingers linked because they couldn’t seem to stop touching each other, and Rosa could no longer remember why they should. Snow was falling outside, drifting to the sidewalk in cotton ball-sized flakes, and Rosa’s feeling of enchantment intensified.

Tonight with Philip, she thought, anything was possible.

“Favorite line from the movie?” she asked him.

“Hmm.” Furrowing his brow, he thought for a minute. “It’s got to be Captain Renault saying, ‘I'm shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!’ and then taking his winnings from the croupier before he closes down the casino.”

They laughed together and Philip’s brilliant smile was like the sun shining on her face after a lifetime spent in the blackest depths of a cave, it brought her that much joy. Without warning her heart squeezed with the kind of emotion she wasn’t certain she was still capable of feeling, and she had to tell him what he’d done to her, how he’d affected her.

Her smile died and she almost wept with the memories. “You hurt me,” she blurted, trying not to sound childish or to let her face crumple with accumulated pain from the long years of his rejection. “Every time you didn’t smile at me and every time you didn’t laugh at my jokes and every time you called the house and you said, ‘Can I speak to Jake, please,’ and never took two seconds to ask me how I was…you broke my heart, Philip,” she said helplessly. “Every single time.”

That dark gaze held hers and reflected the same torment back at her, magnified a million times over. “I had to,” he said simply. “It was the only way.”

Maybe. She nodded, feeling sulky. Her head knew he’d handled the situation as best he could, but her heart wasn’t quite ready to let him off the hook. Swiping her nose, she gave him a severe look to let him know he wasn’t quite forgiven. “You’ll have to make it up to me.”

“I intend to.”

“Good.” She flashed him a small smile and felt some of his relief in the squeeze of his strong fingers. And then, as though to verify he still had the privilege, he leaned down and gave her a kiss that was quick but still powerful enough to send quivers through her belly.

“What’s your favorite quote from the movie, sweetheart?”

One last sniffle and she let the past fall away, focused on tonight, this moment. “It’s at the end when Rick says, ‘Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’”

“That’s a good one,” Philip agreed.

“Is this the beginning of a beautiful friendship for us, Philip?”

“Absolutely.” He nodded with the kind of utter sincerity that told her he meant what he said down to the last atom in his body. “This is the beginning of many things for us, Rosa.”

Satisfied, she nodded just as they saw the car pull up to the curb outside the window.

Rosa’s heart fell. What now? Was it time to go home already? So soon?

“So.” Philip turned her loose and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking as awkward as she suddenly felt. “I’ve made plans for dinner, but it’s getting a little late and you probably want to go home—”

“Dinner sounds good,” she said, relieved beyond all reason that she had more time with him and another opportunity to get to know him better.

Flashing that killer smile, he grabbed her hand again and pulled her toward the door. Laughing and eager to see what adventures the rest of the night held for them, Rosa hurried after him.

Chapter Fourteen

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Rosa said.

"Just say the word. I'm happy to take you home any time."

Rosa shot him a suspicious look, as though she could smell the deception; Philip would not be happy to take her home and would do anything short of forcible kidnapping to keep her here in Columbus for the night, including tell a small and harmless white lie.

While she hovered in the doorway of the deluxe hotel suite— very nice, if he did say so himself, with black-and-white furniture, red ottomans, an oversized marble bathroom and even a gleaming black baby grand in front of the 20th floor view of the glittering skyline—he walked to the open door of the first bedroom and gestured to the enormous king-sized bed.

"Your bedroom." He walked across the suite and pointed to another door. "My bedroom. Perfectly safe."

Tightening her arms across her chest, Rosa glanced first at him, then the table overloaded with food, and then the fully stocked wet bar, where he planned to make her an amaretto sour at the first opportunity in the hopes that she would relax. "I don't have any toiletries or clothes for tomorrow."

"Lucille sent along a few things for you." His lips twitched with the effort not to smile. "I told her we might be late tonight."

"Lucille will be ejected from my house first thing tomorrow morning."

Laughing, he walked to the table, sat down and helped himself to some champagne. Then he systematically explored the covered platters and discovered filet mignon with a blue cheese sauce and sautéed mushrooms, roasted new potatoes and Caesar salad. "I hope you don't mind if I eat while you fret. Let me know what you decide about going home."

She grunted and didn't budge from her shadowy post by the door.

"This looks good. You should get some while it's hot." He took a break from loading his plate only long enough to sip the champagne, which was crisp and delicious. "Or did you ruin your appetite with Twizzlers and popcorn?"

There seemed to be a slight un-squaring of her shoulders, as though she’d begun to relax. "Thank you for taking me to the movie. I can't believe you went to all this trouble. I've had the best time."

Philip froze, his rumbling stomach forgotten, because all these compliments couldn't be a good thing. “Is that your please-take-me-home kiss-off?"

She hesitated and then said, very softly, "No."

The husky note in her voice made Philip’s heart stumble to a complete stop. He waited, too scared to breathe, too excited to blink, to see what would happen next.

Emerging from the dark alcove into the mellow light from the nearest lamp, Rosa did something that surprised the hell out of him: she began to unbutton her blouse.

Philip couldn’t believe his eyes. "Oh, my God."

Holding his gaze—a nuclear strike couldn’t have made him look away now—Rosa kept walking and kept unbuttoning until finally, ten feet away, she dropped the blouse to the floor in a slither of silk.

Philip gaped at the bounty before him, the only one he’d ever wanted.

She’d revealed gleaming brown shoulders, a taut belly framed by curvy hips, and two aroused breasts whose dark nipples strained against the sheer black bra, and she was just about killing him.

“Rosa . ”

Her dewy lips curled into a woman's knowing smile and his urgent body hardened completely in response.

And then she went to work on her jeans.

He was dry-mouthed by the time she'd shimmied out of them. He stared at the triangle thatch of hair that was barely hidden by a little scrap of black lace nothing, and, lower, the lush thighs and toned legs, as undone as a teenager glimpsing his first pair of breasts.

She came to stand between his legs and, almost afraid to touch her, to do anything that might make this precious moment implode, he slowly reached out, gripped those satiny hips, buried his face in the plump valley between her breasts and inhaled her.

Rosa, Rosa, Rosa .

He lived for her, breathed for her. His heart pumped only for her. She was every dream he’d ever had, every fantasy, and this reality, this moment, was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

But…he had to ask. Had to make sure. Cursing his own uncertainty— just keep your mouth shut, idiot, just touch her while you can—he raised his head and croaked his question with a hoarse voice he barely recognized as his own.

“What are you doing, Rosa?”

Stroking his hair, she opened her mouth and, with one sentence, gave him everything he'd ever wanted and the only thing he needed.

"I'm making love with you.”

Chapter Fifteen

A weird sound erupted out of Philip’s throat—part laugh, part sob, part growl—and he tightened his fingers on Rosa’s flesh, in a sudden fury at this woman whose every laugh, smile and unexpected action tore him to pieces.

What was she trying to do to him? Did she think this was a game? Did she not know what this moment meant to him? How long he'd waited and dreamed of her exactly like this? What did it mean to her?

He frowned up at her, his fear and desperation making him crazy. Her pliant body stiffened, but she didn’t pull back and he wasn't letting her go anyway. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m dying to do this,” she told him.

Cursing her for reducing him to this mess and unearthing the secret he'd hoped to hide, at least for a little while longer, until he was sure she could return his feelings, he flung the words at her like a weapon. "I'm in love with you."

Capturing her reaction so that he would remember it every day of his life, he inched his fingers under her panties to the petal-soft flesh between her thighs and watched her eyes darken.

"No-ooo," she said on a moan.

"Oh, yeah."

Her nipples, he noticed, had tightened down to hard points, as irresistible as fresh blackberries. Pulling her closer and ignoring her bra, he opened his mouth over one and sucked it, hard.

Rosa cried out, the sound choked and earthy, and her head fell back as though she was on the verge of passing out with the pleasure. Good. Crooning and stroking now, he glided his fingers in all that hot, thick honey, taking care to lubricate the hard bud that was the center of their joint existence. Her hips undulated and he worked her, back and forth, slow millimeter by slow millimeter.

"Ah-ahh.” Her voice rose and her face contorted with a terrible beauty that was exactly what he’d imagined and somehow a billion times better. “Don’t stop," she panted. “Don’t stop.”

She was close, he knew. It had been years since she'd made love, so it wouldn't take much, but he wanted her to know who she was with. He was driving her wild and there was no room for any ghosts between them.

"Open your eyes. Look at me."

As though in a trance, she obeyed, staring down at him with glittering eyes. Her face was flushed and bright and a thrilling sheen of sweat ran across her forehead and between her breasts. His rigid penis jerked, straining for her against the tight front of his jeans.

Ruthlessly tamping down his own lust, Philip stroked her again and watched the need heighten. "I'm in love with you and I want you to love me—”

"I can't—” she began.

"—and I want your body”—he dipped his fingers inside her silky core this time, and her knees buckled— “and I want your soul, and I want your heart.”

“Ah.” He heard the rising crescendo in her breathy cries, felt the building tension as she writhed against him. "Philip. Philip."

God, his name sounded good when she said it.

"I want every part of you." Pulling his fingers free, he sucked them into his mouth—delicious—and watched her almost swoon as he tasted her. "I want you to watch me make you come."

This was too much intimacy for her; the sudden wariness in her eyes was a dead giveaway. Too bad he wasn't in a merciful mood.

"Please," she whispered.

"Watch me."

"Please. Don't."

He did.

Chapter Sixteen

Reaching between them again, Philip brushed her swollen wet sex with a whisper-light touch and her body jackknifed. Surging to his feet, he caught her before she collapsed and, kissing her, absorbed her astonished cries as she came and came and came.

He carried her to the bed. At least Rosa thought he did, but since she wasn't entirely conscious, there was no way to tell for sure. After several seconds of convulsive pleasure so piercing it seemed to shoot from the top of her head and through the soles of her feet, the world went black and silent. The next sensation she felt was the coolness of fine sheets against her back and she roused herself because she had no intention of missing one glorious moment of his lovemaking.

Trying to catch her breath, she opened her arms to Philip, who'd already ditched his sweater. He loomed over her, a hidden fantasy come to life, and his potent masculinity staggered her—nearly blinded her. A perfect inverted triangle, his rippling shoulders and abdomen narrowed down to a flat waist. Beneath that, the heavy bulge of his arousal strained the crotch of his faded jeans. Knowing that she'd done this to the most powerful man she'd ever known was almost more than Rosa could bear.

He reached for his zipper but Rosa experienced a new surge of excited energy and touched his hand. Stopped it. "I'll do that."

Philip’s chest began to heave and his lungs pumped like bellows.

Nothing on earth could be sexier than this man watching her with such glittering need. Feeling sensual and shameless, she rose to her knees with the grace of a cat. Arching her back, she reached behind to unclasp her bra and toss it to the floor.

Philip’s breath hitched and he went utterly still.

Rosa crept across the bed on all fours, pausing only long enough to glance up at Philip with the kind of wicked smile she knew would drive him insane.

“God, Rosa.” His throaty voice was the barest whisper and all the encouragement she needed.

Giddy with excitement, she eased that zipper down—it was hard to budge it, he was so aroused—reached inside his black boxers and took his engorged length between her palms. She rolled first, then squeezed, needing both hands because of his size. Philip tensed and groaned and, just like that, the power between them made a cataclysmic shift. With feminine power surging through her veins, Rosa laughed as she took him in her mouth.

There was no time for laughter after that.

Cupping the flexing globes of his rock-hard butt and enjoying the feel of his fingers clenching and unclenching against her scalp, Rosa bobbed and sucked until his hoarse cries filled the room. She kept up the torture long past the point when her jaw and tongue began to ache, ready to torment him all night, but Philip broke away.

Feverish with excitement now, desperate and needy, the clenching between her thighs at full strength again despite the fact that she'd just had the best orgasm of her life, she rose to her knees and waited.

His gaze, wide with wonder and so wild it was almost feral, locked with hers. Several long beats passed and Rosa simultaneously wondered how on earth they had gotten to this point and why on earth they had taken so long. The spell between them, whatever it was, strengthened, and in that moment Rosa doubted she would ever be free from it.

With sudden impatience, Philip kicked his way out of his boxers and jeans and reached for a condom in his wallet, which he’d tossed on the nightstand. Falling back on her elbows, Rosa spread her legs and nearly wept with relief as he crawled over her and settled in the cradle of her hips.

Chapter Seventeen

Philip took the ripe plum-like head of his penis and inched inside Rosa in a slow torture that had his name pouring out of her mouth, over and over again.

She almost couldn’t handle the pleasure.

She arched and writhed, trying to get away.

She scratched his back and held on, trying to bring him closer.

It had been years, yeah, and she'd missed sex. Her supple woman's body needed a man's touch, and she'd never been embarrassed about guiding her husband's hands or asking for what she required. The decision to make love with Philip tonight had been partially about that need. Partially about the explosive attraction between them and the way he'd always stolen her breath with a look. Mostly it was because he called to something elemental and undeniable inside her.

But…this thing between them, whatever it was, was vast and overwhelming and she wasn’t ready for it. Not the hot friction as her unused body stretched to accommodate him, the gentle but unyielding thrust of his relentless hips or the utter focus with which he watched her every reaction.

“This is too much.” Tears collected in the corners of her eyes and though she never cried and hated for anyone to see her cry, they rolled down her temples and into her hair in an endless trickle. Sliding her hands over the warm living marble of his sculpted arms and chest, she gripped his round butt and absorbed every flex and every release of his muscles. She couldn’t open her legs wide enough; couldn’t hold him tight enough; couldn’t take him deep enough. “Too much. Too much.”

With his fathomless eyes wide open, he licked his way deep into her mouth, matching his tongue’s easy rhythm to the surge and withdrawal he was doing between her thighs.

Every in-stroke seated him to the hilt and rubbed against her swollen wet lips; every out-stroke left just the tip of him inside and her greedy body begging for more and then more again.

Meanwhile, his caressing hands on her breasts, her face, her hair—everywhere they could reach—should have soothed her but only drove her up and up until her tears and her cries went on forever with no beginning and no end.

“I’ve waited for you.” They were chest to chest as he spoke, the hard slabs of his pectorals abrading her nipples until they tightened down to buttons of exquisite sensation and she felt the thunder of his heartbeat and the rasp of his emotion. “I’ve waited and waited for you.”

“I’m so glad you did.”

“Why are you crying, sweetheart?”

“Because you feel so good. So good. I want to die, you feel so good.”

A smile, slow and devilish, filled with pure masculine satisfaction, hitched up one corner of his mouth. “Why else?”

“Because I needed this.” One of his heavy brows rose and her heart skipped because she knew—should have known—that he’d make her confess everything. “I needed you.”

He froze, buried deep inside her. To her astonishment, she saw the sudden flash of tears in his brown eyes and one fell, splashing her nose as he kissed her again, long and sweet.

“Why are you crying?” she asked when he raised his head again.

“Because,” he whispered, “You finally needed me.”

There was no warning. Just a well-placed next thrust that sent her over the edge into a beautiful oblivion where spasms of pleasure wracked her, his rigid, shuddering body drove her deeper into the bed and their ecstatic cries filled the night.

After five minutes of recovery, he reached for her again.

Chapter Eighteen

They made love all night.

In the bed again, doggy style this time after a pause to eat the delicious but-now-cold dinner he’d ordered. With Rosa on top the next time. In the enormous marble tub the last time. An orange dawn was breaking against the black sky by the time they collapsed into the down-covered bed and he spooned her against him with one hand on her breasts, one between her legs and her butt nestled tight against his groin.

When she woke up, the sun was high in the sky and he was gone.

That one night had addicted her to his presence and, drowsy and bewildered, she reached for his warmth, lost without him. He wasn’t anywhere in the enormous bed.

“Philip?” Blinking, she levered herself up on her arms and looked around.

No answer.

It took her a minute of forlorn wandering—she paused only to wrap a white terrycloth robe around her deliciously sore body—to realize that he wasn’t in the bathroom, wasn’t in the other bedroom, wasn’t anywhere. Gone. He’d loved her and left her and now he was gone. She was beginning to reel when she saw the card perched atop a brightly-wrapped blue and gold box.

Dread, sudden and cold, permeated the fluffy warmth of the robe. With shaking hands she opened the note, trying to brace for whatever he’d throw at her now.

Sweetheart—

One night isn’t enough and I’m an all-or-nothing person. I can’t have half of you. I just can’t do it. So here’s what I want:

I want to marry you.

I want to raise Brennan with you.

I want more children with you.

Come to me when you’re ready to discuss our future and you’ve said good-bye to Jake.

I can wait.

I love you,

P

P.S. Call the front desk for the limo when you’re ready to go home.

Thirty seconds of stunned numbness descended on her but then she opened the present and saw what was inside: A silver barbell baby rattle inside a Tiffany eggshell blue box for their unborn children. A new baseball glove for Brennan.

Worst—and best—of all, a diamond eternity band inside a black velvet box for her.

It was the wedding band that did it. Raising her left hand to her face, she stared at the plain gold band she was already wearing and remembered. That she’d had a husband. That she’d sworn to love him her entire life. That her love hadn’t saved him from brain cancer. That he’d died and she’d made love to his best friend with his ring still on her hand.

Shame washed over her in great, sickening waves because what kind of woman was she? Living and loving—yes, she loved Philip and probably always had on some level—while her husband was dead? Leaving her precious son for a night of illicit pleasure in a hotel? Thinking about a life with someone else?

Philip, of all people. Philip. Who was dark, brooding and intense on a good day, so different from her laid-back husband and his boyish smiles. Philip, who touched her in ways no one else ever had, who unlocked secrets of her body even she’d never known.

How could she have fallen in love with two such different men?

And how could she let Jake go when she couldn’t even bring herself to scatter his ashes? What would poor Jake say if he could see her now? When he was sick, they’d talked in general terms about her remarrying, but he probably didn’t mean for her to marry his best friend.

And what—God, what?—would she do if anything ever happened to Philip? Because she couldn’t endure the death of another man that she loved. Not in this lifetime.

Pressing her precious gifts to her heart she collapsed to the bed and wondered what she was supposed to do now.

Chapter Nineteen

Why, Rosa wondered, looking up from the romance novel she held in her blanket-covered lap, couldn’t she just mope in peace? Didn’t Lucille see that she needed to be left alone? It’d been two weeks since her night with Philip and Rosa was still in a shell-shocked state of inertia that wouldn’t let her make any sort of decision about her future. Since it was currently Brennan’s afternoon quiet time in his room, Rosa was curled up in the overstuffed chair nearest the fire with a steaming cup of English breakfast on the side table, a book, her blankie, and a whole lot of leave-me-alone written all over her face.

Why did Lucille have to bother her?

“What is it?” Rosa asked with no real curiosity.

“A letter.” Lucille, looking teary, offered her a white envelope. “From Jake.”

Rosa recoiled as though her mother-in-law had threatened her with a pistol. “What?”

“He wrote it about three months before he died. He wanted you to have it when the time is right.” Lucille paused and nodded. “I think the time is right.”

“What—” Rosa couldn’t get her voice to work at full strength. “What does it say?”

Lucille gave her a gentle smile and extended the letter again. “Read it.”

Rosa took the letter and stared at it. When Lucille would have walked off to give her some privacy, Rosa caught her hand and tugged it until she sat on the chair’s arm with her. Rosa couldn’t face this alone.

She opened the letter, which was written in her husband’s degenerating scrawl as the cancer robbed him of his ability to write.

Dear Rosie—

I’m dying. We both know it even though we can’t bring ourselves to talk about it. I’m in God’s hands, so I know I’ll be fine. Brennan is in your hands and you’re the strongest woman I know, so he’ll be fine. But what about you? Will you be fine? I know you’ll go through the motions of life, for Brennan’s sake, but I want you to be happy.

That’s why I’m writing.

If Mama gave this to you, it must be because you’re involved with Philip. He’ll come for you. I know he will. I know him too well not to realize that he’s in love with you. He can’t help the way he looks at you, and since I love you myself I recognize the signs.

“Oh, God,” Rosa cried.

“Shhh.” Lucille smoothed her hair. “It’s okay. Go on.”

Rosa swiped her eyes and kept reading.

Here’s what I want to say, Rosie: it’s okay. Don’t feel guilty or sad. Be happy. If Philip makes you happy, be with him. If he doesn’t, don’t. Find someone who makes you smile. Do it for me, okay? I don’t want your life to be over just because mine is.

Live, Rosie. Live.

Your loving husband,

Jake.

The letter fluttered out of her limp fingers and to the floor. After a glance at Jake’s urn on the fireplace, Rosa dropped her head into her hands and sobbed—with sadness and love for her lost husband and with relief.

Overwhelming, breathtaking and blessed relief.

Lucille gathered Rosa into her arms and kissed her forehead, rocking her. “Philip moved away after Jake died because he wanted to give you time to grieve and he didn’t trust himself. He moved back a year ago because he couldn’t stay away. I’ve been keeping him updated on you and Brennan. I hope you don’t mind. I told him you’d be at the gala with a date. I told him you were ready to move on with your life. He’s a good man, Rosa. In my heart, he’s my other son. He loves you. But if you can’t love him, it’s time for you to let him go.”

Rosa raised her head, laughing and crying with so much emotion it was as though a Hallmark store had exploded inside her. “I have no intention of letting that man go.”

Chapter Twenty

“Someone’s here to see you.”

Philip, who’d been dictating letters, looked around at his secretary, irritated. He was always irritated lately; irritation was his new black. It had been over two weeks since that one glorious night with Rosa, and his mood was definitely showing the strain.

Pushing back his starched shirtsleeve, he checked his watch. “I don’t have anything for another hour.”

Roberta, who’d been with him since the dawn of time and apparently didn’t realize how close she was to being ripped to shreds, flashed him a cheerful smile. “You’ll want to make time for this gentleman.”

“Yeah? Well, who the hell is it?”

Roberta giggled. Giggled. “He didn’t leave a name. I’ll send him in.”

“Hold up,” he called after her, but Roberta had already disappeared.

Cursing, Philip jerked the microphone headset off and tossed it to the desk, and that was when his office door swung open and a Reds-baseball-cap-wearing Brennan poked his head inside.

Brennan smiled his gap-toothed smile. “Hi, Philip!”

Philip gaped.

“Wow.” Brennan raced inside and stared all around the office, reminding Philip of a first-time visitor to Times Square. “Is this your desk?” He smoothed one small hand over the gleaming walnut on his way to the window, upon which he pressed his nose and left a damp smudge. “Hey, wait. That’s Great American Ball Park!” Breathless and excited, he paused long enough to look to Philip for confirmation.

Philip couldn’t speak. He was afraid to trust either his eyes or the violent pounding of his heart, so he stalled for time, clearing his throat. “What, ah…what are you doing here, little man?”

“Thanks for my new baseball glove.” Brennan held it up. “Mommy says you’ll show me how to break it in.”

“Absolutely.” Overcome, Philip pressed his lips together so he didn’t start bawling like a baby. Then he pulled the boy in for a hug, savoring the smells of sunshine and shampoo on Brennan’s wiry body. Brennan submitted for three seconds before he broke away and trotted back to the door, nearly plowing his mother down in the process.

“I’m going to get some chocolate from Miss Roberta’s candy jar, Mommy,” he said as he disappeared.

The second Philip caught sight of Rosa with her bright red coat, white beret and smile, watching him with love in her eyes, he lost it. A crazy half-laugh, half-sob rose out of his throat and he tried to stifle it with the back of his hand. No dice.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

An arrested second or two passed and then she’d reached for him, he’d reached for her and suddenly they were in each other’s arms and he was touching his precious Rosa, kissing every part of her he could reach. The beret was the first to go; he yanked it off so he could run his fingers through the brilliant black silk of her hair. Angling her head, he kissed her forehead and cheeks, eyes and mouth, and she kissed him back with undisguised joy. Peeling off her coat—why did this woman wear so many clothes?—he dropped it to the floor and ran his hands over her back and butt, hips and thighs, remembering everything about her.

“I’ve been a busy girl,” she told him when he let her catch her breath.

“Is that so?”

“Umm.” There was a new seriousness in her eyes, and when he lowered his head to kiss her again, she put her fingers on his lips, stopping him. “I scattered Jake’s ashes in the garden. He loved his garden.”

Knowing both what this had cost her and what the symbolic act meant for their future, Philip could only nod; he didn’t trust his voice when his chest was so tight.

“And I took off my wedding band so I can be ready for my new wedding band. Assuming you still want to marry me after we spend more time together, that is.”

When she held up her bare left hand to show him, he took it, kissed it. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I think that’s all the old business I needed to take care of.”

“You have been busy, haven’t you?”

“Told you,” she said smugly.

“I want to try a little experiment,” he said, pulling her closer. “I’m going to say a sentence and you just say the first thing that pops into your head. Got it?”

“Hit me.”

It was all Philip could do to talk. He’d hoped for her, dreamed of her, but the joyous reality of holding this woman in his arms was so much more than he’d ever expected. To think that they had a future together—would build a family—was almost too much of a blessing.

Almost.

“I love you, Rosa.”

She smiled and he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

“I love you, Philip.”

The End