“Guess than means I’m going to have to stay for a while,” he said, pouring the pale gold wine into the crystal stems she handed him.

“Guess so. Boy, did you luck out, ’cause otherwise I would have pushed you right out the door.”

“…We’ll continue with updates to keep you apprised of all the latest blackout developments as they become available. We now return to our regular program, Sensuous Songs and Decadent Dedications. Give us a call and tell us what song you’d like to hear played for that sensuous, decadent someone. For all you people who are stuck together in the dark, here’s a special selection from us to you-‘Something to Talk About.’ Hey-don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

Smiling, he lifted his glass. “Great choice of song. Here’s to givin’ ’em something to talk about.”

She touched the rim of her glass to his. “I think we already have. In fact, I bet Mrs. Trigali and Mr. Finney are talking about us right now.”

“No doubt. They’re nice people.” He sipped his wine, enjoying the smooth slide of subtle flavor down his throat. “I wasn’t surprised to discover that you’d have a good relationship with your neighbors. Block captain, are you?” he asked in a teasing voice.

She smiled and nodded. “We all sort of look out for each other.” Walking around to the snack bar, she slid onto an oak bar stool and indicated the platter on the counter. “Antipasto. I made it because I figured with having pasta for dinner, the antipasto would cancel out the calories.”

He chuckled and it struck him that no other woman had ever made him laugh as she had. Made him feel as relaxed and able to be himself. Of course, that shouldn’t surprise him as her sense of humor was one of the many reasons he’d fallen in love with her.

Sliding onto the bar stool next to hers, he said, “Great theory, except now we’re not having pasta.”

“Still, it never hurts to work up a good sweat…” Her eyes alight with teasing sensual promise, she snagged an olive from the platter and slowly drew it into her mouth.

“I can think of a dozen ways without even trying.”

“Then we’d better eat now-to keep up our strength.”

She picked up another olive and offered it to him. Lightly grasping her wrist, he drew the olive and her fingers into his mouth. After slowly withdrawing her fingers, he shot her a wink and savored the tart, salty taste on his tongue. “Delicious.”

While he chewed, he looked around. The kitchen was cozy, with glossy white cabinets accented with antique brass knobs and a green granite countertop. It led to an eating area with a white tile-topped table and four oak chairs set by a huge picture window looking out into what he guessed would be a small but neat backyard.

“I like your house.”

“Thank you. I love this neighborhood. It’s a great mix of young families and empty nesters. The homes are small, but that’s the only way I could afford to buy-that and the fact that this house was in foreclosure and a real fixer-upper.”

“Guess it helps that you’re in the business.”

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t have known about this house otherwise. Even though it needed work, I knew that with the steady increases in the market it was a good investment. With the repairs I’ve made, its value has already gone up considerably.”

“What sort of work did you have done?”

“Mostly plumbing and electrical. Replacing some Sheetrock. Updating the bathrooms and putting in new kitchen cabinets and countertops. Adding this snack bar.” She eyed him over the rim of her wineglass. “You know how to do all that sort of stuff don’t you?”

“Yes. I like working with my hands.” To prove his point, and also because he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her, he reached out and skimmed his fingers up her shapely calf.

“Noted. And very much appreciated. I did all the painting myself.”

He glanced at the sunshine-yellow walls and glossy white trim, then nodded. “Nice job.”

“Never let it be said that I don’t know the business end of a paintbrush.”

Drawing lazy circles around her knee with his index finger, he looked around again and realized that this wasn’t just a house, it was a home, with little personal touches everywhere, from the leafy plants gracing her windowsill to the pretty patterned curtains, to the grouping of various-size polished oak picture frames filled with family candids hanging on the wall.

“You’re happy here,” he said. “I’m glad.”

“I’m more than happy. I’m…content. Buying this house, settling in one place, has given me the sense of stability I’ve always wanted. Out of all the places I lived growing up, I loved Long Island the best. It was the place where I lived in a house-even though it was a rented one-for the first time. It was the first place that ever felt like…home.” She smiled and popped another olive into her mouth. “And now I finally have the home, the house I’ve always wanted. No more apartments, no more temporary housing. Heck, I even love mowing my lawn.”

His gaze moved to the refrigerator where several drawings, obviously done by a child, decorated the surface.

“Who did the artwork?” he asked, nodding toward the drawings.

She selected a slice of rolled salami and a wedge of cheese. “Emma, the little girl across the street. I watch her occasionally for Bob and Deb-her parents. Emma likes to come here because I always have Rocky Road ice cream in the freezer and Hershey’s Kisses in the pantry.”

“Good to know.” Snagging a bread stick wrapped in Italian ham, he thought about her watching her neighbor’s kid, the friendly camaraderie she shared with Mrs. Trigali and Mr. Finney, and an odd yearning filled him. “It’s nice that you have such a close relationship with your neighbors. Except to exchange an occasional hello, I barely see any of mine, let alone know them well.”

“Maybe that will change now that you’re not working such crazy hours.”

“Maybe.” But he doubted it. There was something about an apartment that just didn’t have the same homey quality as a house. Given her upbringing, he could understand why she’d craved owning her own house. Not having that prospect of moving hanging over her head. And it suddenly occurred to him that while his apartment was where he lived, it didn’t feel like a home. Not like this small, cozy, fixer-upper house of Mallory’s.

A frown yanked down his brows. Damn, he was losing his marbles. His apartment was perfect. Sure it was a little sparse as far as decorations went, but it had all the basics a bachelor needed-beer in the fridge, take-out places within walking distance, a comfortable sofa, big-screen TV and a king-size bed. And what difference did it make? He’d be moving in six months when his lease was up.

Deciding to shift the conversation away from domestic stuff, he asked, “What did you say to Mrs. Trigali that had her relocating the meeting?”

“When I told her you and I were getting together for this evening only, she put two and two together and realized four was a crowd.”

This evening only…

Those words reverberated through Adam, and in spite of the fact that they were perfectly true, they left behind an unsettling sensation he couldn’t name other than to know that he didn’t particularly like it. And sizzled impatience through his system to have her again.

Standing, he snagged her hand and gently tugged.

“Where are we going?” she asked, sliding off the stool.

He unknotted the sash of her robe and slipped his hands inside the parted material to run his palms over the enticing curve of her waist.

“Let’s take a shower,” he said, leaning down to nuzzle her soft, fragrant neck. “I want to make wet, hot love to you in the water. See if it’s as good as I remember.”

“That sounds lovely. But with the power out, the water might not stay warm for long.”

“You have a problem with a wet, hot quickie?”

“Now that’s a rhetorical question if I’ve ever heard one.”

9

Saturday, 11:30 p.m.

MALLORY STOOD under the warm shower spray, her palms braced against the pale green tiles, her head falling limply between her arms while she luxuriated in the incredible sensations humming through her body courtesy of Adam’s soapy hands.

Lifting her head, she peeked at him over her shoulder. “For a guy who claimed he wanted a quickie, you’re taking your sweet time.” Her muscles turned to warmed wax under his long, slow massage down her back and her neck went limp again.

“I never said I wanted a quickie-this time. Only that I was willing should the water turn cold.” His hands came forward to glide over her breasts and tease her nipples. “I’d much rather take my time.”

One hand slipped lower and she spread her legs wider for him. “Works for me.”

His lips wandered over the back of her neck, along her shoulder, reawakening memories of showering with him. While one hand continued to tease her breasts, the fingers of his other hand eased between her legs to caress her with a lazy, maddening, teasing stroke.

“This beauty mark,” he whispered, kissing a spot at the base of her nape. “I remember how I used to love it when you wore your hair up so I could just walk up behind you, like this-” he moved closer and his erection nestled tighter against her buttocks “-and kiss that gorgeous spot.”

God, she remembered him doing that. How it thrilled her every time, turning her knees to mush. “I’m surprised you remember,” she said, her eyes drifting closed, her senses reeling from the combination of his lips nuzzling her neck and his fingers’ slow, relentless arousal of her sex.

“You have another beauty mark-three freckles. Here.” His hand brushed under her left breast. “And another one here.” His hand curved over her shoulder, then coasted down her back to lightly knead her right buttock.