She waited, aching for his thrust, needing to be filled by him, but all he did was press her more firmly against the wall. He was there—right where her body was craving him. But he still didn’t enter her. She tried to arch her hips, but she couldn’t move. “Please. Now.”
“Look at me, Drew.”
When she met his eyes, Kit said, “All the senses, remember? I want you to watch me enter you.”
She would have done anything he asked. Anything. And the sight of him pushing into her slowly sent new shock waves of pleasure through her. She felt her inner muscles tighten around him, soften and then tighten again. “Do it again.”
He did. But he was still too slow, still not deep enough. Desperate, she tried to increase the pace, but he wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he shifted closer, his fingers digging into her hips.
“Look at me now, Drew.”
She did, and the glittering hunger in his eyes had her contracting around him. She tried to move then, gripping his shoulders, determined to ride him and put an end to the torture. But he shifted his hands to her buttocks and began to lift and lower her at his pace, not hers. At the end of each thrust, heat built with such intensity that she was afraid she might implode at any second. And still he continued those sure, slow strokes. Each time she neared completion, he sensed it and withdrew. Then he started all over again, rebuilding that exquisite tension inside of her. It was heaven. It was torture. And she wanted more.
Just one more time. Kit could feel his climax building with each heartbeat, just waiting to thunder through him, but he had to enter her just one more time. With each thrust, those green eyes went dark and then blind with pleasure. Pleasure that he wanted to continue giving her. And each time he buried himself inside her, he felt the ripples of her contractions pull him impossibly deeper. He was losing parts of himself here, but he couldn’t stop. His world had narrowed to this moment, this woman, and he couldn’t control what he was feeling. All he knew was that he had to have more.
Even as the first pulse of his release ripped through him, he tried to hold back. He might have succeeded if her nails hadn’t dug into his shoulders and he hadn’t felt her climax begin to radiate through her in slow convulsions. His mind went blank and, pressing her against the wall, he began to drive into her fast and hard until sensation consumed them both.
15
WHILE SHE ROLLED UP the sleeves of the shirt he’d given her to wear, Drew watched Kit pull items out of the grocery bag that Cass had brought and line them in a neat row on the counter. He was dressed in black jeans and a San Francisco 49ers T-shirt. And he was still barefoot.
Just looking at him had her own bare toes curling against the floor. Get a grip, she warned herself, and forced her eyes back to his face.
“Perfect. Aunt Cass knows what I like. One of the benefits of having a psychic in the family.” As he spoke, he pulled a skillet from a rack hanging overhead and in a series of economical moves located a bowl and utensils. “How do you feel about Greek omelets?”
“Guilty. You don’t have to cook for me. Some crackers to go with that cheese would be fine.”
He grinned at her. “In the Angelis family, that would be pathetic. We believe in feeding our guests.” He handed her a glass of wine. “Sit down. Feel at home. I enjoy cooking and omelets are one of my specialties.”
Drew slid onto a stool. The problem was she did feel at home and it was making her nervous. Being here in the kitchen with Kit and watching him cook was somehow just as intimate as making love with him. She liked being with him, and the feeling was somehow…familiar.
The kitchen was small but neat and efficient. The sink and cook top were built into the island. The appliances were stainless steel, the cupboards sleek and glossy and the color of granite. This room, like the rest of his apartment, had an essentially masculine feel to it. So why would it feel familiar? She had a hunch it wasn’t her surroundings that were making her feel this way. It was the man.
And she had no business feeling at home with him. Not when she didn’t know who she was or what she’d done. Drew took a quick sip of her wine. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Kit glanced up. “Not at the moment.” After selecting an onion from a wire basket, he peeled the skin off and began to dice it with quick, skillful strokes of his knife.
“You’re good at this,” she said.
“I should be.” He scraped the chopped onions from the cutting board into butter that was bubbling in the skillet. Then he sliced tomatoes in half and removed the seeds. “I was practically raised in the kitchen of The Poseidon.”
“Did your Mom work there, too?”
“No. She had her hands full raising the four of us. Then she and my Uncle Demetrius died in a boating accident when I was ten. Theo and Nik were eleven and twelve and Philly was only four.”
Drew reached across the counter and closed her hand around his wrist. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”
He captured her fingers and gave them a squeeze before releasing them. “It was. It was hard for my aunt Cass, too. Her son, Dino, was twelve, my brother Nik’s age. My grandfather insisted that my dad and Aunt Cass and all of us move back here, and Aunt Cass shouldered the lion’s share of taking care of five kids, aged twelve to four. Then, as her psychic consultation business grew, we’d all go to the restaurant after school instead of here, and Dad, in self-defense, put us to work. I found out early that I liked working in the kitchen better than bussing tables and scrubbing floors.”
“But you didn’t go into the restaurant business.”
He met her eyes, and she could see a trace of regret in his. “No. I disappointed my father. We all did. There’s still a chance that Dino will come back after his stint in the Navy and take over the restaurant, but right now our cousin’s got a bad case of wanderlust.”
“Being part of a big family sounds like fun.”
Kit smiled as he broke eggs into a bowl. “Fun if you like chaos and hard work. But we had breaks. When we were little, Dad would close the restaurant on Sundays and take us fishing at Granddad’s cabin or to a ball game. Philly and Aunt Cass would do stuff like visit museums, go to the symphony and ballet, girl things.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “The symphony and the ballet are girl things?”
Kit shrugged. “Give any man a choice between the ballet and a baseball game and what do you think he’ll choose?”
“Point taken.”
Kit extended his hand. “Tell you what, if you’ll go to a ball game with me, I’ll go to a ballet with you. Deal?”
Drew glanced at his hand, but she didn’t take it. “Maybe I hate the ballet.”
“Then the Fates are being kind to me. But I know you’ll love baseball. I mean, what’s not to love? Shake my hand.”
She stared at him. “You can’t be serious. When we find out who I am, what I did, you may never want to see me again. We can’t make plans like that.”
He moved around the counter and took both her hands in his. His eyes were very serious. “If that’s what’s got that worry line on your forehead, you can relax. This isn’t some kind of a one-night stand for me, Drew. No matter what we find out, I’m going to want to see you again. I’m going to want you in my bed again—not to mention my shower.”
She couldn’t have explained what his words meant to her, how the warmth of them and the promise soothed away all the tension that had been building inside of her since she’d walked into the kitchen.
Releasing her hands, Kit extended his again. “I’m warning you that this may be your only chance to get me to a ballet. So is it a deal or not?”
Her lips curved as she grasped his hand in hers. “Deal.”
“Now that we’ve settled that, we’ll deal with what else is on your mind—what we’re going to do tomorrow.” Turning his attention back to the cook top, he flipped the tomatoes and onions with a deft movement of his wrist. “From what I’ve observed about you so far, you’re a woman who likes to look before she leaps. So you’ll need a plan.”
Something in his tone had her chin lifting. “I will?”
“Sugar, when we find your purse, I’ll bet you a home-cooked meal that there’ll be all kinds of organizational tools in it, including a PalmPilot with your daily engagements.”
Drew couldn’t explain why she felt a bit annoyed at the description.
Kit poured eggs into the pan and began to stir them. “Speaking of your purse, I’m wondering what exactly happened to it. It wasn’t at the church. If you’d left it there, Nik would have found it and bagged it. And you didn’t have it in the taxi.”
“No. I looked for it.”
He glanced up at her. “I’m thinking there’s a possibility that it fell into someone else’s hands.”
She frowned. “The man I shot?”
“Could be. I’m particularly thinking about those two men in the van. If they’d gotten hold of your purse, they might have been hanging around the church hoping that you would come back for it. One of them could have been the man you shot. I’ve been running scenarios through my mind. In one of them, after you shoot this guy, he backs out of the room just as Roman reaches the top of the stairs. They struggle. In the meantime, you and the bride and groom leave by the back stairs and exit the church through the sacristy. In your hurry to leave, you forget your purse. Of course, it’s just a guess.”