With her.
He wondered what it would be like to see her solemn face smile every day, to hear her laugh, unfettered by worry. Then he wondered if he was being foolish, latching on to the first wholesome woman he’d come across since coming out from undercover. Kristen was a woman of integrity, intelligence. Beauty and grace. He’d met very few women with those qualities in the last five years. They didn’t tend to hang around drug and weapons dealers.
He kept remembering the day he first saw her. He hadn’t lied the night before. He had been stunned. Then captivated. Then aroused. Incredibly, unmistakably aroused. He’d stayed in the character of his cover that day, spouting innuendo and earning a few slaps on the back from his underworld accomplices. But the mental images hadn’t faded, had stayed fixed in his mind as he’d completed the arrest that had been staged to give his cover credibility. He was one of them then, arrested, with a record. He’d been released on bail shortly thereafter and had returned to the dark, dirty part of the city his cover called home.
But as soon as he’d been able, he slipped away to see Debra in the hospice center, sitting by her bed, massaging her hands and feet, quietly speaking her name while mentally tormenting himself with guilty self-recriminations. He’d lusted after another woman while his wife lay in a silent hell.
Now, his wife was at peace, finally. And he still lusted after Kristen Mayhew.
It was with obvious regret that the waiter broke off their conversation to get back to his other customers. Kristen turned to him, then her green eyes widened and he realized what he was thinking must be written all over his face. For a moment he considered casually laughing it off. But her eyes slowly heated and a rosy blush darkened her cheeks. The tip of her tongue appeared, wetting her lips and Abe almost groaned aloud.
„I’m sorry,“ she said. „That was rude of me to ignore you. It’s just been a long time since I’ve had a chance to use my Italian.“
„Don’t apologize. I enjoyed listening to you. I didn’t know you spoke Italian.“
She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. „I spent a year in Italy when I was in college. I picked up a lot of conversational Italian, but I’m sure my grammar is atrocious. I know I’m rusty as hell.“ She picked up her menu, fidgeting with the corner. „You didn’t have to take me to dinner, you know. Spinnelli has a cruiser stationed outside my house. I think I’ll be all right on my own.“
Something inside him stirred, hot and restless. „Did it occur to you that I might want to be with you? That my bringing you here has nothing to do with this case?“
She looked up and met his eyes. „Yes.“ Her voice had dropped, gone husky, sending tingles of sensation racing across his skin. „Yes, it did.“
He swallowed hard. A thousand responses ran through his mind, all of them completely inappropriate and guaranteed to make her pull away.
„Ah, signorina.“
Abe bit back a curse at the interruption as Kristen’s face lifted to a beaming Tony Rossellini, the heart and soul of the restaurant and one of his parents’ oldest friends. He made himself smile. „Tony, it’s so good to see you.“
Tony’s eyes widened in surprise, and with amusement Abe realized the old man hadn’t come by to see him. „Abe. Abe Reagan. My nephew did not tell me it was you with this beautiful signorina tonight. It is good to see you. Your parents were in just last week and never mentioned you were back in town.“
It was the family’s story, one they’d told to all their friends and even their own small children. Abe had moved to Los Angeles and came back only periodically for visits. As far as he knew, even Rachel believed it. It would have been too dangerous for one of the kids to inadvertently mention his true movements. He shot Kristen a look and saw she understood the subterfuge and would not expose it.
„Yes, sir. I’m back now, assigned to the Homicide Division. This is Kristen Mayhew.“
Tony’s wizened old face scrunched in concentration as he struggled to place the name, then his brows shot up his forehead when he did. „Ah. Well, we’ll not speak of such things tonight. Tonight is not for work, but for play.“ He produced a bottle of red wine from behind his back. An excellent label, Abe could see at a glance. „My nephew told me only of a pretty lady who had spent a year in the beautiful city of my father and grandfather.“ With the skill of the well practiced, he whipped the cork from the bottle. „It has been some time since I have been to Firenze, but it is always in my heart.“ He set about filling their glasses with pride, and it was then Abe remembered Kristen didn’t drink.
He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, his entire body stiffening when he felt her hand slide across his. He looked at her and she shook her head, a minute movement meant only for him. Then her hand was gone and she lifted her glass to Tony in a toast. She spoke in Italian, and whatever she said made Tony beam even brighter. He responded in kind before turning to Abe with a great smile.
„Now that you are home you will come often, yes, Abe? And when you come, you will bring the signorina.“
„I will.“ Whether Abe meant the first or both, he couldn’t say. „Tony, we’ve been followed all day by reporters. If anyone comes in that looks suspicious, could you…?“
Tony frowned. „Say no more, Abe. They will not bother you here.“ He went back to the kitchen, not waiting for a response.
Kristen carefully set the wineglass on the table and looked away. „A nice man.“
„Mmm, yes. Tony is an old friend of my parents.“
He tilted his head, willing her to look at him, but she didn’t. His fingers itched to touch her, to slide across the table and cover her hand as she had his. But he didn’t, instead lifting his own wineglass to his lips. „I thought you said you didn’t drink.“
„I don’t, but I didn’t want to insult him by denying his hospitality. I’ll have a sip or two over the evening, and you’ll be the only one to know.“
And there it was again, her simple regard for the feelings of others. He thought of the look in her eyes the night before as she’d torn the sandpaper in two and handed him half. He’d seen compassion and understanding, but also something more. That something more had kept him awake most of the rest of the night.
„Kristen.“ He waited, but she kept her eyes steadily focused on a point across the restaurant. „You could have gone home at any point after Spinnelli assigned your shadow. Mia offered to drop you off on her way to meet her date. Why are you here with me?“
It was another long moment before she met his eyes, but when she did he saw both interest and a vulnerability that made his heart stutter even as his blood kindled. „Did it ever occur to you that I’m here because I wanted to be with you, too?“ she asked quietly.
„I’d hoped,“ he answered honestly and her lips curved, so slightly he would have missed it had he not been staring. He covered her hand with his, feeling her quick flinch. But she didn’t pull away and he took that as a positive sign. „Why Italy?“
She blinked, clearly not anticipating the question. „Excuse me?“
He slipped his thumb beneath her hand, sweeping back and forth against her palm in a gentle caress. She grew rigid, but still didn’t pull away. „Why a year in Italy?“
Her eyes dropped to their joined hands. „I was studying in Florence.“
„Art?“
She looked up, a little smile on her face, and his heart stuttered again. „Does anyone go to Florence to study anything else?“
„I thought you had an eye for color,“ he said. „So if you studied art in Florence, how did you end up a lawyer? Why aren’t you painting or sculpting or whatever you studied?“
Her smile dimmed. „Life doesn’t always end up the way you plan. But I suppose you know that, too.“
That he did. „Yeah.“