My Man Pendleton(51)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

“If I tell you my first name,” he said, “you have to promise me you’ll—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t say it. I already know. You want me to move out of your house.”

Her response obviously surprised him, as if it honestly hadn’t occurred to him to ask her to do such a thing.

“Don’t you?” she asked.

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of if I tell you my first name, you have to promis me you’ll start letting me cook dinner sometimes.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling even more confused. “Okay. If you must.”

“Oh, I must.”

“Fine. So…what’s your first name?”

He hesitated, smiling that devastating smile for a moment. Then, plainly and succinctly, he told her, “Rocky.”

Now that came as a definite surprise. “Rocky?” she echoed, unable to prevent the bubble of laughter that punctuated the word. “Your name is Rocky? Are you serious?”

“What’s so funny about Rocky?” he asked.

“Rocky Pendleton? That’s your name?”

“Hey, I’m from New Jersey. What were you expecting? Nigel?”

She laughed harder. “No, but…Rocky? Who decided to name you Rocky?”

“My father. Axel.”

“Axel Pendleton?” She covered her mouth in a fruitless effort to hide her glee, laughing at this newly discovered aspect of Pendleton’s persona.

“Yeah. Axel Pendleton. You got a problem with that?”

He must really be getting irritated, because suddenly his New Jersey accent was extremely pronounced.

“No, I don’t have a problem with that,” she said, still chuckling. “You just don’t seem like a Rocky, that’s all.” With no small effort, she managed to squelch her giggles some. Not much. But some.

He tossed his hand into the air. “Fine. You think my name is hysterical.”

“No, honestly,” she objected. “It was just surprising, that’s all. Rocky Pendleton.” Another bout of giggles erupted before she could stop them. “No, wait,” she urged him when he opened his mouth to say more. “I can say it without laughing. I can. Watch. Rocky…” She began to titter, so she bit her lip to stop it. “Rocky Pen…” she tried again, still not quite able to contain herself. “Rocky Pendle—” Unfortunately, she never finished, because she began to giggle again. “I’m sorry. I guess I can’t say it without laughing.” And she broke down completely.

Pendleton glared at her. “Actually,” he said, injecting more volume into his voice to lift it above her outburst, “Rocky is a nickname my father gave me when I was a baby. It’s a shortened form of my given name.”

Kit inhaled a deep breath in an effort to contain her merriment, then swiped at her watering eyes as she expelled it. Finally, she managed to ask, “And what would your given name be, pray tell?”

He glanced away, and she could have sworn she saw a faint stain of pink riding high on his cheeks. “It’s short for, uh, Rockefeller.”

“Rockefeller?” she said, not even bothering to hide her amusement now as she let her laughter run loose. “You have got to be kidding.”

“Will you please try to contain yourself?” he asked. “You’re making a spectacle.”

With a great deal of effort, Kit managed to rein herself in. A little.

“My parents both came from blue-collar backgrounds, all right?” he said. “And my mother, whose name, incidentally is Irene—want to make something of that?” he demanded.

Kit only shook her head in silence.

“My mom,” he continued, “wanted something a little better for her kids. So she gave us names she thought might…you know…win us cachet into a higher social circle.”

Sounded logical, Kit thought. Still… “Yeah, but Rockefeller?” she asked, speaking her thoughts aloud, battling a new fit of chuckles.

He ignored her. “Hey, it could have been worse. Carny’s real name is Carnegie.”

Kit shook her head. “Unbelievable,” she said. “Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll keep calling you Pendleton. Frankly, I’m not sure I could call you Rocky without breaking into a fit of—” As if to prove the point, she burst into another animated round of giggles.

“Do you mind?” he said, clearly striving for an outraged tone of voice. Unfortunately, the smile that curled his lips completely blew the effort.

It also made Kit start laughing harder.

“Show some respect, will ya?” he asked. Then, contrary to his request, and with obvious reluctance, he, too, began to chuckle.

Once he showed that small sign of weakness, all Kit could do was laugh harder. And harder. And harder still. In fact, she began laughing so hard, she had to hug herself tight to keep herself from falling right off the couch. Unfortunately, even that didn’t help, because by then, the giggles had irreversibly seized her, and she simply lost control, tumbling right off the sofa and down to the floor. Belatedly, Pendleton reached out to grab her, and for his efforts, he wound up right on the rug beside her. They landed in a heap, arms tangled, laughter joined, the fall having only increased their levity.

Their merriment ceased abruptly, however, when, as one, they realized the precariousness of their position. Kit lay on her back beneath Pendleton, his big body sprawled over hers in a manner that was most familiar. His thigh was settled between her legs, and his arm was nestled against her breast. Yet he didn’t press his advantage. Nor did he retreat. He only gazed down at her, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, his eyes more than a little inquisitive.

Game over, Kit told herself. Call for a time-out. Now.

But instead of shoving him off, as reason commanded, she found herself hooking her arms loosely around his waist, splaying her hands open tentatively over his back. And instead of vaulting off of her to flee, as she had been sure Pendleton would, he nestled more snugly, more intimately against her. For a moment, Kit felt as if she had fallen into the deep end of a swimming pool and couldn’t quite touch bottom. Then, oh so slowly, he began to dip his head toward hers, and she found she couldn’t quite break the surface to catch her breath, either.

His kiss was quite extraordinary. One minute, he was hovering over her, staring at her face, her eyes, her mouth, and the next, he was consuming her. There was a fierceness and demand in his kiss that went beyond passion, beyond hunger, beyond need. He kissed her as if he drew sustenance from her, as if she were essential to his very survival. So what could she do, but kiss him back in exactly the same way?