ROSALIE HAD TO FACE FACTS. THE DAY HAD BEEN A COMPLETE loss, and it was all the fault of the man who shall remain nameless. She’d spent a sleepless night asking herself why she’d dated an idiot for two years. The answer was not one she’d ever want repeated outside the hallowed halls of a shrink’s office. To make matters worse, she’d missed her subway stop and was late for work, all because she’d been thinking about “him.” The subway debacle also made her late for her staff meeting, where she got caught not paying attention because she’d been thinking about him. Again. Madònne.
Okay, so he could be described as smart and gorgeous. Too bad “complete buttinsky” fit the bill, too. Who’d asked for his opinion, anyway?
Rosalie had been trying to distance herself from Joey. Could she help it that Joey was too much of an idiot to notice? It’s not as if her refusal to marry him had anything to do with a knight-in-shining-wrecker fantasy. She’d been unhappy in the relationship long before Mr. Buttinsky did his Dr. Phil impression.
By the time five o’clock rolled around, she’d only accomplished avoiding her mother and sister. It paid to have a pushy assistant.
Nobody got by Gina. Rosalie had never known anyone to intimidate her mother, but Gina did—and Rosalie would be indebted to her forever. Unfortunately, Gina also intimidated Rosalie.
She cringed as Gina walked into her office and closed the door. She should have known she wouldn’t get away without a bit of bloodletting.
Rosalie had thought it odd when Gina hadn’t pressed for information during lunch. The thought of food had her reaching for an antacid. Talk about agita. God forbid she should be one of those people who can’t eat when they’re nervous or upset. No, she became the human equivalent of a self-propelled vacuum, eating anything and everything in sight. Not only had she eaten a whole Katz’s pastrami sandwich, an unbelievable feat, but she’d finished Gina’s meal. Even the servers had been astounded. Rosalie was proud of herself, though—she hadn’t let anything slip. She only opened her mouth to stuff food in it.
Gina tossed her short, inky hair out of her eyes and warmed up for round two. “I’m ready to leave for the day. I’ve turned the phone over to voice mail, so your mother’s tenth call will be answered. Now you can tell me what the hell happened to make a sweet, albeit controlling, mother hen lose all her tail feathers and most of her sanity.”
Rosalie stared at the floor, knowing that in a few minutes Gina would say the dreaded I-told-you-so. She and Gina worked too closely together to keep their personal lives out of their relationship. Hell, they were so close that they even had their periods at the same time. And yes, the rest of the office treaded lightly and avoided them like the plague during the nightmare PMS week, the cowards. Her boss even had it noted on his Black-Berry. Talk about embarrassing.
“Joey proposed last night, and I said no.” Just because they were close didn’t mean she had to go into specifics, did it?
“We’ll get back to the deets of Joey’s proposal in a moment. The fact you said no explains your mother’s rash of phone calls, including the one asking me if you should use Benadryl or cortisone cream on hives—”
“Look Gina, I’d love to dish, but I have to pick up my car at Romeo’s before it closes.” She shut down her computer, gathered her things without making eye contact, and prayed she’d make it out alive. No such luck.
Gina stepped in front of the door, the one entrée to freedom. Rosalie sneaked a look out the window and wondered how bad it would hurt if she jumped. Sure, they were on the fifth floor, but maybe she’d hit an awning and break her fall.
Nah. She wasn’t that lucky. If she were, she wouldn’t have to consider jumping out the window in the first place.
Gina gave her the stink eye. How Gina could look down her nose at Rosalie when she stood a good eight inches shorter defied physics. Then she smiled her I’m-going-to-torture-you-and-enjoy-it smile, her golden brown eyes sparkling with anticipation.
“I’ll walk with you to the subway.”
Sure she would. “If you’re going to pump me for information on the way, the least you could do is ply me with alcohol.” She heard the definite hint of a whine in her last statement.
“I plan to.”
“Oh, good. It’s nice to know that some things don’t change. You still anesthetize me before you open me up. It’s always less painful that way.”
They left the office and pushed their way into the first elevator. Once they hit the lobby, Gina continued her interrogation, as if the elevator ride hadn’t happened.
“You didn’t have to lie to me about your car, chica. I thought we were friends.”
She pushed past a group of women and went out the revolving door as fast as her short legs could carry her. Gina had to be pissed off to slip into Spanish, and a pissed-off Gina was not just a little bit scary. Rosalie gave herself a virtual thump on the head when she remembered she’d learned to curse in Spanish from Gina. Three years of Spanish—wasted.
They stopped at a street corner to wait for the light to change. Rosalie straightened the strap on her purse. “It’s not a lie. I got a flat tire on the way home from dinner last night.”
“Since when do you take your car to a garage for a flat?”
“Since I asked Richie to get me a spare. He pocketed my money and forgot to buy it. And to think I lent him the damn car in exchange for his tire knowledge.”
Traffic cleared, and Gina pushed by two nuns to jaywalk. She raised one eyebrow. “Tire knowledge?”
Rosalie said hello to the sisters and crossed herself for good measure before passing them. “All those years of Richie stripping cars with his buddies must have taught him something.”
“Other than what military life was like?”
“It was a military prep school.”
“It was his one chance to stay out of jail. I know the story.”
“Fine. Anyway, I had no spare, so I had the car towed to Romeo’s.” Rosalie opened the door to their after-work watering hole. She watched as Gina—a cross between Jessica Rabbit and Tinkerbelle with a Latin twist—strode through on four-inch heels that brought her up to a whopping five feet four. Rosalie always enjoyed watching men’s heads turn and jaws drop like dominoes when they saw Gina. Not that she ever noticed.
“Romeo’s was open on a Sunday night?”
“I don’t know. Nick drove by and stopped. He towed the car and dropped me off at home.” Rosalie took a seat at the bar and tucked her briefcase behind the foot rail.
“Nick?”
“The mechanic driving the wrecker. Anyway, after I got home, Joey came over and proposed, if that’s what you’d call it.”
“Why? How’d he do it?”
Suffice it to say, Gina gave her a refresher course on cursing in Spanish and attracted the attention of every man in the bar. Of course, she did that by breathing. Over the years, Rosalie had gotten used to it. She knew not to have Gina sit in on any meetings with a straight man in attendance. Nothing got accomplished.
By the time they’d finished their second drink, Gina had said her “I-told-you-so’s,” and Rosalie had heard several new descriptions of an idiot, both in English and Spanish, but she’d yet to hear one “poor baby.” Instead, she had to deal with a drunken Gina doing a happy dance over the still-warm corpse of her failed relationship.
When it came to disliking Joey, Gina and Dave were alike, though Dave was more subtle.
After pouring Gina into a cab headed uptown, Rosalie called her neighbor to ask him to let Dave out and went straight to Romeo’s. In the service department, she waited for the woman with the beehive hairdo to finish talking to an old codger. Had no one ever told her that beehives went out with the ’60s? She turned her blue eye-shadowed gaze toward Rosalie.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to pick up my car.” Rosalie dug the work order out of her pocket and smoothed the wrinkles before sliding it across the counter. She saw the woman’s nametag and smiled. The name Trudy fit.
“Oh, so you’re the one. Okay, I’ll call the boss.”
As Trudy paged Nick, her eyes never left Rosalie. Within seconds, five women came out of various doorways and crowded behind the counter to join in the stare fest while they tried to look busy.
Rosalie looked around the waiting area, trying to ignore the fact that several women were staring at her. It was nice—the waiting room, not the women staring. It had a section with desks and Internet access for customers to work while they waited, a play area for kids, and an area with TVs, magazines, and leather couches. Nick must be the service manager, since Trudy had called him the boss. Impressive.
“Hi, Rosalie.”
She turned at the sound of Nick’s voice. He’d snuck up on her. He wore black slacks and a white Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Nothing special, but on him it made her newly single hormones do the tango.
“Hi.” Okay, not the most brilliant conversation starter, but she was happy she could utter a single syllable. Maybe she shouldn’t have had that second dirty martini.
Nick shot a glance at the women gathered behind the desk, and they scattered faster than a bunch of kids after breaking a window.
“Do you have that effect on all women, or only the ones who work for you?” There, that was better.
“Only the nosy ones working for me. I don’t see you running away.”
“I can’t. You’re holding my car hostage. Speaking of which, I need to pay for it before closing.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He handed her the key to her car. It hung from a ring with a numbered manila tag. “Let me get my coat, and we can leave.”
“No. I mean thanks, but I don’t want to get you in trouble, and I need to buy a spare—”
Nick moved closer and put his hand on her shoulder. She’d taken off her trench coat; the heat from his hand seeped through her suit jacket.
“I replaced the tire. The nail in it was too close to the edge to fix. And you have a new full-size spare. I won’t get into trouble, so forget about it.”
“Still, I can’t accept, but thanks. I’ll settle up with Trudy while you get your coat.”
Nick shook his head and ran his hand though his hair. “Fine. I’ll have Trudy charge you cost, but no labor.”
Nick spoke in hushed tones to Trudy. The two of them nodded a lot and shot incredulous glances in her direction. After Nick left, it took a few minutes for Trudy to punch the information into the computer and come up with a bill.
Nick returned, wearing a leather bomber jacket. “Are you ready to go? I’ll follow you home to drop off your car.”
“Why?”
“I’ll follow you to the restaurant.” Rosalie dug through her pocketbook for her wallet. After she’d found it, she noticed Nick had his jaw clenched. Trudy shoved the bill toward her and moved over to the other side of the long counter.
Nick’s arms were crossed, and he didn’t look like a happy camper. He spoke through clenched teeth. “I never let my dates drive.”
She couldn’t believe him. She should have been outraged, but he looked so sexy, all annoyed. He got a tick by his left eye, ran his fingers though his hair, and stood with his feet apart so his slacks stretched tight across his thighs and package. Her heart raced as if she’d run five miles. Not that she ever had, but if she did, she assumed her heart would race like that. She wondered if looking at Nick could burn the same number of calories as running. If it could, every woman alive would be flinging her running shoes in the trash.
“Nick, I hardly know you. I’d prefer to drive myself.”
“You don’t trust me? I’m a good guy. Ask Trudy. She’ll vouch for me.”
Nick was tall. When Rosalie wore heels, she was in the neighborhood of six feet—yeah, they were four-inch heels, and no, she didn’t wear them because they make her legs look amazing—but Nick still towered over her. Well, maybe towered was an exaggeration, but in her book, if she wore heels and the guy wasn’t eye level with the twins, he was a keeper.
“I don’t care if the Pope himself vouches for you. I’m still going to take my car and meet you at the restaurant.”
Rosalie had a few first-date rules. Rule number one— Always meet the guy in a public place in case he turns out to be a psycho. That way, she could cut out without having to walk eighteen blocks to a subway station in a bad neighborhood where even taxis feared to tread. A lesson learned by experience.
Rule number two—Never sleep with the guy on the first date, no matter what, even if her hormones told her to hurry the hell up, they wanted a cigarette.
Rule number three—If you fight on the first date, don’t make a second. Damn, she hated that one. Well, right now, she pretty much hated rule number two as well.
By Rosalie’s definition, a fight meant both parties had to participate. To avoid that, she came up with the perfect compromise. “How about I drive you to the restaurant?”
That way, if he turned out to be a psycho and she had to make an escape, he’d be the one stuck walking through a dangerous neighborhood, not her, thus following rule one and rule three.
Rosalie thought he’d be happy, but no, he had a look of absolute horror on his face. So much for her brilliant plan.
“Look, Nick, I appreciate you taking care of my car, but it’s getting late, and I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“You follow me to the restaurant, and I’ll follow you back to your place. No date of mine leaves without me seeing her home safe.”
“Fine, whatever. Let me finish paying, and we can go.”
Trudy seemed to have enjoyed every second of their debate. Rosalie studied the bill and saw that Nick hadn’t charged her for towing. She wanted to point out the discrepancy, but he’d give her a hard time, and she wasn’t up to avoiding another fight. It went against her nature. Rosalie liked nothing better than a good bout of verbal sparring to get the blood flowing, but she had to consider that pesky rule number three. Plus, fighting with a guy sometimes ended in hot, sweaty, make-up sex, but because of rule number two, that couldn’t happen.
Nick checked the rearview mirror of the new Mustang he drove. Rosalie had no problem following him. It would be almost impossible to lose her. That neon yellow car stuck out like a sore thumb. He shuddered at the thought of riding shotgun in the Barbie Mobile. He had his reputation to consider. He’d lose his credibility and the respect of his staff in one fell swoop. Plus, he’d never live it down if someone in his family found out—and they always found out.
Nick parked a few blocks away from DiNicola’s, his cousin’s restaurant, hoping no one would notice she’d followed him. He had her door opened before Rosalie cut the engine. Her long leg snaked out, and he almost forgot to offer her a hand. Damn, he’d been so busy arguing with her that he hadn’t noticed what she was wearing. What the hell was wrong with him? Her trench coat had fallen open to reveal one of those sinfully sexy suits with a skirt so short, the jacket almost covered it, and heels so high and spiked, they were an engineering marvel. Her legs were already long with a capital “L.” He guessed she stood five-eight or nine in stocking feet, most of which was leg. Wearing those stilts made her almost his height, not that he had a problem with that. In fact, he liked tall women, and with those heels, they lined up perfectly . . . to dance.
Yeah, dancing would be good. He hated to dance, but a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. Rosalie didn’t seem the type to kiss, much less screw around on the first date, and he didn’t think he’d last the night without at least holding her. Good thing he and his cousin Vinny had a system down since the old days when Nick brought all his dates here. But back then, Nick washed dishes Saturday night to pay for his Friday night date, and Vinny had all his hair. Nick would ask to sit in the back room, away from the crowd, and Vinny would put on Sinatra, the patron saint of single men everywhere. Nick never failed to make it to third base with Ol’ Blue Eyes in his corner.
Nick opened the door for Rosalie and cringed when he saw Mona working the desk.
“Nicky!”
The bleached blonde bimbo threw herself at Nick, and he caught her. Rosalie looked for the ladies’ room.
“Mona, this is a friend of mine, Rosalie. Lee, this is my cousin Vinny’s wife, Mona.”
Lee? “Nice to meet you.” Mona shook her hand and gave her the once-over. Rosalie didn’t mind, since it turned out to be a “Is she good enough for our Nick?” and not a “What’s she doing with my Nick?” kind of inspection. She could tell Mona liked the shoes, wondered if the boobs were real, and if she dyed her hair. Mona’s came straight from a bottle of peroxide.
Mona gave her the sisterhood look, the one designed to make you spill juicy gossip on your first trip to the ladies’ room. Rosalie returned the smile and looked around for a back door to the place. She’d never be able to pull off an escape via the ladies’ room with this one in front.
“Mona, tell Vinny we’re here. We’ll grab a table in the back.”
“Tell him yourself. He’s in the kitchen. Antonio’s got the flu, and Vinny’s cooking.”
Nick had his annoyed look on. It seemed to have no effect on Mona, but it had the same effect on Rosalie it had earlier, even when aimed at someone else. Damn.
“Mona Constantina DiNicola.” Nick pulled the full name gambit, which most often worked, if for no other reason than force of habit.
“Okay, but you owe me, Nick.”
“No way. You’re still paying up for the Rita incident.”
Mona headed to the kitchen, and Nick steered Rosalie into the dimly lit bar.
“The Rita incident? Sounds intriguing,” Rosalie said as Nick shuffled her past bar stools and quiet booths.
“Just the opposite. It was a nightmare blind date to her sister’s wedding.”
“Oh, man, she’ll be paying for life.” Italian weddings sometimes lasted the entire weekend, and you can’t escape. “You have my sympathies.”
Nick took her hand on the other side of the bar and ushered her into the small dining room beyond. One used for private parties. Small, quiet, and empty. Frank Sinatra crooned in the background; the lights were low and the feeling intimate. She turned and took in the scene he’d set. He scored points for romance but lost a few for lack of originality.
“So, does this always work for you?” said the fly to the spider.
Nick helped her out of her coat, folded it, and laid it over the back of a chair. Rosalie sensed the debate going on in his head—Should he feign ignorance, or give her a straight answer?
“Yes, it does, but if it’s any consolation, I haven’t used it for years.”
He held her chair as she sat. “How come? Were you in a long-term relationship?”
Nick took his seat, shot her a grin, and she melted a little.
He shook his head. “No one else seemed worth the trouble.”
Damn, this guy was good. He handed her a line, and her bullshit meter didn’t even go off.
A busboy came in and caught Nick’s eye.
“Yo, Nick.”
“How’s it going, Sonny?”
“Dad asked if your date was one of those vegetarians. If not, he said you should order the special. Veal saltimbocca.”
Nick laughed. “Does she look like a vegetarian?”
Rosalie didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. Had he just called her fat? Sonny looked at Rosalie and then away. She had a hard time seeing in the dimly lit room, but she could swear the kid blushed.
“Nope.”
“Rosalie, meet Sonny, Vinny and Mona’s son.”
She bit back a grin. The kid looked about sixteen, and once he grew into his feet and filled out, he would be a lady-killer. “Hi.”
Sonny kept his eyes averted. Nick winked at her. “Veal okay with you?”
“Sounds good.”
Nick pushed his chair back and dug into his back pocket for his wallet. “How much is she paying you for spying?”
“Ma said I’d get a ten, and she’d buy me the new Xbox 360 game I want.”
Nick took out a twenty. “Here’s the deal. You tell her what we ate, say Rosalie was nice, and we held hands, but you didn’t hear or see anything beyond that, capisce? You do that, and you can keep this and your mother’s bribe. Agreed?”
“Yeah, whatever you say, Nick.” Sonny pulled on the twenty, but Nick didn’t let go.
“I find out you told Mona anything else, I’ll stop adding to your college fund. You get me?”
Sonny nodded and stashed the bill in his pocket. “You know, if I don’t get back out there, Ma will figure this out for herself, and we’ll both be in deep sh—”
“Watch your language and get out of here.”
Nick took Rosalie’s hand. She tried pulling away, but he held on.
“You don’t want to make a liar out of Sonny, do you?”
She shook her head. She didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Nick held her hand and rubbed his thumb on the center of her palm. She wouldn’t say it felt as if a lightning bolt shot through her, because that sounded so clichéd, but she needed to rethink her opinion on reflexology. There had to be something to it, because whatever he did to her hand had a definite effect on several other parts of her body.
Nick sat back, rocking on the back legs of the chair. “So, when did you see Joey?”
“How did you know I saw him?”
“You wouldn’t be here with me if you were still in a relationship with him, and you’re too nice to break up with a guy over the phone.”
“You’re assuming a lot.”
Nick dropped her hand and slid his chair back before he stood.
“I’ll take you home.”
What? Confused, she asked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ll take you home. I’m no saint, Lee, but I don’t poach.”
Rosalie’s anger got the better of her. She stood, because she couldn’t very well let the guy have it when she sat eye level with his crotch. “Fine, but for the record, I don’t cheat. I broke up with Joey last night, but it had nothing to do with you. Second, I resent the term “poaching.” It brings to mind images of hunting poor defenseless elephants. I am neither defenseless nor an elephant. And nobody calls me Lee.” Rosalie turned to grab her coat.
“Whoa.” Nick caught her by the arm and held her gently, but firmly. She wouldn’t get away unless she struggled, and if she did, it would kill any chance of a dignified exit. He stepped closer.
“You’re the one who said I assumed a lot. You can’t blame me for misinterpreting your meaning.”
Okay, she’d give him that. She started to tell him so, but he took both her hands in his, leaving her speechless. Rosalie had a really hard time talking without using her hands. She’d become mute. Nick, however, didn’t suffer the same affliction.
“I don’t see you as defenseless, and the only thing you have in common with an elephant is your ability to walk all over a guy. I’m sorry if you don’t like me calling you Lee, but Rosalie is too damn long, and you don’t look like a Rose or even Rosa. Lee suits you. So shoot me.”
Sometime during his little speech, he’d moved closer. She didn’t know what shocked her more, that she could feel his breath on her cheek or that he thought she could walk all over a guy. She put her hand on his chest to try to control the distance between them as he closed in and kissed her. He sent no silent message that said, “I’m going to kiss you now unless you back away.” There were none of the typical signs. He went for it full throttle.
The word kiss didn’t describe what he did to her, with her. It was too tame to express the possessive, carnal dance of mouths, tongues, teeth, and breath. It bespoke intimacy and need, and vibrated with barely controlled passion. He explored her mouth with a diligence so complete, it was almost a religious experience.
It took Rosalie a moment to realize that Nick had stopped kissing her. She had her fingers tangled in his hair, and her chest flattened against his. Nick had his knee between her legs, pushing her skirt higher than it should ever be in public, his hands were on her butt, and they were both breathing heavily. She opened her eyes and stepped back on weak legs. Nick stared at the table behind her. When she turned, she understood why. The table now held two glasses of wine, an opened bottle of Chianti, and a loaf of bread with a plate of olive oil sprinkled with cheese and cracked black pepper. She didn’t know who groaned, but one of them did.
“I’m going to have to pay Sonny a lot more than a twenty to hush this one up, though maybe I should charge him for the lesson.”
Rosalie wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole. She’d never been more embarrassed.
Someone knocked on the now-closed door. It opened, and a big man walked in wearing an apron and black-and-white checked pants with a soiled towel thrown over his shoulder.
“I brought the wine, in case you were wondering. Sonny’s too young to serve alcohol.”
“Thanks, Vin.” Nick looked equal parts relieved and embarrassed.
“Eh? You two goin’ somewhere before dinner? Sit down.”
Nick held Rosalie’s chair. She had no choice but to sit.
Vinny put a plate of antipasti on the table. “Buon appetito.”
She reached for her wine and drank it down. Nick went for his water. From the looks of it, water hadn’t worked any better than wine to stop the flames shooting between them, but the wine definitely helped the embarrassment factor.
She couldn’t believe she’d been humping his leg!
Her face got hot all over again, thinking about it. He looked at her, she looked at him, and neither one of them seemed to know what to say, so they ate.
Rosalie stomach suddenly felt as if her throat had been cut. It must have been the embarrassment. The more wine she consumed, the easier the dinner conversation flowed. Unfortunately, her newfound ease didn’t reduce her appetite. At least, their clean plates made Vinny happy.
After dinner and two bottles of wine, they drank demitasse spiked with sambuca and ate an exceptional cannoli, one of her all-time favorites. She took a bite of the delectable dessert and eyed Nick as she licked powdered sugar off her top lip. Nick cleared his throat. He’d been doing that all night.
She had a smile on her face, but how could she not, when she ate cannoli? She was having a great time, and it wasn’t because of the food, though she had to admit, great food helped. Nick had turned out to be a lot of fun. She wanted to see him again, so she needed to warn him. She knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Guys don’t listen, but never let it be said she hadn’t been straight from the get-go. She put down her cannoli and looked him square in the eye.
“You know, you’re making me break one of my rules.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You have rules? About what?”
“About dating. Dating rules.”
“Should I ask what they are?”
“I’m breaking rule number three. If you fight on a first date, don’t make a second.”
“I haven’t asked you out on a second date.”
“After that kiss, if you hadn’t asked me out, I would have asked you.”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his plate aside. Then he rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “Really?”
“Yeah, but don’t let it go to your head. Now, before I do something like ask you out—”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been asked out. I’ve been propositioned, but never asked out. Why do you think that is?”
“Maybe because you never let a girl get a word in edgewise?”
Nick smirked and she melted more, but then she’d kinda been melting like a Fudgsicle at the beach ever since she’d set eyes on him.
Rosalie cleared her throat. “As I was saying, before I ask you out—”
“Do you think I’ll accept?”
“Nick, if you don’t put a sock in it, it will never happen, believe me.” She rushed on before he could comment yet again. “We have to get a few things straight. First and foremost is that I’m not looking for marriage, and I’m not one to change my mind. If that’s a problem, you might want to pull a Barbara Bush and just say no.”
“Nancy Reagan.”
“Nancy Reagan what?”
“She coined the phrase ‘Just Say No.’ Do most men say no?”
“No, most men smile and nod, and two years later they’re down on one knee.”
“This happens often?”
“Well, twice now.”
“I see. Two out of how many?”
“Three.”
“What happened to number three?”
“He was number one, and well, he ranoffandjoinedtheseminary.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, he ran off and joined the seminary.”
“Was this before or after you . . . um, spoke to him?”
“After. Anyway, back to the point. I like being single. I like having my own place. I like my job, and I like doing what I want to do when I want to do it. I’m not looking for a man to take over my life. So, unless you’re looking for a monogamous, commitment-free, no strings relationship, do us both a favor and just say no.”
“What about the others?”
“What others?”
“The other men you’ve dated. Come on, you’re what, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-seven. What’s your point?”
“You’re twenty-seven, and you expect me to believe you’ve only dated three men? Come on, Lee, I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“I never said I’d only dated three men. I dated plenty. I meant I’ve only had three relationships.”
“Now, I don’t want to misinterpret your meaning again, so let me see if I understand. You told me you didn’t want a ‘relationship,’ because the word relationship implies commitment, which, if my hearing is correct, you want no part of.”
She nodded.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“Christ, Nick.” He smiled, one of those smiles again. She watched as the dimple in his left cheek popped out, or in, really, and the skin around his eyes crinkled. Then his mouth did this amazing twisty thing before his lips curved up and opened enough to show off a beautiful set of white teeth. They were perfect, she thought, except his right front tooth slanted over the other. Not that a person would notice, unless she looked close or kissed him, both of which she’d done. But, like everything else about him, Rosalie mused, it screamed sexy. She remembered how it felt when her tongue slid over it and . . . A shiver ran its way up her spine.
“Lee? Are you okay? You’re shivering.”
“Oh, I’m fine.” She rubbed her arms and tried to catch her train of thought—it must have slipped out of the station without her. Oh, yeah, she remembered. “Anyway, I meant . . . um, a sexual relationship.”
“Oh, so you are propositioning me.” He smirked again as he leaned back in his chair, turning toward her. He crossed his arms and looked so damn smug.
“I never said . . . You know, forget I said anything.” She took a sip of her demitasse and the last bite of her dessert. She didn’t look at him, but felt him watching her. She brought her fingers to her mouth to lick off the cannoli cream, but remembered her manners and refrained, even though the thought of wiping the cream on her napkin almost killed her. What a waste.
She was reaching for her napkin when Nick caught her hand. Great, cream would get all over him. For the life of her, she didn’t see how he could miss such a big glob of the stuff. She obsessed over it while Nick brought her hand to his mouth and licked off the cream. He proceeded to suck on every one of her fingers while keeping his eyes locked on hers.
She’d heard guys sucked on fingers and toes and other things. But not any of her guys. She was no virgin, but it was as if the guys she’d been with had gotten directions from the same book—How to Get Off in Ten Minutes or Less—and took it as a challenge. They all beat it.
Nick knew how to take his time. She didn’t know how long he’d spent sucking on her fingers, but she wouldn’t be surprised if they were pruny. He only stopped because Vinny came to tell them to lock up on their way out.
Nick helped Rosalie up—and she needed help. In her quest to drown her embarrassment, they’d finished two bottles of wine and had sambuca with their demitasse. It worked like a charm. Nick held on to her and smiled. She felt so good, tucked under a guy’s arm and held close to his side, especially a big guy like Nick. She felt all warm and toasty and slightly buzzed. Okay, maybe more than slightly.
The next thing she knew, they were face-to-face and moving, but not going anywhere. He held her so close, she felt the vibration of his humming in her chest.
“What are we doing?”
“We’re dancing.” He kissed her temple, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Frank sang “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” and she couldn’t help but chuckle at the warning, but like Frank, she couldn’t resist. She kissed him.
She brushed her lips over his when “Night and Day” began, and they didn’t come up for air until well after the song ended. Nick held her, and she wondered how he could kiss like that and dance at the same time. She had a hard time standing.
His words may have said “I’m taking you home,” but his eyes said, “I’m taking you.”
So much for rule number two.