Chapter 3
MIKE SPENT THE TWENTY-FIVE MINUTE TRIP FROM Coney Island to Park Slope lecturing himself about proper first date behavior. He’d purposely emptied his wallet of condoms so he wouldn’t be tempted to attack Annabelle again. However, all the good intentions in the world hadn’t stopped him from mentally ticking off every pharmacy between his place and Annabelle’s during the ride.
It would have been a lot easier if she’d agreed to go out to dinner. Even without condoms, Mike wasn’t sure how much control he’d have in the same room where he’d all but ripped off her clothes less than twenty-four hours before. Shit, he’d been half hard all day. As it was, a picture of her sleeping beside him wearing nothing but a sexy blue garter was permanently burned in his memory. He’d carry that vision to his grave.
Mike didn’t know what Annabelle was making for dinner, so he stopped at Nick’s cousin’s restaurant, DiNicola’s, to pick up wine.
“Hey, Vinny, you here?” Mike strolled through the double swinging doors into the restaurant’s kitchen and was assaulted with the scent of garlic and onions sautéing in olive oil—one of his all-time favorite smells. Mike might be Irish by birth, but his taste buds never got the message. He’d grown up working at DiNicola’s and eating as much Italian food as possible.
Vinny, wearing his usual chef’s garb of a splattered white jacket and black-and-white checked pants, took his attention from the stove. “Of course, I’m here. The question is, why are you?”
Vinny poured two huge cans of tomato puree into the stockpot along with about a gallon of wine before pouring himself a glass and turning the bottle toward Mike. “You want?”
“No thanks. I came to pick some up. I’ve got a date.”
Vinny’s unibrow rose. “Who you going out with? I thought that blonde doctor chick dumped you for the head of cardiology?” A knowing smile crossed his face. “Oh you got a date with Nick’s new sister-in-law, what’s-her-face. I saw you leave with her last night. How’d you manage that? Nick didn’t date her before he dated Rosalie, did he? That would be real awkward at family get-togethers, if you know what I mean.”
Mike leaned back against the stainless steel counter and crossed his arms. “I am capable of getting a date Nick hasn’t already dumped, you know. I asked Annabelle out myself. I don’t need him to get me a date.” Actually Mike had called her, and she’d asked him out, but he wasn’t about to tell Vinny that. “I don’t know what she’s cooking, so I thought I’d grab a couple bottles of wine. Do you mind?”
“What the fuck do I look like, a feak’n liquor store?” He nodded toward the wine cellar. “You gonna get it? Or do I have to?”
Mike walked past him and smiled. “Thanks, Vin, I owe ya.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll put it on your tab. You got money for flowers? That Annabelle, she’s a classy chick. I’ve got some scratch if you need it.” He reached into his pocket and took out a thick billfold.
“Thanks, but I’m good.” Mike went into the wine cellar and grabbed a bottle of red and a bottle of white. He returned and bagged the wine at the carryout station.
Vinny came out of the walk-in refrigerator carrying a tub of sausage. “Grab the meatballs, will ya, Mikey?”
Mike retrieved the tub of meatballs and set it on the stainless steel counter.
Vinny took his cleaver and cut the sausage into separate links. “You wanna eat before you go in case she don’t cook too good? Or are you going there for more than food? I saw you leave with her last night. Did you get lucky, Mikey? Did you get some of that?”
Mike was used to being razzed by Vinny, and it’d never bothered him before. Today he had to fight off the urge to tell him to mind his own business. Mike usually gave Vinny shit about vicariously enjoying the fact he and Nick had a sex life—something that most married men envied. But even though Vinny and Mona had been married since before the earth cooled, Mike still caught Vinny copping a feel as Mona walked past in the kitchen. Hell, he even caught them getting busy in the wine cellar one day before his shift. Something he wished he could erase from his memory bank.
When Mike didn’t answer, Vinny smiled. “Oh man. What’s with those Ronaldi women? They got wine-flavored nipples?”
Annabelle had something all right—something that had Mike counting the minutes until he’d see her again. He checked his watch.
Vinny laughed. “Go, go. I know that look. I saw it often enough on Nick when he started seeing Rosalie. Have a good time, Mikey. And bring her in soon so Mona can get a better look at her.” Vinny reached over and grabbed Mike’s arm before he finished nodding his agreement. “I got some rubbers in my desk if you need ’em.”
Mike tried not to laugh. Vinny had been preaching safe sex to him and Nick since before they could shave. Some things never changed. He was tempted to throw all his good intentions out the window and take a handful, but he stood strong. “No thanks.” He held up the wine. “This is all I need for the night. I’m gonna see if I can make this last for more than a few weeks.”
“You like her, eh?”
Mike nodded.
“So you’re what? Not interested in sex all of a sudden?”
Mike laughed. “Oh no, I’m plenty interested, but I want her to know that’s not the only thing I’m interested in.”
“Hold on there, Dr. Mikey. You using that reverse psychological shit? You what? Pretend you’re interested in what she’s saying instead of just gettin’ laid, and then when she realizes you don’t wanna have sex, that’s all she’ll want? That actually work for you?”
“Vinny, I am interested in what she has to say. We didn’t talk very much last night—”
“Too busy gettin’ laid, eh?”
Mike didn’t even dignify that with an answer, but his guilty conscience gave him more than a moment of discomfort for exactly that reason, and because he hadn’t realized she was more than just tipsy. She must have been in order to have slept with him and not remembered who the hell he was. So, okay. Tonight he’d make it up to her. He’d be the perfect gentleman.
“Thanks for the wine, Vinny. Give my love to Mona.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get outa here. I got work to do.”
Mike stopped at Carmine’s flower shop to buy Annabelle roses. Not red roses. He didn’t want to scare her off. He picked out yellow roses with coral tips. He wasn’t sure what significance yellow roses had, so he asked the clerk, who instead of answering, stared at him as if he’d asked if he could have fries with that. He could call his mother. She’d know, but then she’d also know he was buying roses for a woman, and she’d give him the third degree until he promised to bring Annabelle over for supper. He was better off taking his chances.
Mike took a deep breath, climbed the brownstone steps, and buzzed her apartment. Two men, one of whom held Dave’s leash, opened the security doors. Dave ran out. Mike braced himself moments before the mutt jumped on him and placed both paws on his chest.
“Hi,” the smaller guy said, struggling to pull Dave down. “Sorry about that.”
Mike put the roses under his arm so he could pet the dog. “Hey, buddy. How you doing?”
“You must be Mike. I’m Wayne and this is Henry.” Wayne pointed to the taller man beside him.
Mike nodded and shook Henry’s outstretched hand. “Hi.” The other guy, Wayne, was staring at Mike’s crotch. He looked down to make sure his fly wasn’t flying at half-mast, or worse, open. Nope, everything was covered. Henry must have noticed Wayne’s stare, since he elbowed Wayne hard enough to knock the wind out of him.
Since Wayne was now unable to speak, Henry took over. “We live upstairs and are good friends of Rosalie and Annabelle.”
“Mike Flynn. Nice to meet you.”
Henry grabbed Wayne’s arm and pulled him out the door. “We were just going for a walk in the park and borrowed Dave for the evening. Have a nice time tonight.”
“Thanks.” Mike turned toward Annabelle’s door just as she opened it.
Wow, she looked almost as good dressed as she did naked. She answered the door barefoot. Her toenails were painted coral, and a thin gold chain encircled her delicate ankle. He followed what seemed like a mile of leg, past two perfect knees to tanned, toned thighs worthy of a standing ovation. His eye hit the hem of a coral v-neck T-shirt dress that Mike was sure didn’t scream sex until she put it on. She’d pulled her riot of black curls up in a twist held with ebony chopsticks. A few unruly curls escaped to frame her face.
Annabelle didn’t wear makeup, well, none that he could see anyway. Her tanned olive skin glowed. When she bit and then licked her full bottom lip, every thought Mike had about keeping his hands and the rest of his body parts to himself evaporated.
She wrung her hands and then bit her lip again. Her bright blue eyes met his. Instead of doing what he should have done, like give her the roses and say hello, he tossed them on the table, placed the wine beside them, and kissed her until they were both breathing heavy and the chopsticks hit the floor.
His hands skimmed over her ass, which seemed to be bare of anything except his hands and, of course, the dress. He was about to pull her dress up to see if he was right when reality smacked him in the head. He hadn’t even said a word to her.
Things were going according to plan seduction-wise, and Annabelle was thrilled to be getting tingles in all the right places, too. Maybe she hadn’t imagined the orgasms. Maybe the sex wasn’t too good to be true. She was just giving herself up to the possibility that Mike was indeed a sex god when he pushed her away and stepped back.
Damn, she’d been congratulating herself on her apparent seductive prowess and for planning a dinner that could sit for however long and be thrown together in ten minutes.
Guys got hungry after sex, and if she was lucky, Mike would be very hungry. Later. Much later.
“I’m so sorry.”
She did a double take. “What? What are you sorry about? Coming over?”
“No. God no.” He scrubbed his hand over his face, picked up the hairpins, and handed them to her before he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Some seductress she’d turned out to be. Maybe she hadn’t done enough to him. But gosh, once he started kissing her and running his hands down her body, any rational thought about what her hands should be doing took a backseat.
“I upset you. I’m sorry I took advantage of you last night. I didn’t mean to. Honestly.”
Annabelle raised her head. “Hold on. If someone was taken advantage of last night, it was you. Not me. No one takes advantage of me. Ever.” At least not ever again.
He had the audacity to smile. “You make a habit of taking advantage of poor, unsuspecting men?”
No fair. One smile and all that good, righteous indignation disappeared without a trace. “No, I wouldn’t call it a habit… yet. But I have to admit, it’s growing on me.”
His smile was crooked in a really sexy way. It reminded her of someone. Not Chip. Chip’s smile had been perfect, almost fake-looking. She used to tease him about being a poster boy for toothpaste commercials. She couldn’t figure out who it reminded her of, but at the moment, she had more important things on her mind—like how to get her seduction back on track.
Annabelle thought back to all the movies she’d watched. Most of the characters didn’t have any trouble getting men in bed. Hell, sometimes they just asked for it. She didn’t have the nerve. Of all times for Becca to be wrong. She said all Annabelle would have to do was look welcoming. Ha!
She didn’t know how she could look any more welcoming without answering the door naked. Though the way his eyes were looking at anything but her, even that wouldn’t have worked.
The door swung open, hitting her in the back. Rich, her big brother and new resident pain-in-the-ass, walked in like he owned the place. All six feet three inches of him seemed to fill the room. His short-cropped brown hair stood up on top as if it were styled, although he never had to run a brush through it. A girl could hate her brother for his perfect hair and long, thick black eyelashes. Especially as blue as his eyes were. Right now, they held a Dennis the Menace quality.
Rich was still angry that she had gotten Rosalie’s apartment before he could snatch it up. Lucky for her, Rich had kept his plans to leave his position as a professor at Dartmouth for a professorship at Columbia a secret, or she would have lost the apartment to him for sure. Her parents would have insisted Rosalie turn the place over to him. After all, Rich, the eldest child and only son of Paul and Maria Ronaldi, held a special place in their hearts. If her parents had anything to do with it, Rich would become the only living saint. Even Rosalie couldn’t compete with Rich, the anointed one.
“Thanks for letting yourself in, Rich. What are you doing here, and where did you get my keys?”
“I’m just checking up on you. I was worried when you didn’t show up for Sunday dinner. And as for the keys, I’ve had them since I stayed here with Rosalie over Christmas break. So, are you sick, or are you pouting because it wasn’t you walking down the aisle yesterday?”
Just when Annabelle thought things couldn’t get any worse, Mike stepped out from behind the open door.
“Hi, Rich.” Mike shook his hand. “Nice to see you again. I’m afraid it’s my fault Annabelle didn’t go to dinner. I’ve been keeping her busy.” He put his arm around her and drew her close.
Rich puffed up like the big blowhard he was. “Busy doing what?”
Could a person die of embarrassment? The only thing more annoying than Rich’s saintly status was his position as the world’s most irritating and overprotective big brother. Annabelle stepped between the two men, and with both hands on Rich’s chest, pushed him toward the door. Hard. He didn’t move.
“I’ve been fixing dinner, not that it’s any of your business.”
Rich raised an eyebrow but didn’t question her response, thank God. All she needed was Rich to start telling disaster stories about her kitchen exploits. Taking off his leather jacket, he winked to let her know he had something to hold over her head.
“Good, I’m starved. You know I can’t eat dinner at one o’clock. That’s about the time I get around to eating breakfast when I’m not teaching. What are we eating?”
“You? Nothing, since you’re not invited. What’s wrong? Does your girlfriend think your once-happy long-distance relationship has become too close for comfort now that you’re only a subway ride away?” She turned to Mike. “Rich didn’t bother telling anyone, including Gina, his girlfriend, about his plan to leave New Hampshire and move back to Brooklyn.”
Rich gave Mike a hard look. “So, what are you doing having dinner with my little sister?”
Annabelle growled and wished she had a handy two-by-four to clobber her overbearing brother. “Richard Antonio Ronaldi, who do you think you are? I invited Mike. Besides, who I have over to my own home is no concern of yours.”
Mike, with his arm still around her, slid his hand from her shoulder to her wrist, then back, sending sparks flying through her system. Damn Rich.
“No, it’s all right.” Mike let her go and moved away. “I just got here. See, I haven’t even had a chance to give Annabelle her flowers.” He picked up the roses he’d thrown on the table before he kissed her and handed them to her. “These are for you. Thanks for inviting me.”
She accepted the roses and threw Rich’s jacket on the couch. Mike smiled at her, and if she read that smile correctly, it said, let’s placate the jerk, and maybe he’ll go away, but it also held a look of relief. She was usually good at reading people, but Mike’s mixed messages were confusing.
Annabelle held the roses to her chest and took a good long sniff, trying not to swoon. No one had ever bought her roses before—not even for an anniversary. Chip said he was allergic to flowers, but Becca said he was allergic to spending money on anyone but himself. Annabelle hadn’t minded that he was frugal—but she really appreciated that Mike wasn’t. She wanted to savor the moment and bury her face in the beautiful blossoms, but with Rich there, it would be embarrassing.
“Thanks. I’ll put these in water. Mike, why don’t you bring the wine into the kitchen?”
“Okay. Great.”
Mike was both relieved and frustrated by Rich’s presence. On one hand, it would certainly help him keep his hands to himself, but then it looked as if Annabelle had her own agenda, and hands-off was not part of it. He had a feeling that her agenda would be a whole lot more enjoyable than his. And if she wasn’t worried about things moving too fast, he could learn to live with it.
Yeah, no problem there.
It looked as if she’d gone to a lot of trouble. The apartment was definitely staged for romance—the lights were low, the table set for two. Sultry jazz played in the background, and the scent of garlic swirled in the air. Everything was perfect for dinner and… dessert, except for Annabelle’s brother in the living room. He’d put a real damper on the dessert part of the evening.
Mike followed her into the kitchen, trying not to notice how the skirt of her dress hugged her extraordinary ass without even a hint of a panty line—she either went without, or she wore a thong. The fact he’d stopped himself before he could find out did nothing to keep his blood pressure from shooting into the danger zone. He tried to ignore the way her calf muscles tensed with every step and how sexy that ankle bracelet was. He was so busy ignoring things that he walked into her when she stopped to open a drawer. His arms went around her to keep from knocking her down. The way she stood with her back against his front, her scent engulfing him like a riptide over a drowning man, made him wonder if he’d survive. The odds weren’t in his favor.
Stepping away, Mike placed the wine on the bar separating the small kitchen from the dining area. Annabelle turned, stomped her bare foot, and tipped her head back to meet his eyes. “I want to kill him. I’m so sorry.”
Mike took both her hands in his and was about to kiss the pout off her lips when Rich went to the bar, ostensibly to check out the wine. Mike had seen guard dogs less conspicuous.
He rolled his eyes and coaxed a smile out of her. “If this isn’t a good time, I understand. Do you want some time alone with your brother?”
“No, it’s okay. It wouldn’t do any good to leave me alone with him now. It takes time to plan the perfect murder. Besides, he can’t stay forever.”
Mike wasn’t too sure about that.
Rich came around the bar and helped himself to a plate and silverware. He made room for himself at the table between the plates Annabelle had set. He gave Mike a sly smile. “What did you make, Annabelle?”
“Antipasto, pasta with artichoke pesto, garlic bread, and a Caesar salad.”
“Ah, I knew dropping by was a good idea. You better put that water on to boil. You do know you have to boil the water… right?”
Annabelle shot Rich a look that would annihilate mere mortals. The jerk hooked his thumbs into his jeans pockets, rocked back on his heels, and smiled. “I’m starved.”
She put the pot of water on the stove to boil and turned to Mike. “Do you want to open the wine?” She glared at her brother. “I could use some.” After finding a corkscrew, she handed it to Mike.
“Red or white? The white’s not chilled yet.”
She pulled the salad from the refrigerator and passed it to Rich without a word. “Why don’t you open the red, and I’ll put the other bottle in the freezer.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
On the way back to the kitchen after placing the cheese on the table, she smacked Rich upside his head. He only smiled.
Mike poured the wine and brought two glasses into the kitchen. Ignoring Rich, he handed Annabelle a glass and raised his. “To you.” He touched his glass to hers and then sipped the Cabernet while he held her gaze.
Rich held up his glass. “Salute.”
Annabelle groaned and took a drink. The color of her face turned a similar shade of red as the wine. God, she was sweet.
When they sat down to dinner, Annabelle took the middle seat, for which Mike would be eternally grateful.
The tension rolling off Rich was palpable. Mike felt as if he was fifteen again being given the touch-her-and-I’ll-kill-you look by his date’s father.
“So, Mike. It is Mike, right?”
Mike nodded. Rich grunted and then shot an accusing look at Annabelle. She smiled back serenely, but her eyes told a different story. Mike suspected they were playing footsie under the table—the kind that left bruises.
Rich served himself antipasto and passed it to Mike, who offered it to Annabelle first.
“No, go ahead, Mike. Guests first.”
So far, Annabelle was up by two points. Mike sat back to enjoy the show. As an only child, he’d always wanted a sibling to count on, drive crazy, and embarrass. He suspected it wasn’t always fun, but never boring either.
Mike piled the antipasto on his plate and took a bite.
Rich wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Mike, do you work?”
Mike swallowed a forkful. “Yes.”
“What do you do?”
Annabelle glared at her brother. “He’s a doctor.”
“I’m a pulmonologist,” Mike added.
Annabelle and Rich both stared at him—Annabelle with a look of confusion and Rich as if he’d discovered a dirty secret. Rich winked at her. “That’s a lung doctor.”
She stabbed an olive as if it had a picture of Rich’s face on it. “I know what it means.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Undergrad at NYU, medical school, Columbia. I did my residency and fellowship at Presbyterian.”
“Ever married?”
“No, you?”
Rich shook his head. “Any children?”
“No, you?”
Rich never stopped eating. “Nope.”
Annabelle wiped her mouth. “Richie, would you please stop with the interrogation? All you’re missing is a bare light bulb, handcuffs, and water board. Enough.”
He nodded. “Sure, I’ll be happy to change the subject.” Rich scooped up a bowl of pasta, grated cheese over the top, and pasted on a smile of innocence, which had Mike’s spidey sense buzzing like an air-raid siren.
“So, Annabelle. How’s Ben?”
She shot another visual dagger at Rich before commenting. “Ben Walsh is my boss.”
“Annabelle is a sales girl at his art gallery.”
“No, I manage the gallery. I do sales, but I also discover artists, display their work, plan showings, and manage the sales force.”
Rich caught Mike’s eye before continuing. “Annabelle was engaged until a few weeks ago.”
Well, that was news. Mike studied her. She seemed more embarrassed than heartsick at the mention of it. What do you say to that? I’m sorry? But Mike was anything but sorry. Better to keep his mouth shut.
Rich continued on his self-appointed mission. “Ben and Annabelle are close.”
Annabelle choked on the wine she sipped. She coughed, her eyes watering. Mike and Rich both came out of their chairs, racing to see who could give her the Heimlich maneuver first. She held up her hands to ward off both of them. “I’m fine.”
Rich didn’t seem the least bit guilty for embarrassing her. “Yeah, well, I heard Ben came running back to town as soon as he heard you were single again.”
“He had the trip scheduled. I can assure you, his visit has nothing to do with me. Ben is a lot of things, but he’s not the white knight type. Not that I need one. A white knight, that is.”
Rich nodded. “A-huh. Sure.”
She ignored Rich and touched Mike’s hand. “Ben is my boss and my friend. That’s all.”
Rich’s silence spoke volumes.
Annabelle shifted in her seat. “Mike. What do your parents do?”
“My mother is a court reporter.”
She smiled. “Wow. That must be interesting. My mom’s a housewife. She never worked outside the house.”
Rich continued. “Your mom and dad still together?”
Mike wiped his mouth on his napkin. “No, they’re not.”
“What’s your dad do?”
“He’s a doctor. A cardiologist. I’ve never met him.”
“Aren’t you curious about him?”
Mike shrugged. “Not really. I know everything I need to know about him. He was doing his residency when he and my mum were dating. They’d talked about getting married. He’d gone home for Easter when she found out she was pregnant. She was waiting for him to come back to tell him in person. You can imagine her shock when she saw the announcement of his engagement to someone else in the society pages. Her parents didn’t handle it well. She went back to Ireland to stay with her aunt and had me. We didn’t come back to the States until I was two. He doesn’t even know I exist, and that’s just fine with me.”
Rich wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Yeah, I see your point. So, are you a Met or Yankee fan?”
“Mets.”
“Islanders or Rangers?”
“Rangers, Giants, and Knicks.”
Rich nodded, the mood shifted, and Annabelle visibly relaxed. She seemed happy with him. He wasn’t sure who he was trying to impress more, Rich or Annabelle.
Mike knew enough about big brothers not to take the lack of trust and blatant skepticism personally, and it was cute the way Annabelle reacted to Rich. More bluster than bite, she did her share of eye rolling and shooting Rich dirty looks, but in the end, she seemed to appreciate he cared enough to make a pain in the ass of himself. Mike respected him for that, too, because of how protective he was of his own mother. He suspected worrying about a little sister would be worse, especially since Mum never dated.
After dinner and dessert, it became abundantly clear that Rich did not intend to leave before Mike did.
Annabelle stood, and Mike followed and began stacking dishes.
Annabelle couldn’t believe it. “No, that’s okay. I’ll take care of it.” Usually when men helped, all they helped with was making more work. Cleaning the kitchen was bad enough without any “help.”
“I insist. Just grab the wine, and let me clean up. It’s the least I can do after you cooked.”
Annabelle shrugged. She didn’t want to be rude. She took the wineglass, sat at the breakfast bar, and figured it’d be five minutes before she would be forced to take over.
She was wrong. Mike definitely knew his way around a kitchen. And Rich, the pig that he was, instead of leaving them alone, took up the rest of the space pretending to help. He all but forced her out of the room.
Mike sent her a wink and ordered Rich around like the incompetent helper he was. Unfortunately, Rich never got that. Mike threw a dish towel over his shoulder, rolled up the sleeves of his blue oxford shirt, and got down to some serious cleaning.
She really wished that Rich would leave. He quickly lost his feigned interest, and after five minutes, he disappeared from the kitchen, parked himself in front of the TV, and turned on a game. When he kicked off his shoes and asked for a beer, it became obvious he wasn’t going anywhere.
Annabelle brought the salad bowl in from the dining room and took a towel out of the drawer to start drying.
Mike stopped what he was doing, turned off the water, and took the towel out of her hands. “No you don’t. Why don’t you just refill your wine and keep me company?”
“Oh, um… okay.” Annabelle never realized what a turn-on it was to watch a man work in the kitchen. Maybe because she’d never seen one. Well, except for the chefs on TV. Emeril never did it for her, but Mike was a different story.
“Would you hand me those glasses?
Annabelle blinked and pulled herself out of her musings. “Sure.”
She passed them to him one by one as he washed them, taking care not to clink them around in the dish drain like most guys would. He methodically washed the dishes. He took his time and was thorough. Drying them well before replacing them in the cupboard.
“Mum and I always shared kitchen chores, cooking and cleaning up, but most of the time I’d do it. She always worked so hard.”
“That’s nice. In my house, Richie was the prince, and Papa was the king. Neither of them lifted a finger. Rosalie and I were expected to learn to be good homemakers. Neither of us ever met Mama’s high expectations.”
Mike laughed as he put his back into scrubbing the pasta pot. His shirt pulled taut across his back. He had really nice hands, and when he bent to put the pot away, she got to see his great butt again in a pair of faded 501s. She was tempted to give it a pat. Every now and then, he’d stop what he was doing, dry his hands, and turn his attention to her as if he could read her mind. When he wiped down the stove, the pendant light hanging there shone in his blond hair and showed off the contours of his muscled forearms. Annabelle showed Mike where the few things she’d used went. Every brush of his hand sent tingles shooting through her. The way he stood behind her and placed the wineglasses high in the cabinet above—his body flush against hers—seemed like a strange kind of foreplay. She’d never realized bumping into someone in the kitchen could be such a turn-on. By the time the last pot was dried and put away, she was practically panting.
He folded the towels and hung them on the door-pull of the refrigerator. “All done.”
When he turned, Annabelle made sure she was right in the way. “Thanks for helping.”
Mike swallowed, his arms came around her waist and pulled her close, right before he dipped his head to kiss her.
The man kissed like a dream. He wasn’t one of those come-at-you-with-his-tongue-sticking-out kissers, or the kind that thinks he’s got to grind his mouth into yours in order to show he’s enjoying himself. No, Mike was the perfect combination of soft but firm, hot but controlled, and oh man, he knew how to take his time. He kissed her as if he had all night, teasing her lips with his until she couldn’t stand it and grabbed him. The man knew how to follow her lead too, which earned him a full-frontal kiss. Yes, things were humming right along. Unfortunately, by the time they’d forgotten Rich, he was in the refrigerator getting another beer. Annabelle was so frustrated she wanted to scream, and Mike could do nothing but stand behind her.
Annabelle walked Mike to the door. “Thanks for coming. I’m sorry for… Well, you know.”
He waved good-bye to Rich and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll give you a call in a couple days.”
Annabelle was sure of two things. First, she’d never hear from Mike again. Second, Rich would never bother her on another date, since as soon as Mike was out of hearing range, she planned to kill Rich. Slowly and painfully.
She turned, only to find Rich had donned his jacket and had a hand on the doorknob. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere until after I’ve murdered you!”
“Come on. What did you expect me to do? Ma was going on and on about you having a date with a doctor. How did I know he wasn’t one of the assholes she always threw at you and Rosalie? I couldn’t take the chance you’d end up with a brainier version of Johnny DePalma.”
She didn’t even try to defend Johnny. He was an asshole. “Rich, just because you’re my big brother—”
“Look, I promise not to bother you again unless you start seeing someone else. Mike seems like a good guy. If I’d known he was Nick’s friend, I would have left you alone. But hey, he didn’t seem to mind the fact I horned in on your date.”
“Yeah, but I did. I minded a lot. I’ll be lucky if I ever hear from him again, thanks to you.”
Rich wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a bear hug. “Don’t worry, princess, he’ll call. The poor guy couldn’t keep his eyes off you. He’s got it bad.” He kissed her on both cheeks and then gave her a noogie before turning and walking out the door.
She changed into jogging gear. She definitely needed to let off some steam and sexual frustration.
Since he had nothing better to do and needed a distraction, Mike walked to his mother’s apartment. If he went home, he’d sit there thinking about Annabelle and all the things he wanted to do with her and to her.
The kiss he’d planted on her even before he said hello gave him pause, especially since he’d spent the whole trip over there lecturing himself. He was a doctor. He was known for his control and stability. That was before he met Annabelle Ronaldi. He saw his reflection in the glass door of his mother’s building and wondered what had changed.
He took the stairs to the third floor and let himself into his mother’s apartment without knocking, as if he’d never moved out. “Mum, I’m home.” He was brilliant. He wanted to keep from thinking about Annabelle, and he’d succeeded. There was absolutely no way he would think X-rated thoughts about anyone—even Annabelle—in the presence of his mother.
Colleen Flynn stepped out of the kitchen drying her hands. “Michael, what a nice surprise. Tell me, have you eaten your dinner yet?”
He gave her his obligatory hug and kiss and waited until she rubbed the lipstick off his cheek. “Yeah, I did. I was on my way home. I haven’t seen you in a while and thought I’d stop by.”
“You’ve got a night off, have you?”
“Two. I scheduled it so I could go to Nick’s wedding last night and wouldn’t have to be on call early this morning. I ended up at the hospital anyway.”
“When was the last time you had two days off in a row without going into the hospital or the office at all?”
He shrugged. He couldn’t remember.
She put the kettle on for tea and took a crumb cake out of the refrigerator. “Well, I’m glad you’re here for whatever reason. Not that you need a reason to come home. You know that, don’t you?”
Mike took the teacups and plates out of the cupboard. “I know, Mum.”
He put the crumb cake on top of the plates, and before taking the pile off the counter, he reached for a crumb and earned a hand slap.
“Michael Christopher Flynn, you know better than that. Now go set everything on the table while I make the tea.”
Mike sat at the table and watched his mother fix tea like he had a million times before. She glanced at him and smiled before measuring the tea leaves for the pot.
“You do look tired. Have you been working around the clock again, or didn’t you get any sleep after Nick’s wedding?”
“Both. You know how it is. I have to put in a lot of hours until I make partner, then things will slow down.”
“I’ve watched you push yourself since you were a boy. Pushing to get good grades, a scholarship, into medical school, the right residency, the right fellowship, and now partnership. When will you stop pushing and start living?”
“I’ll get some sleep tonight. I don’t have to be back in the hospital until early rounds tomorrow.”
She walked to the table and set the teapot on the hot plate.
Mike stood while she sat and then watched her pour the tea, fixing his the same way she had since he was a child.
“Ah, you were always a good boy, my Michael. I’m glad you’ll sleep tonight, but I’m more concerned with your life. Don’t you want more in your life than work?”
He drank his tea and almost choked on it as he remembered the way Annabelle looked sleeping in nothing but a garter. Yeah, he wanted more than work. A whole lot more. “I want more. I just don’t know if it’s the right time.”
“It’s never going to be the right time.” She took a bite of cake, sipped her tea, and placed her cup gingerly on the saucer. “You can’t plan when to have a life. You need to have a life and plan when to work. I was hoping you’d meet someone who would take your mind off work for a while. None of the women you’ve dated so far ever touched your heart.”
“I did meet someone at the wedding. Nick’s new sister-in-law.”
“Really? So does this girl have a name?”
“Annabelle Ronaldi. I had dinner with her tonight.” Mike dug into his coffee cake and washed it down with his tea. The cups were small, two good gulps and his was empty. He stared into his cup and watched as the tea leaves settled to the bottom.
“It didn’t go well?”
“No. It was fine. Why?”
“It’s early yet. If it went so well, why are you here?
“Her brother came by, and three was a crowd.”
“So, are you seeing her again?” She wiped the crumbs off the table with the side of her hand, caught them, and tossed them back on her plate.
Pictures of Annabelle in that sexy little dress she wore flashed like a slideshow through his mind. “I sure hope so.”
“Well, you best do something more than hope.” She picked up her teacup and took the last sip before stacking the plates and adding his cup to the pile. “Maybe you should call her and make a date before it gets much later.”
“I don’t want to look too anxious.”
She laughed. “You don’t have enough time to look too anxious. Call her and make another date. Oh, and it would help if you actually showed up for the date you make.”
Mike stood and carried the teapot into the kitchen and felt as if he got the bum’s rush. She gave him a kiss. “You go now, call that girl of yours, and then get some sleep.” She practically pushed him to the door and outside her apartment.
He stuck his hands in his pocket and thought about what she’d said. Maybe Mum did know best.
Annabelle took a five-mile run around the park until she was thoroughly exhausted. As she pulled her keys from the hidden pocket of her shorts, the streetlights flickered on. She was thankful the days were getting longer.
In the shower, she replayed her quasi-date with Mike for the hundredth time. She couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if Rich hadn’t shown up and ruined everything. Though, to be honest, it hadn’t looked as if Mike was interested in a repeat of the previous night minus the wedding, the champagne, and her drunkenness. Sheesh, she was a complete washout as a woman.
She wrapped her hair in a towel, smoothed lotion on her legs and arms, and tried to get her mind on anything other than Mike Flynn. She’d heard that wearing sexy lingerie made women feel better about themselves and their sexuality. She didn’t hold out much hope, but gave it a try. Anything would be better than feeling like a washout, so she slipped into a sexy, new red baby-doll nightie and matching lace itty-bitty boy shorts.
She couldn’t remember if she’d drawn the curtains, so she pulled on her short silk batik robe and enjoyed the tingle caused by the cool silk sliding over her sensitized skin. She’d probably stayed under the shower massage too long since she was daydreaming about Mike and the little she remembered about making love with him. Not that they made love. They had sex. It sure didn’t resemble what she and Chip had done together, which in her mind, wasn’t a bad thing. But her emotions weren’t involved. Not that they couldn’t be in the future, but really, for right now anyway, she just wanted the sex. A totally new thing for her.
Deciding to take her mind out of the gutter, she left her bedroom and poured herself a glass of wine before she curled up on the couch. She surfed through three hundred channels without finding one thing to watch.
Frustrated, she stomped to the den to check her email. She clicked on the email with “proofs” in the subject line. Great, since she’d planned the wedding and signed all the contracts, the photographer had her email address and sent her the link and password to the site where she could download the proofs. Annabelle forwarded the link to Nick and Rosalie, and since she had nothing better to do, she downloaded the pictures. There was a great picture of Nick and Mike. They could have been a couple of models with Nick in his tux and Mike in a beautiful suit. He had the air of a man who was just as comfortable in a suit as he was out of it. And from what she knew of him, it was true enough. There was a picture of him kneeling in front of her, sliding the garter up her thigh. The look in his eyes was the same he’d given her when he’d kissed her that afternoon. A picture of the two of them on the dance floor. They fit together so perfectly. And another of them dancing together with her looking up at him, laughing.
She closed down the website and stared blankly at her computer’s desktop. She couldn’t remember ever dancing with Chip. Annabelle lost herself in memories, something she had avoided the last two years. The screen saver of all the photos she’d stored on her computer ran like a slideshow of her life. She watched and wondered what would have been. A photo of Becca taken at the beach filled the screen. She was tall, thin, with long legs and a body most people have to spend a lifetime at the gym to achieve. Not Becca; she was active but never really worked out. It should be illegal to look that way without even trying. Annabelle shook her head. Becca’s short platinum blonde hair was perfectly wind-whipped. If Annabelle hadn’t taken the picture herself, she’d have sworn a photographer had set up a fan to give Becca the perfect look. Becca’s almost white hair along with the gorgeous tan she’d acquired in the two days they’d spent on the beach only highlighted her deep green eyes. She flashed her crooked smile, and Annabelle remembered them laughing at the antics of one of the Bethany Beach lifeguards who had been trying to catch Becca’s attention.
A picture of Becca and Chip taken before his cancer had returned appeared on the screen, and that’s when it hit her.
Mike’s smile seemed familiar because she’d seen the very same smile a thousand times.
Mike’s smile matched Becca’s.
Oh, shit.