Falling for Tyson

by Erica Breyer

  Andy frowned. “Well…I don’t think there’s a constellation named after you,” he replied. Nat frowned. “But there should be!” he shot back, redeeming himself. Nat reached forward and brushed a kiss against his cheek, and he pulled her closer for a moment. The movement was so smooth it seemed like they’d been practicing it.

  “Awww! If you guys don’t invite me to the wedding, you’re totally off my Christmas card list,” said Cassie. The pair shot each other a sidelong glance.

  “And if I don’t get my training invite, I’ll make you sit at the kids’ table!” said Andy smoothly.

  ‘Oh. My. God!’ Cassie mouthed at Nat, who smiled at her and winked.

  Chapter 8

  Tyson ran a hand through his hair, glanced quickly in the rearview mirror, and slid out of the low-slung car. He made his way through the foyer of the building, past a gaping security guard who signed him in, and then bounded up the stairs. She was only a couple of flights up, and it would do him good to burn off some nervous energy before he got there. She opened the door on his first knock, and he took a second to get his wits about him.

  No pinstripe suit today. No sweats either. Cassie was in a pink dress. Little capped sleeves hugged the edges of her shoulders. Her neck and collarbones were bare, aside from where dark curls tumbled. His face broke into a smile without him realizing it…a bright, unrehearsed smile. It must have been a good one because she answered it with her own, and for a second, they stood in silence, taking each other in. It was a good feeling. Not awkward or creepy. No labels or expectations. Just a man and a woman, enjoying a warm wash of pure animal magnetism.

  Was it too soon to push her back into that apartment and—?

  “Hi,” she said, and he reeled himself in.

  “Hi,” he replied. “You look…great.” The word didn’t seem to cover it.

  “Thanks,” she said, looking down at her hands for a moment, then turning slightly. “You…um…you look…” He could tell she’d lost the sense of ease as her eyes trailed over his navy button-down shirt and black jeans. Lingering on the jeans…

  “You all set?” he said, glancing over her shoulder. If she invited him in right now, there was a good chance they’d never get to lunch.

  “Yip,” she answered, abruptly reaching for her purse and locking the door behind her. He found himself fighting down a surge of disappointment…because he still had that damn hound-dog panting in the dark recesses of his mind.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of his car, and he opened the passenger door quickly for her to get in. The black Maserati had been branded with his gym logo – orange flames encircled a grinning orange skull on the bonnet. The manufacturers had probably wept over it, but that was tough. Although somehow now he wished it wasn’t so overt – damn car was a mobile advertisement that said things about him that were just all wrong. Cassie never said anything, settling into the front seat as he shut the door behind her.

  “Italian okay?” he asked as they pulled out onto the road. He cast a look in her direction, catching the curve of her cheek, her jawline, her perfectly straight nose. God, she was beautiful…

  “Sure,” she said, smiling. “I love pasta…not surprisingly. Maybe a little too much.” He frowned, and she shifted in her seat. She was picking out landmarks as they drove. “We’re heading back toward the gym?”

  “Not quite, but nearby,” he replied. “I never realized just how close you were. I’m glad.” He stopped then added, “That it’s convenient for you, I mean.”

  “Yeah…no excuse to skip class,” she said wryly. “Do you live near here too?”

  He nodded. “Few blocks over from the club. Makes life easier if I can cut the commute. Not that it’s much of a commute,” he chuckled. “If I don’t jog across, I normally bike.”

  Cassie nodded. She’d noticed the chrome and black Harley outside the front door when she’d been in. Had trailed a fingertip over the gleaming metal when nobody was watching.

  “Kinda funny that we’re virtually neighbors and never even knew it,” she said. “Though I guess I’ve only lived here for a few months.”

  “Yeah?” he said. “Move around a lot?” The car smelled of leather, roses, and warm woman. He was never getting it detailed again.

  “No, actually I rented for years. I got a decent promotion a while ago and decided it was time to get my own apartment,” she explained. “It’s not a palace, but it’s mine.” Tyson aimed another quick look at her. He was impressed. The area had hit a bit of an urban renewal boom after he’d bought into it a couple of years back. The warehouse he’d taken over had been a mess, which was great from an investment perspective because he’d snapped it up for a fraction of its current value. Initially, he’d thought of turning it into a training studio. Then the space had grown on him, and he’d had it converted into what Maxwell joked was the world’s biggest bachelor pad; raw brick, metal, double-volume – all the bells and whistles; he’d even fitted in a full-size work-out area.

  Cassie’s apartment block was high-end and well-maintained. It may not be a palace, but it wasn’t humble by any means.

  Career woman.

  The thought was at once intimidating…and utterly compelling. They’d reached the parking bay of the restaurant, and he slipped nimbly around the front of the car to open her door. She slid out and took his hand when he reached forward to help her out, looking for all the world like a silver-screen star stepping onto a red carpet. The brush of their fingers was electric, but she didn’t pull away. He kept his fingers curled around hers as they headed to the front door. He was feeling like the kid who’d just convinced the prettiest girl in class to go to Prom with him. Twenty minutes in, and this was already panning out to be the best date of his life.

  “Buongiorno, Signore! Welcome, welcome!” the restaurant manager greeted them with an effusive display of Italian hospitality. He was a slightly older man, in his late forties, Tyson guessed, with dark eyes, olive skin, and ebony hair that was graying at the temples. Tyson imagined he thought of himself as a bit of a player. The guy took Tyson’s hand in both of his and shook it warmly, then turned to Cassie and stepped closer.

  “Ahh… Salve, Signora!” he gushed, reaching for her hand and raising it to his lips. “Sei bellisima...bellisima! You are most welcome to my humble restaurant.” He’d completely switched his attention from Tyson, who felt himself bristling. “Such a rare pleasure for you to grace us with your beauty,” the man continued. He still had his lips to Cassie’s hand, and Tyson set his jaw. He was dotting kisses over the back of Cassie’s hand, and she was looking around in embarrassment.

  ‘Easy, tiger, get your lips off my—' He stopped his thoughts in their tracks, cleared his throat, trying to sound discrete and failing. The sound came out like a low snarl. The man glanced up and dropped Cassie’s hand abruptly, stepping away. Tyson was leaning forward, chin out, fingers curling slightly, not quite fists yet, but…

  “Of course, of course, your table…it is ready,” the manager maintained his aplomb, but there was a slight quaver to his voice. The red-blooded male knew he’d wandered into dangerous territory. He raised a hand and waved over at another man, who joined them quickly. “This is my baby brother, Mario. He will take very good care of you today.” He risked a wink at Cassie, and Tyson wondered if he had a death wish.

  “Good afternoon,” Mario said in accented English. He looked like a younger version of the manager, and Tyson could see where the older guy got his attitude. Dark good looks clearly ran in the family. Fortunately, this one had better manners. He extended an arm and gestured towards the dining area. “Please. Come with me,” he said, his voice smoky and sensual.

  ‘Crap,’ he thought. ‘Next time, I’m taking her for sushi.’ Tyson reached for Cassie’s hand and closed his fingers around it firmly, tugging her towards his side. She shot him a look but didn’t say anything. These jerks were making him go all Neanderthal. By the time they were seated, he was pretty sure he’d grown two inches and could h
ear muscles popping and straining. As Mario set menus on the table in front of them, Tyson made a concerted effort to relax.

  “Take your time to go over the menu,” said the waiter, “I can bring you the wine list if you desire.” He lingered over the word ‘desire’, then added, “Or we have a very good house wine if you prefer?”

  “We’ll take it,” Tyson answered abruptly. He wasn’t giving the bastard any more chances to use his smarmy, sexy-assed voice on Cassie. ‘Jerk.’ Mario nodded and moved off in the direction of the kitchen. Cassie glanced around the restaurant, which was low-lit and intimate. Just as Tyson had hoped. Only a few other tables were occupied, and Mario had returned at the speed of light. Tyson suspected they were going to receive the royal treatment today. Cassie looked over at him as Mario filled her glass – taking too damn long in Tyson’s opinion. If he caught the man staring down her cleavage, he was going to kick his ass. Cassie was completely unaware of the effect she had on these idiots. It was amazing to him.

  “So, do you…um…” Cassie started then began laughing.

  “Do I what?” Tyson asked as Mario poured wine into his glass. Somehow he managed that fairly quickly. ‘Asshole!’ he thought.

  “I was going to ask if you come here often, but just realized how cheesy it sounded,” Cassie kept laughing. He was enchanted by the sound. So was Mario, who was loitering beside their table. Tyson raised an eyebrow and threw him a baleful stare. The man scuttled away quickly.

  “Sure,” he turned back to Cassie. “It’s close to the gym, and the guys like to carbo-load.” He shook his head. It wasn’t entirely true. Most of his guys carried their meals around in countless plastic tubs – a pungent combination of tuna and boiled egg half the time. But the pasta here was excellent. “Try the alfredo,” he suggested. “It’s great.”

  “Hmm,” Cassie pondered, raising a finger to her lip and nibbling slightly. He tried not to stare. “So much cream…I don’t know…”

  “Have it,” he insisted, “you’ll love it.” He was going to get the gnocchi and pay penance with an extra half hour on his next run. The sponsors hated it when he picked up weight. But more importantly, it made him slow. She still looked hesitant.

  “Tell you what,” he said, “let’s start with the house salad – it’s so big we can share it. Then whatever pasta you don’t finish, we can take home.” She finally nodded. Her relationship with food really was rocky. Or maybe it was just because he was going to be watching her eat. He looked up to see Mario and the manager watching them attentively. Or pretending that’s what they were doing. Mario skipped forward as he caught his eye. The manager was close on his heels. ‘Really?’ thought Tyson. ‘There are only two of us; what are you planning? Silver service?’

  He gave their orders in short, sharp sentences, giving no openings for Mario to do any more crooning. The man must have caught the hint because he merely nodded before heading back to the kitchen. The manager followed him reluctantly, clearly crestfallen at not having a chance to tell them the specials.

  “I love Italian,” said Cassie, taking the initiative with the conversation for a change. Tyson smiled. He always felt a little as if he was coaxing information from her.

  “I thought you would,” he said. “It’s in your genes, right?” She looked confused for a moment. “You said you were Italian…were you born there?”

  “Oh!” she answered, seeming sheepish. “No, my grandmother is Italian…on my father’s side. He came to the States as a young man and met my mother. I was born here.”

  “But you still speak Italian?” he pressed.

  She twisted her mouth, wryly. “Sadly, no,” she said. “I guess I did, a little, as a kid. My grandmother still speaks it. Refuses to speak English…she’s so stubborn.” She laughed. “But I’ve lost most of it now. I only have enough to read a menu. Spaghetti! Fettucine! Panna cotta!” She said in an exaggerated Italian accent. “Oh, and I can also say, ‘Mia nonna è Italiana!’” Tyson noticed Mario’s head pop up and hoped the asshole wasn’t going to find an excuse to come back. “It means ‘My grandmother is Italian’,” Cassie continued. “She’ll never let me forget how to say that!” She grinned, and Tyson felt his lips tug upwards.

  “But your accent…it’s not American,” he continued. It had intrigued him from the start.

  “Accent?” she said, looking a little perplexed. “Oh…yeah, I suppose. But not for any real reason. I went to a private boarding school as a teen. It might have been that. All very proper, don’t you know.” She pulled a face. She’d met Nat there, the daughter of a British engineer who’d come to the States on a contract and never left. Nat’s ‘sweeties’ and ‘darlings’ peppered so much of their conversations that Cassie didn’t even think about it anymore.

  “Boarding school? That must have been…interesting,” said Tyson. He’d always thought of it as a place parents sent impossible teens. Though he half wished he’d been sent to one. His relationship with his stepfather may have been less turbulent.

  “I loved it, actually,” Cassie was saying. “It was a haven of stability. And probably just what I needed to keep me on track. I’m a bit of a disaster zone if I don’t have structure.” He found it hard to believe. She seemed so…together.

  She must have known what he was thinking. “I’m not good at self-discipline,” she said, “I have to force myself to be organized…so I probably overcompensate.” She grinned wryly.

  Mario had arrived with their salad, and he set it on the table between them. He didn’t linger this time – Tyson had picked up a fork and was holding it like a weapon. A sharp one. Cassie picked up her own and speared a piece of cheese, popping it into her mouth and chewing for a moment.

  “Are you close to them? Your family?” he asked. She shrugged slightly.

  “Not really,” she said. “I’m an only child, so you’d think we’d be close, but my mom and I are so different. Though we get together regularly. My dad passed years ago.”

  “Oh…I’m sorry.” He felt awkward. Great start to a first date.

  “No, it’s okay,” she reassured him. “I’d lost touch with him after my parents divorced. He was a bit of a gypsy, always moving around. We moved house more times than I can remember before they split up. I imagine it’s why I enjoyed boarding school so much. Nice to be in one place and call it home, you know?” Tyson knew. He’d never really understood the meaning of the word ‘home’ until he’d bought his first place. His stepfather had paid all the bills and never let him forget it. The day he’d moved out was like being released from captivity.

  “Anyhow, what about you?” Cassie interrupted his thoughts. “Are you close to your family? Got any brothers or sisters?” The conversation may have been mundane on the surface, but Tyson was hooked. He wanted to know everything there was to know about this woman. But he wasn’t getting away with not sharing too.

  She’d reached for her glass and taken a sip. A drop of red wine rested on her full lower lip, and she licked it off. He was staring at her mouth. ‘Stop it!’ He picked up his own glass.

  “Nope,” he said. “Just me. And my mom. I never knew my real father. He left when I was still in diapers.” Cassie laughed at the image, though there was a warmth in her eyes that told him she knew it must have been hard. “Mom said he had hopes of being a boxer, so I guess that explains the name. They were both very young. Probably wouldn’t have married if it wasn’t for me.” He stopped and raised his glass to his mouth. Cassie watched him as intently as he had watched her.

  “She remarried when I was about two or three…but it didn’t last long. He wasn’t,” he paused and pulled a face, “I guess he wasn’t rich enough. ‘Mother’ always had…aspirations. She met Barry a couple of years later – she was involved in an interior design project for one of his resorts. The guy is loaded, and my mother was hooked. So, that was the end of Number Two. I can’t quite remember when she and Barry tied the knot – he had to send his previous wife packing first. Anyway, I think I was five? Maybe si
x?” She nodded for him to continue, dark eyes soft. It made him feel like he could tell her…stuff.

  “Barry never liked me much. Can’t say I blame him. I was never the cute and cuddly type. Just someone else’s brat he had to feed. Plus, I was a bit of a brawler as I got older…kept getting into street-fights. Eventually, I joined a fight club and cleaned up my act. Or at least made it legal,” he grimaced, and she smiled.

  “Bit of a wayward teen, huh?” she asked gently, tracing a fingertip around the rim of her glass. “So, no ‘steppies’ from the new husband?”

  Tyson shook his head. “My mother was still young when they met – she’d had me when she was about twenty. But she had no plans to add any more kids to the brood. I’d already given her enough stretch marks, she always said. Probably wouldn’t have had me at all if she’d done it again. I guess I was a mistake.” He stopped talking, took a bigger mouthful of wine.

  Cassie reached across the table and put her hand over his. “I don’t think you’re a mistake.” Her voice was soft. Tyson felt his heart clench, and for a moment, he was lost in her eyes. Those huge, beautiful, doe eyes… He swallowed a lump in his throat and gave a tight smile, his fingers twining through hers. She had the longest, thickest lashes he’d ever—