New York Minute

by Melinda Dozier

  She moaned and wiggled with every taste, so much so that he was harder by her second bite. He wanted to take her on the table with her every breath, but he wasn’t an animal. He needed to prove he was a civilized gentleman. Their time would come … he looked at his watch … in two, maybe three more hours.

  “I’ve had sangria before, but none of the tapas. They’re delicious.”

  “So are you, Vero.” He claimed her mouth, a taste to get him through to the next round. She tasted of red wine and oil from the pincho. A perfect appetizer for him—woman, wine, and his sexual wonderings. “Don’t get too full. We have more to devour.”

  Her lids lowered and she inhaled. “Mmm. I want to devour you.”

  Shit. How could he be gentlemanly when she turned him on like that? Reaching closer, he nuzzled her ear. “Not yet, but I do admit that sounds nice, too. Next we move on to an Italian dinner.”

  “Italian in a Spanish restaurant?”

  “No, querida, we’re having a progressive dinner. You haven’t visited the world, so I bring the world to you. One dish at a time.” His hand grazed her back, up and down, her long, dark hair tickling his fingers.

  He enjoyed her surprise—her blinking eyes, the pink dots that rose on her cheeks.

  “Wait. We’re visiting the world in restaurants?”

  “Yes. I want to help you make your dream come true. I told you it could happen, one way or another.” He furrowed his brows. “Which reminds me … it’s strange you haven’t left your country, being a fashion buyer and all that. Macy’s doesn’t send you on trips?”

  “Oh, well, usually they send customers to me or we speak on the phone.” She squirmed in her seat, her tight dress raising an inch more. “Anyway, let’s not talk business. What place has been your favorite to visit?”

  He could barely concentrate on an answer as he stared at her bare legs under the table. “Uh, I really love Portugal. There’s amazing food, breathtaking beaches, and mountains, too.”

  “What do they eat there?” She flipped another olive in her mouth and sucked on it as he tried to answer.

  “Fish … and if you don’t stop tempting me, I’m going to seriously take you on the table.”

  She licked her lips stealthily, like a tigress, and scooted her body closer to his. Their knees were touching, and just the feel of her fingers on his thigh made him feel like the skewer resting on the empty plate. Her lips searched his, and she kissed him with a hunger. Her hands touched his face and neck and crawled down his arms, grabbing his biceps.

  As she pulled back, she sucked his bottom lip and smiled. “Planning an evening like this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  Fuck. Forget dinner. He wanted her now. “I think that was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  She chuckled and even her laugh turned him on. His hand roamed the bottom of her dress, edging its way up before a waiter cleared his throat. Veronica’s eyes opened wide and she jerked away—leaving him empty. She gulped down her sangria while avoiding eye contact as the waiter cleared away empty plates.

  “Later, Vero.” With a laugh, Diego stood and held his hand out to her. “For now, Italy is waiting.”

  • • •

  Veronica had a hard time speaking as she and Diego followed the sidewalk. Just the feel of him, with his hand at her side and the warmth of his shoulder touching her, excited her to the core. Most men bought her a simple dinner or a movie and it ended with that.

  Tonight was a dream. The complete opposite of anything and everything she’d ever experienced or expected. The way Diego moved, watched her, flirted in that sexy accent filled her head with hope for more—more excitement, more fun, more than just a night or weekend. She knew that was crazy, though. She couldn’t have more than a few weekends. Her mother had reminded her of that just that morning.

  Besides, she lived a lie with him. A big one. She was far from being Sexy Vero. Plus, she hated the fact he kept bringing up her profession—or her pretend profession—but she did her best to pull his thoughts away from his questions. It was no big deal, right? Their relationship wouldn’t last, even if she wished the thousandth wish from her fairy godmother. It. Couldn’t. Happen.

  “You sure you’re okay walking a few blocks to our next destination?”

  “As long as you’ll hold me.”

  “Baby, I’ll hold you anywhere.” His hand grazed up her arm and stroked her shoulder, like she belonged to him. Pure bliss.

  “So, Italy?” Words finally came to her. “I’ve always wanted to visit Venice, ride in those little boats and hear ‘O Solo Mio.’”

  “I have a better song for you. Wait and see.”

  “The song you were writing this morning?” Was it only this morning he strummed his guitar in the loft, singing words too low to catch them? “How did it turn out?”

  “Exactly how I wanted it to.” He steered her around a corner, his large hand skimming her back.

  They walked past Vedici’s and Itallisimo’s. Veronica had visited Little Italy, of course, but she had never anticipated it as she did with Diego. The looks he gave her, the touches that sent her to heaven and back, the romantic evening he’d planned in advance spoke louder than anything she had ever experienced. He brought adventure and life to whatever they did.

  “There’s the place.” He pointed ahead of them.

  Il Costile’s sign lit up against the dark sky. Once inside, soft piano music played and Diego spoke to the host near the door. He still didn’t take his hand off her, which thrilled her too much.

  The host led them to a table within the picturesque restaurant, which looked like a courtyard, yet it was all inside. About ten tables were arranged around the room, creating small nooks. In the back stood a small stage with two stools and a microphone. Flowers sat in vases everywhere, creating a pleasant aroma. Veronica would’ve bent over to smell the nearest ones, but then Diego would detach himself from her, and his closeness was more appealing.

  He pulled out a chair for her, and he sat in the closest one to her. The waiter placed their napkins on each of their laps and whispered something in Diego’s ear. Once he was gone, Diego grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered ahead of time. The waiter will bring it shortly.”

  She arched an eyebrow. Ahead of time? How much planning did all this take? “Do you know the owner?”

  “Something like that.” He winked and sat back as the waiter arrived with a bottle of red wine. Diego smelled and tasted it, then approved his choice. “Drink. You’ll like it.”

  He was right. The hearty, fruity flavor lingered on her tongue well after she took her first sip. “This is all too much.”

  “Now, close your eyes.”

  “What?” She giggled. “Why?”

  “Vero, do it,” he teased, his hand stroking her arm in those mini-circles he was so good at doing. The dark, dreamy look in his eyes made her close hers. “Imagine you’re in Venice. You step off the gondola onto the port. Walk along the mini cobblestone pathway to the dilapidated building with a sign saying Il Costile. Inside is a different story; it’s a quaint restaurant, with warmth spread everywhere. The aroma of the tomatoes simmering in the kitchen hits you as you enter.”

  Veronica actually sniffed the air, and again he was right. She clenched her hand on her wineglass and closed her eyes tighter. The man had a way with words … and a great imagination. Where else could that lead?

  “We sit. Hold hands.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Outside, the water is swishing around in small waves. There’s laughter in every corner and conversation in Italian. Buon divertimento. Vivo solo per i tuoi baci … Do you feel it?”

  She sighed. She heard it. She tasted it. She felt it. Nodding, she tilted her head back to imagine more.

  “That’s Italy, Vero,” he said in her ear.

  She licked her lips. Whatever he said. His Argentinean accent did wonders to her libido. “Mmm. Yes.”

  Before she knew it,
Diego nipped her ear and whispered, “I want you wearing that smile the next time you’re underneath me.”

  Her eyes opened—wide, wide open—and his sexy smile greeted her. “Oh, I …”

  His finger stroked her cheek. “Shhh.” He kissed her, then straightened, his hands in his lap. He smirked, seeming to know damn well how much he affected her. “Drink. I’ll be right back.”

  He approached a man in a fancy suit, who beamed during their conversation. The two shook hands. What was Diego up to now? She looked next to her as a waiter walked by, and when she glanced back where Diego had been, he was gone.

  A guitar strummed from the back and she gaped at the stage. She almost choked on her wine when Diego tapped the microphone. Sitting on one of the stools, he strummed the guitar strings gently. His eyes searched her face, reaching into her thoughts. “This song is for my beautiful lady.”

  Oh. God. Her heart hammered from the way he pronounced beautiful—like it was three words.

  A small applause erupted behind her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He continued to stroke his guitar, but his eyes didn’t leave hers either. The chords and melody echoed off the walls in a beautiful pattern, but she couldn’t focus on it. My lady, he’d said. She shouldn’t feel so happy by his choice of words, but she did. Did it mean anything? Was she his only? How could a well-known musician be into her?

  His long fingers mesmerized her—the ones that hadn’t left her body practically all night. Now they stroked the strings, pricking and prodding, forming delicate sounds. Just like his touches. Delicate. Light. Comforting. He didn’t sing any words, but he spoke to her from the music. He was playing for her, for Christ’s sake. In public. In a restaurant. In the middle of their made-up Venice.

  Could her life stimulation get any better?

  When he finished playing and the applause died down, his eyes told her the answer. Yes. This could get better. He offered her everything she thought she’d never have. Fun. Adventure. Life. Love.

  No. Not love … lust? She didn’t know, but something kicked at her heart. She’d damn well figure it out. And soon, because her man was leaving for Miami in four days.

  • • •

  Veronica angled closer to Diego as they walked out of “Venice.” She’d consumed three glasses of wine, along with a homemade scallop fettuccini. A little lightheaded, she laid her head on his shoulder. His hand circled around her body, lighting her on fire in more ways than he probably knew.

  He bent, his large hand rubbing her hip, and whispered into her ear, “Are you cold?”

  “Not next to you.” She slithered closer to him.

  His arm reached around her shoulders, grabbing her tighter.

  A sexy chuckle tickled her ear. “Dessert in France awaits. You’re okay to walk five blocks?”

  Her hand roamed down and pinched his perfect butt. “France? Oui, oui, mon cherie.”

  His other hand tapped her on her nose. “You’re a little tipsy, my lady.”

  Every touch, every motion turned her on even more. To hell with France. She wanted Diego now. She stopped walking and when Diego raised an eyebrow, she grabbed his lapels and pushed him against the store window behind them. “Let’s have dessert at your place.” She brushed her body against his, his hardness hitting her in the right spot, and kissed him. When his hands stroked her and pulled her closer, her control disappeared. She pushed him harder, writhing in his arms, and moaned his name.

  His fingers grazed her neck under her hair and excited her to the core. “Believe me, there’s nothing more I want than to take you to bed, but the world awaits. Patience.”

  “All this waiting … it charges my body. I’m a ticking time bomb, and I’m about to detonate.”

  His hands cupped her face and he pulled her to him. His firm lips explored hers. Veronica’s hands searched inside his jacket, where his muscles were evident through his shirt. She moved her fingers to his five o’clock shadow that had scrubbed into her chin. The roughness turned her on more. When her hand lingered down to fit his hardness in her palm, he pulled back with heavy breaths.

  “We could take the pastries home.”

  Ah, now they were getting somewhere. She pressed her forehead to his, inhaling his scent. So manly. “Exactly my thoughts.”

  “Come on. We’ll get a cab. It’ll be faster.” He ran his hand down his face.

  She peeked. His pants had tightened around the glorious part that she would soon take in all the ways she’d fantasized about every night since that damn wedding. She whistled to the cab that drove by and it stopped.

  He smirked as he opened the cab door. “Persistence pays off.”

  She smacked his butt as she glided into the backseat. “You better believe it.”

  • • •

  The air sizzled around them as they finally walked into Diego’s loft, and the sexual tension dripped from every crevice of their bodies. Every touch, every feel, every look practically induced an orgasm. She’d explode if she didn’t have him soon.

  Diego shut the door behind her, then paused for two seconds, looking at her from head to foot. With a deep breath, he walked toward the kitchen, the pastry bag dangling in his hand. “Let me put these down.”

  “Forget the damn pastries.” She scrambled behind him, grabbed his muscled shoulder, and turned him around. “Push me against this wall and have your way with me. Now. In every way.”

  “Fuck yeah.” He dropped the pastry bag to the floor, not looking even once to see if it opened or made a mess. He pulled her to his body, his strong hands rubbing her back, and savaged her mouth. Moans and groans from them both fell across the room. He swirled Veronica around so that her back was against the wall, not his. “So fucking beautiful.” He tangled her long hair in his hand and tugged it down, forcing her chin up and head back. His lips sucked and nipped her neck. His tongue lingered in every corner of her body.

  She didn’t want this to stop. Ever. “Yes, Diego.”

  He picked up her legs and yanked them around his waist. He pushed his body into hers more, squeezing air out of her chest. The roughness turned her on more and she continued to scream out his name. She was never a screamer, but Diego brought out the best in her.

  “Estás tan jodidamente hermosa.” Pushing his body into hers tightly so she couldn’t fall, he grabbed her hands and pulled them high, joining his with hers. He gyrated into her, his hardness pressing against her center.

  “Tell me more.” She sucked his earlobe. “Speak Spanish.”

  He bit her chin, then his tongue trailed lower to her neck and her collarbone, all while he muttered those beautiful-sounding words. God, she wished she’d paid more attention in high school Spanish class.

  “Sueño con estar contigo de esta manera. Saboreándote. Sintiéndote. El aire que respiro es una parte de ti.”

  His hands roamed farther down, around her upper thighs, feeling her round cheeks aching for him. A slow caress massaged close to her bikini strings. “Dios mío, ¿qué más se puede hacer para mí?”

  She pushed into him as his fingers stroked her core through her underwear. She couldn’t take it anymore; she wanted to be as close as possible to him. She forced her legs away from his waist, standing on tiptoe. “Tear them off.”

  He knelt on the floor. She loved how his eyes spoke, their sensual message plain and simple. One large, callused hand held her belly against the wall and the other pulled her dress up to her waist. Veronica brought her hands down to his hair, intertwining every stray piece with her fingers.

  A whisper fell from his lips, a breath cascading across her intimate parts, causing her legs to wobble like jelly. Good thing he held her. “I want to taste you in every way. Starting with the best part of you.” His fingers slid into the elastic of her bikini, stroking back and forth on her skin. Her knees jerked together, clutching his head between. A small chuckle erupted and he pulled her knees apart. “Sólo un momento, cariño.”

  She grabbed at his jacket, bending over enough t
o roll it off his shoulders. “You. Naked. Now.”

  He held her butt with one hand, fondling her again. “You first.” Then he snatched the string of her bikini in one hand and jerked it off her body.

  She nipped at his neck and her tongue lingered in the corners of his ears. No one had ever acted so boldly with her before. Fuck yeah was right.

  Soon his tongue and mouth were on her, his hands pulling her body away from the wall to his mouth. He encircled her every nerve, feeding every sense. His groans sent a spark through her body, and the flip of his tongue made her come in ten seconds flat. All her pent-up energy eased with one lick. She vibrated against him in mini-convulsions that went on for much longer than she had ever experienced.

  This man was too much.

  Finally, Diego skimmed his hand up her leg and rested it on her back. His face appeared and he kissed her long and hard, her own salty taste in her mouth. He leaned back and smirked. “Fucking amazing, cariño.”

  “Yeah, for me. It’s your turn.” She jerked the buttons on his dress shirt open and threw it to the side. She sighed—she’d never tire of looking at this chiseled man.

  “What’s that look for?” His eyes searched her face.

  “I don’t know much Spanish, but what I see is muy bueno.”

  His laugh caused her to smile as big as he did.

  “You’re sexy and cute at the same time, cariño.”

  “Keep calling me that.” She grabbed his hand and led him toward the stairs to the bedroom. “I like it.”

  “Call you what? Sexy?”

  “Cariño. It’s sounds very sophisticated.”

  “Baby, you’re more than sophisticated. You’re enticing.” He grabbed his jeans in the front. “I want you so much it hurts.”

  “Then let’s get upstairs and entice some more.” She reached for his belt and pulled him closer, biting his lip and kissing it. “I want you to kiss me, cuddle me, feel me …” She pulled him up several steps. “Then I want you to fuck the hell out of me.”