The Devil Served Tortellini

by Shirley Jump

  Their mouths were on fire against one another, teasing and nipping, pulling and giving. His hands reached up and tugged the silky straps of her bra down her shoulders, allowing her breasts to spill forward against his chest.

  She leaned back and he paused in his kiss long enough to look at the glorious figure before him. "You are incredible," he said. "A perfect woman."

  "I'm not-"

  "Going to negate my compliment," he interrupted, a finger to her lips. "Everything about you is beautiful and perfect and pleasing. And if I don't make love to you right now, I think I will regret it for the rest of my life."

  "If you don't make love to me right now, I'll make sure you regret it," she said with a grin.

  Then she reached for his belt buckle.

  And his brain turned to mush.

  Maria's Too-Sweet-to-Be-Good-for-You Mascarpone and Berries

  l pound raspberries

  cup confectioners' sugar

  8 ounces mascarpone cheese

  6 ounces plain yogurt

  1 pound strawberries, hulled

  Anything this delectable has to be bad for you. But it looks too good to resist, so why not make it better? I'rrree half the raspberries with the sugar and set aside. Mix the cheese and the yogurt until your willpower is r ompletely gone and your conscience has fallen silent.

  Spread the raspberry sauce on a plate, then top with ;r rnini-mountain of mascarpone and a pile of strawberries. Be careful ... this is the kind of indulgence that leads to many, many more.

  CHAPTER 25

  Maria woke up to regrets and mascarpone cheese on toast, with plump, ripe strawberries on the side.

  Dante stood beside her bed, a tray filled with the breakfast delight in his hands. "Good morning."

  In the light of day, she should know better. He wasn't (lie kind of man she should involve herself with. For one, he was clearly domesticated. Domesticated men tended to like commitments, women who waited at home, with a smile on their faces and a dinner in the oven.

  "Where'd this come from?" she asked, indicating the breakfast.

  He lowered himself to the space beside her and she rolled a little to the side, clutching the sheet to her naked torso. Dante kicked off his shoes and laid his legs down the length of the bed. "Not from your kitchen," he said with a laugh. "You have the emptiest refrigerator I've ever seen."

  "I'm on a diet."

  He shook his head. "You're crazy. You were already perfect when I met you."

  "So what'd you do? Call some strawberry delivery service?"

  "No. I woke up before you, got dressed and ran down to the corner market. It's not much, but I figured you wouldn't be all that hungry." He grinned. "Yet."

  "It looks delicious. But ... I shouldn't." "There you go again, resisting me." "You're the type of man I should resist." "And why is that?"

  "Because you want everything I don't want."

  "Oh, yeah?" He leaned closer, a strawberry in his hands, inches from her mouth. "And how do you know what you really want unless you've tried everything on the menu?"

  She swallowed the breath in her throat. "I've done the sampler platter. That's enough for me."

  "Ah, you must have had a bad chef." "The worst."

  "Maybe one who can actually cook would change your mind."

  She shook her head. "I'm pretty stubborn."

  "Last night didn't sway you at all?"

  "Last night was ... last night. It's morning now and-"

  "That changes nothing. Except ... it's time for replenishment." He grinned and swiped the strawberry in his hands across the mascarpone, then dangled the cheese-dipped treat over her mouth. "Try this."

  She put up a hand. "Oh, no."

  "Why not?"

  "It's too good."

  He arched a brow. "Too good?"

  "I eat one bite of that and before I know it, I'm standing in Guido's, devouring the entire counter."

  "Kind of like when you got one look at my chest, huh?"

  "You are too full of yourself."

  "You weren't too full of me last night." He teased along her lip with the strawberry. "Not the first time. Or the second time."

  "The third time was all your idea."

  His laughter came from deep in his gut. "So it was. Well, after all that, you need some sustenance."

  The mascarpone smelled heavenly. She licked her lips kind caught a dab on her tongue. Oh ... it tasted like sweet paradise. One bite wouldn't kill her. And strawberries were healthy. She opened her mouth and took a nibble.

  Then another. Then a third. And with that, the succulent berry was gone.

  It was always like this when she was around Dante. One bite led to a second and before she could stop herself, she was in too deep.

  'Wasn't that good?" he asked, and before she could respond, he had another berry at her mouth.

  "Uh-huh," she said. "I hear, though, that eating alone is what ruins diets."

  "Oh, I didn't plan on you dining alone." Dante put the tray on the nightstand, stood and pulled off his shirt. Damn. He looked good topless. She'd barely no(iced yesterday. The minute her hands had met his chest, every neuron in her brain began firing on high, like a machine gun stuck on obliterate.

  He unbuttoned his pants and tossed them onto the armchair. Damn. He looked good bottomless too, but before she could drink it all in, he'd climbed under the sheet with her. His body against hers was warm and comlorting, like a blanket she'd had for years.

  And yet, there was something else, something intensely sexual that built in intensity the minute his skin touched hers.

  "You know," Dante said, nuzzling at her neck. "I like nice, round numbers."

  Maria tipped her head back, giving him better access to her neck. Well ... if she was going to do something bad for her, she might as well do it right. She'd think about all the reasons why he was wrong for her later. Much, much later.

  "Me, too," she murmured. "And four is a nice, even number."

  "It is, indeed. You have a little-" He leaned forward and kissed the cheese off her lips.

  By the time she came up for air again, she and Dante had eaten all of the mascarpone and tasted every inch of each other.

  She'd managed to blow every resolution she'd made in the last few weeks in a thirty-minute time span. But for once, she wasn't as worried about the calories as she was about what Dante was doing to her heart.

  Rebecca's Get Yourself-Out-of-a Jam Cookies

  4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, sort of like those morning-after thoughts

  3 cups flour

  teaspoon baking soda

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  2/3 cup butter, softened

  3/4 cup sugar

  2 eggs

  2 teaspoons vanilla

  Raspberry jam to taste

  Whatever you've done, the best way to forget it is with cookies. They are amazing in helping you block out memories of bad choices. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Now you're ready to melt the chocolate in a saucepan, then combine the flour, baking soda and salt in another bowl.

  In another bowl (don't worry about the mess; that's what dishwashers-or hunky men who like to wash:1re for), beat the butter and sugar. Get it fluffy, like your thoughts will be once you clear your conscience.

  Add the eggs, one at a time, then the vanilla and chocolate. Beat until blended or until you've worked that man out of your system.

  Divide dough, wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate ligt;r two hours. Just long enough for a shopping trip or a good confession among close friends.

  When the dough is ready, roll it out to a quarter-inch thickness on a lightly floured surface and cut into two-inch circles. Cut center circles out of half of them. Bake the cookies for nine or ten minutes.

  When the cookies are cool, assemble them. A full cookie on the bottom, topped with jam, then a cut-out cookie on top. Let the jam peek out and tempt those who might want to taste.

  These work wonders just ask Candace. But be careful. They can be used agai
nst you, if they fall into the hands of a man with commitment on his mind.

  CHAPTER 26

  When Dante came into work humming on Thursday afternoon, Franco jumped on him like a cockroach on ii sugar crystal.

  "Oh, you got it bad, Boss," Franco said. "Someone has your heart."

  I)ante smiled. "Maybe."

  "The woman, she is the one, isn't she?" Franco practically hopped with joy at the thought of being right.

  "Maybe."

  He cupped a hand over his ears. "I hear the bells of the church. They are ringing for you."

  "Don't go renting a tux yet, Franco. We're just dating." Dante went back to his song, heading into his office, Franco trailing along, nipping at his heels.

  "I know true love. And this is true love." He nodded. "You marry this girl. Fast. Before another man does."

  He'd been having exactly the same thought ever since number four with the strawberries. But he wasn't about to tall Franco that.

  "I'm not rushing into anything. Besides, she's not intrrested in marriage."

  "Yet," Franco said.

  "Yet," Dante agreed.

  "And you," Franco indicated Dante with a flourish of his hand, "you change her mind?"

  'With a little help from some mascarpone." He grinned

  "That's what I tell you." Franco wagged a finger at him. "You win her heart with your cooking. You such a good cook. Always know the right foods. A woman, she likes a man who can make magic in a kitchen . . . "

  Only half listening to Franco, Dante picked up Thursday's Globe and turned the page to the restaurant review section.

  And there, staring back at him, was the headline he'd hoped he'd never see ... but knew would come eventually.

  NEW RISTORANTE IS DIVINE, screamed the top of the section in forty-eight-point bold type.

  Followed by five gold stars.

  Five stars. The impossible. Achieved by the new kid in the North End.

  Dante slammed the section down on the table, star fling Franco into silence. "Did you see the paper today:

  "No, perche?"

  "Seems we have some competition." Dante slid the review over to Franco. "This isn't good. Not good at all.

  "The phone, it has been quiet today," Franco said, scanning the review. "Now I see why. This baby place," he jabbed at the paper, "they steal our people."

  Dante ran a hand through his hair. "Reservations are down?"

  "Vita will be okay," Franco said, laying a hand ore Dante's shoulder. "She is a survivor."

  "I don't want okay. Okay is what we've had for two generations." Dante shook his head. "I want more than that. "

  He shook his head, then took in a breath. Franco was right. Vita had dealt with competition before and survived. The new customers wouldn't desert them that quickly. "Well, it's only Thursday. It's always slow on weeknights. By the end of the weekend, people will forget this new place exists."

  Everything else in his life had finally slipped into place. The restaurant was doing well. He'd found a woman he could love. And he actually had a life outside of Vita.

  He wasn't going to let anything change that. Not over his fresh fettuccini.

  It had gotten pretty ugly in the past thirty-six hours. The dalliance with Dante had sent her flying off the deep end.

  She hadn't stopped with the mascarpone. Or the strawberries. Or the Sicilian ricotta cake he'd left behind and they'd forgotten to eat between orgasms. She'd moved from one indulgence to the next, ordering in pizza after lie left. A large pizza. With every topping offered by the pizzeria.

  Then she'd eaten the cannoli in her fridge. And the Cheez Whiz in the cabinet. Moved on to polish off the chips, the lone package of snack cakes she'd found in the back of the cabinet.

  And if that hadn't been enough-and it hadn't-she'd headed down to Krispy Kreme for three cream-filled doughnuts and an extra-large cappuccino.

  It had gone on from there, every meal a craving excess unmatched in her previous diet-disaster binges.

  Six pounds up in two days. And the regrets had multiplied with the digestion of every calorie-laden bite.

  Now, on Friday night, Maria sat with Candace and Rebecca at Guido's. The three of them had opted for dinner out after a long day at the shop, completing a rush order for a regular customer.

  "Are you okay?" Rebecca asked, laying a hand over Maria's.

  "Sure I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Uh, because you just ordered the manicotti and the lasagna."

  "Not to mention, you also preordered dessert," Candace added. "I know the signs, Maria. I've been there myself. I have the Hershey's wrappers in the bottom of my purse to prove it."

  Maria laughed. "You were different. You were marrying Mr. Wrong. I just. .."

  When she didn't finish, Rebecca touched her hand again. "Just what?"

  "Fell for Mr. Wrong." "Antonio?"

  "No." She shook her head. "Guess I haven't been sharing much in the way of details lately." She told them about Dante and the multiple orgasm marathon they'd had two nights ago. "He's left me a couple messages. Well, more than a couple. And sent me flowers."

  "And you've ignored him."

  "I do that pretty well when I want to." She stirred her virgin pina colada and took a sip. No way was she going to drink alcohol again. All it created was bad situations. "I don't get it. I met Dante and he seemed like a normal, non-homicidal man. With a good job and a really cute butt. What's there not to like?"

  Maria sighed. "Nothing."

  "So why are you depressed about it?"

  "Because he's all wrong for me."

  "He's not gay, and he doesn't have a hamster fetish."

  Rebecca squeezed some lemon into her water. "And you find him very attractive, I gather. So ... why the hesitation?"

  Maria let out another sigh. "He's everything my mother wants for me."

  "Oh..." Rebecca said, nodding. "And that's the I problem?"

  "Yeah."

  "He's too traditional?" Candace asked.

  "More than Martha Stewart at Christmas." Maria (dished the drink to the side. "He believes in falling in love. And getting married."

  "Dump him. He's definitely dangerous." Rebecca grinned.

  "What's so wrong with getting married?" Candace asked. "I've been thinking about it myself."

  "Has Michael asked?"

  "No, not yet. But he's been hinting around at it. Asked me how busy the shop is in June and if I was doing anything special next Saturday night."

  "All good signs." Rebecca nodded. "You do already have the dress. And the guy. All you need is the ring."

  ( :andace smiled and sipped at her Diet Coke. "Maybe I should ask him. Turn the tables. Keep him on his toe's."

  Maria laughed. "Now that would be the new Candace."

  "So why not you, Maria?" Rebecca leaned forward. "Come on over to the dark side. Get married."

  Maria chuckled. "No. It's not for me."

  "Are you still thinking of. .." Rebecca's voice trailed off.

  "What? Go ahead and say it. I know you want to."

  Rebecca let out a breath. "David. You laughed the whole thing off when it happened, but you seemed pretty Kurt underneath it all. And, well, ever since then, you Haven't really been the same."

  "David was a jerk." Maria took another sip.

  "A jerk who said he wanted to marry you." Candace set her empty salad plate to the side of the table.

  "And then cheated on you. On your own dining room table, no less." Rebecca's face softened with sympathy.

  Maria played with the toy sword holding her slice of pineapple. "I was stupid."

  "No, he was," Rebecca said. "Any guy who doesn't see what a great person you are is an idiot who doesn't deserve you."

  "You're just saying that because I'm your friend. And you need my help packing those baskets tomorrow."

  "I'd say it even if you didn't own a third of the company." Rebecca smiled.

  Candace reached for a slice of bread from the bowl in the center. She but
tered it in neat, precise strokes. "Not all men are like David, you know."

  Maria sighed. "I know that in my head. But then a little part of me wonders how I'll ever know the difference. How can I trust a guy? I mean, usually I'm the one who's smart. Who ends the relationship before I get hurt. But that time"-she toyed with her straw-"I was blind to everything."

  "No, he was blinded by Bambi the Stripper's butt."

  Maria laughed. "Yeah, he was."

  "You used to be quite the workaholic before you met David." Rebecca stirred her drink. "Then once he mentioned marriage, you went the other way, sort of a-"

  "Bride-a-holic?" Maria finished. "I'm Italian, what can I say? I do things in extremes."

  "A little moderation . . ." Candace began gently.

  "I know. I'm just afraid I can't balance both. Have a career and that. I know you have it, Rebecca, but you don't understand Italian men. At least the ones I know want their women in the kitchen and not running a business."

  "Dante could be different. He's a business owner, too. Maybe your Mr. Wrong isn't really wrong." Rebecca gave Maria's free hand a quick squeeze. "Maybe you need to give him more of a chance."

  The waiter arrived with the food. Maria put both plates in front of her. The aroma wafted up to her nose, reawakening her stomach with a vengeance. "He can't be that good for me. He's got my appetite running like a car on high octane. Any man who makes me blow my diet is bad for my heart."

  "He might not be good for your waistline, but your heart could probably use a little of that Italian love." Rebecca smiled. "Try the other side of the menu. You might just like it."

  "No way," Maria said, diving into the manicotti. "I'm sticking to the one man I can depend on to always please me."

  "Who's that?"

  She held a bite of the luscious treat aloft. "Guido."

  Arnold 's It's-Not-Deprivation-It's Love-on-a-Plate Salad

  I head romaine lettuce

  2 tomatoes

  2 hard-boiled eggs, just like your determination to be a Thin Chum

  I avocado

  2 ounces provolone cheese, cubed

  6 leaves fresh basil

  juice of one lemon

  2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil (whew, sounds kind of sexy, don't it?)

  I tablespoon good, flavorful mustard