THAT'S AMORE

by Janelle Denison, Tori Carrington, Leslie Kelly

  "Deal," he agreed, knowing Santori's didn't deliver beer. Then, before she could leave to go to the liquor store next door, he said, "But better make it a twelve-pack. I have the feeling once the word gets out that I'm up here doing something involving tools and grunt work, we're going to draw a crowd."

  Rachel bought a case of beer. And it was a good thing. Because within an hour of Luke's arrival, his father, two of his brothers, one of his sisters-in-law, and his sister were crowded into her small shop. She had to wonder who was holding down the fort back at the restaurant, and assumed Luke's mother and one of the cousins who worked in the kitchen were covering for a while.

  As usual, the Santoris were loud. Good-natured. Rowdy. The brothers gave Luke unending grief about his lack of prowess with a drill. In return, he told them he was going to make sure they got called for jury duty. Their father stayed out of the fray, for the most part, watching with an indulgent smile, occasionally muttering something in Italian under his breath.

  Never having had any siblings, Rachel found herself fascinated by the interplay between them all. Tony, the oldest, walked with a swagger and tried to take over. But Joe, who owned a construction company, would have none of that. He became foreman, with thick, stocky Tony doing a lot of the lifting. Luke gave advice, read the directions and was pretty much in the way except for the heavy lifting.

  With those muscles, he was more than capable of helping out in that department.

  Rachel, Meg and Lottie stood watching and chatting while the brothers manhandled all the components of the desk into the back room. The men took occasional breaks to enjoy the pizza and beer, then proceeded to put everything together. But even as she enjoyed spending time with the women of the family, she found her attention returning again and again to Lucas.

  He was different tonight than she'd ever seen him, either when they'd first met at the restaurant, or here in the shop last night. Seeming content to help with the muscle work, he then sat back and handed his brothers whatever tools they pointed at. He laughed a lot, flashing a dimple in one cheek, one she'd never even noticed before. His smile made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and, for the first time, she saw he had tiny laugh lines there.

  This was the man she'd heard talk about. The charmer, the joker. The flirt who'd given Meg a loud, smacking kiss right in front of her husband, just to get a rise out of Joe when he'd arrived. The man who'd been conspicuously absent the first few times Rachel had met him.

  Moody and snappish, he'd still been incredibly attractive. Flirtatious and smiling, the man was downright deadly.

  "You'd think they went out and chopped down the tree for the wood to make this damn desk," Lottie said, sounding both disgusted and amused as she helped herself to a second bottle of beer. "They're so proud of themselves."

  Meg had been drinking milk. "Give them their glory. Joe's been complaining that he does nothing but paperwork these days. He likes getting his hands dirty."

  Hands. Strong hands. Masculine hands. Competent hands. Rachel couldn't stop staring at them.

  Apparently Meg was having the same reaction. "My God, we should've sold tickets," she murmured as she watched the room full of testosterone at work.

  Meg's stare remained focused squarely on her husband. Rachel's, however, was directed at the man beside Joe. At Luke's thick arms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. His sweat slickened skin over taut muscles. Those powerful hands carefully turning the furniture and the thick legs straining against his dress slacks as he moved a finished section out of the way.

  "If the shirts start coming off, I'm outta here," Lottie said, "because the two of you are going to float me away with your drool."

  Rachel flushed a little, wondering what the other women would think of her drooling over any of the men here, all of whom were attached.

  "Good grief, Lottie, I know they're your brothers, but you have to admit, they're a darn fine-looking bunch," Meg said.

  Lottie just rolled her eyes, and Rachel drew in a deep, relieved breath. Apparently the other two had thought nothing of her rapt interest in the exertions of the men in the room. Of course, they assumed she was joking along with them, admiring guys the way women always admired guys. Even other women's guys, as long as the hands-off-bitch-he's-mine thing was a given.

  It was. Always. Rachel had never poached on another woman's territory.

  So why, God, could she not remove her attention from Maria Martinelli's fiancé?

  She returned her attention to Lucas, wondering what he was staring at with such keen interest. Following the direction of his stare, she spied the mountain of fabric samples on the sewing table. Then, almost certainly unaware of her intense scrutiny, Luke did something that revealed so very much about the man carefully contained within his professional facade.

  As if unable to help himself, he reached out and ran the tips of his fingers across the top sample, a shimmery, peach-toned pile of silk, almost the color of blushing skin. His touch was slow, deliberate. She could almost see the physical pleasure he took from feeling the cool softness against his skin. His eyes closed briefly and his lips fell open as he pulled in a slow, deep breath and rubbed his fingertips together with the silk between them.

  Still not knowing he was being watched, he placed his entire hand on the material, spreading his fingers, then tightening them, allowing the material to pool between them. A lethargic smile crossed his lips as he spread his fingers apart again and opened his eyes.

  No one else had noticed. No one else watched. Only Rachel. And she couldn't say a word. Not even when he looked up and caught her staring with shocked intensity.

  He didn't look away, didn't laugh off the moment with an embarrassed joke. He made no verbal or silent apologies for the fact he'd just revealed about himself.

  That he was a sensual man. A man who took pleasure in physical things. Seductive things.

  It had only been one stroke, one touch, on an inanimate object several feet away, yet Rachel almost felt as if she'd been touched. Caressed. Enjoyed in a basic, primal way that had temporarily stopped time for this powerfully built, fascinating man.

  She could only imagine how he would touch a woman. How he'd slowly devour her, savor the feel of skin on skin, taking his time to enjoy every new sensation. How he'd delight in all the textures and contours of her body. The tastes. The smells. The soft wetness.

  She swallowed hard as a warm, lethargic pleasure oozed through her. The heat in his dark brown eyes told her so much more than words ever could have. His thoughts matched her own, she knew it beyond doubt. And still he didn't look away.

  "Too bad they're not working in the front room," Meg said, sounding as if she was far away, rather than right beside her. "We would have had women paying to line up for a peek in the front window."

  Oh, yes, Rachel would have paid to watch this. Him. There wasn't much she wouldn't have paid to attain this incredibly intimate knowledge of the man beneath the elegantly tailored suit. There was much more to Luke than the expensive clothes and the brilliant reputation. He had depths she'd never have suspected. Seductive, sensuous ones, and they appealed to a deep part of her she'd never really acknowledged.

  All that coiled masculinity combined with that wickedly potent sensuality had brought out every feminine instinct she possessed. This was desire flowing through her. Want. Immediately recognizable, even though it was almost unfamiliar.

  It had been a long time since she'd truly wanted to touch a man. To suck the salty flavor of his skin. To kiss the line of his jaw. To encircle a hard erection in her hand. To stroke and taste and have and take.

  Take. That's what she wanted to do. This wasn't simple awareness of him as an attractive man, like last night. Something about tonight had made her cross the line from interest to desire.

  And she knew what it was: that touch. That one deliberate, sensuous, evocative touch of his hand on the silk.

  She wanted his hand. She wanted to be the silk. "Rachel?"

&nbs
p; Giving her head a hard shake to clear it—and seeing Luke do the same thing a few feet away—she turned her attention to his sister-in-law. Meg was watching her curiously and she wondered if the other woman had noticed how hard she'd been staring at Luke. She almost lifted her fingertips to her mouth to make sure there wasn't any drool there, as Lottie had teased. Because, God help her, she'd sure been doing some mental drooling. Not to mention fantasizing.

  She forced a small laugh. "I haven't met Mark and Nick yet, but I imagine the five of them together could stop all the traffic on Taylor Avenue if they just walked outside and took their shirts off."

  Lottie made a sound of disgust. "Ewww. Those are my obnoxious, bossy, arrogant brothers you're talking about."

  "I still can't imagine what it was like growing up the youngest girl with all five of them," Rachel said, giving Lottie a pitying look. "Did you ever have a boyfriend brave enough to come to your house?"

  Lottie stuck out her bottom lip in a disgusted pout. "Not after Mark and Nick got all the guys at St. Raphael's believing Papa had been Mario Puzo's inspiration for The Godfather." She shot Luke a glare. "And that Luke's wicked temper had inspired the character of Sonny."

  Luke snorted a laugh. "Haven't you heard? I'm the lover of the family, not the fighter."

  "That'd be Nick," Meg murmured. The Marine.

  "Nah," Tony said, obviously listening as intently as Luke had been. He gave them a salacious grin, wagging his brows. "I'm the lover. Just ask Gloria."

  "Not listening," Lottie snapped, sticking her fingers into her ears and humming a loud tune.

  Then Joe piped in. "As for the Godfather? I think we're talking about Rudy Martinelli. Luke's new Daddy-in-law."

  Oh, great. Perfect. Like she needed a reminder that the Nazi bride was the daughter of a mafia don. And Rachel had just been making twenty-nine kinds of love to the woman's fiancé in her head.

  Luke stiffened, nearly imperceptibly, at the mention of his future father-in-law. So did Rachel. Because as easy as it had been to sit here feeling like a part of this big, loud, loveable family, she had absolutely no right to feel that way. Maria was the one who should have been here, laughing over the brothers, lusting over Luke, getting friendly with her future sisters-in-law.

  This was all wrong. Especially the lusting part.

  Which she intended to stop. Now. Right now.

  Just as soon as she could put the mental picture of Luke running his hand over that piece of flesh-colored silk out of her mind.

  Which might happen around about … never.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Did you ever wonder if you were doing the right thing by getting married?" Luke sipped at his beer, as if the question was a casual one, rather than one of vital importance to his sanity right now.

  His brother Joe, who sat across from him at a table at the restaurant, immediately shook his head. "Never. Why?"

  "Just wondering. You and Meg were such a whirlwind, I guess we never really talked about it."

  Joe didn't even pause to think about it. "I knew she was the one the first time I laid eyes on her." Then a half-grin crossed his mouth. "Well, at least the first time I met her in person. I'd seen her picture a few times before that."

  Luke saw the speculative gleam in his brother's eye, but was too wrapped up in his own confusion to question him about it. He'd been looking for advice … not to exchange more tales of true love and all that schmaltzy crap with his totally-mad-for-his-wife brother.

  He and Joe had stopped by after work, as usual, not for a bite, but just to connect with the family. Meg would be here soon, and Gloria and Lottie were already in the kitchen. Mark hadn't been around much lately because he'd been working on a case requiring a ton of overtime. But most other weeks, he'd have been sitting right next to Luke. They'd all be sharing the pitcher, letting off steam, basking in the warmth and security of being part of a dynamic group who knew no other way of life than to interact almost daily with the family.

  Funny, Luke had once tried so hard to escape the Santoris. He'd been the only son who went away to college, and had surprised everyone by continuing on to law school. Yet now, since being back in Chicago, all he longed for was the big family madness which had sometimes driven him nuts as a kid.

  Driven him nuts, maybe. But his family had also been the most important part of his existence. Going away to school hadn't been the start of a new, bigger life. It had made him long for the more intimate one he'd been running from. A life many of his friends—from small families or broken homes—had envied, even though they hadn't entirely understood it.

  In an hour, they'd all drift away, to their own nearby homes and lives. But these meetings in the restaurant a few evenings a week were something Luke really looked forward to.

  He only wondered if they'd continue once he was married to Maria. He somehow couldn't see her breezing in here after leaving her job as a secretary, hugging his mother, tossing insults back and forth with his brothers, sidling into a booth and joining in the conversation. The Maria who'd recently told him she never wanted to eat another meatball again as long as she lived probably wouldn't.

  One thing was sure—she was nothing like his family, who sometimes seemed to have tomato sauce running through their veins instead of blood. Strange, Maria's utter disdain of her heritage, since her Italian background and local roots had been what had drawn him to the woman in the first place.

  "So," Joe asked, not put off by Luke's silence, "You have cold feet?"

  "Sub-zero. It's a wonder they haven't fallen off from frostbite," he admitted with a rueful shake of his head.

  "I hear that's not too unusual. Some guys get nervous at the thought of settling down to one woman, knowing all others are off-limits from then on."

  Yeah. Luke had heard that, too. Kinda reminded him of what Rachel had said about the slimy grooms who came on to her. The thought made him stiffen because damned if he wanted to feel like one of them.

  "But in your case," Joe added, "I don't think that's it. If you really loved a woman, you wouldn't think twice about whether you could be faithful to her for the rest of your life. Obviously the fidelity gene runs in our family."

  Yeah. Judging by his parents' marriage, not to mention Joe and Tony's absolute devotion to their wives, maybe it did.

  He didn't question his ability to be faithful. Didn't doubt for one minute that he could make love to only one woman for the rest of his life—and be happy—as long as she owned his heart. Call it his genes, his upbringing in a family where loyalty and honesty reigned supreme, or even just the basic aspects of his personality, Luke was no cheat.

  Which had made his unexpected reaction to Rachel this week all the more disturbing. Because, for some crazy reason, hers was the face he saw when he pictured the woman who could own his heart.

  Not his fiancée's.

  Then Joe zeroed in on the question of the hour, the question of his life, really. "So if it's not marriage in general making you sweat … or freeze up … I guess you have to ask yourself … are you marrying the right woman? And, if not, what are you going to do about it?"

  Luke stared at his brother, drew in a long, deep breath, and finally replied, "That is exactly what I have to figure out."

  Rachel did a pretty good job of putting Luke Santori out of her mind for the rest of the week. The shop was busy, with many June brides coming in for their May fittings. The one bride who didn't was Maria Martinelli, which was just as well. Rachel didn't think she could look Maria in the eye without blushing over the fantasies she'd had about her fiancé.

  Fantasies. Dreams. Long, hungry nights when she'd replay that moment when Luke had so carefully—reverently—touched the soft fabric in the dress shop. When their eyes had met and they'd both been thinking of touching other soft textures. Skin. Hair. Tongues.

  "Stop it," she whispered aloud, tightening her jaw as she stood in a quiet area in the local mega bookstore. What a pathetic picture. Friday night—date night—and here she was perusing
the stacks, trying to find something absorbing to read to get her mind away from where it had no business going.

  It wasn't easy. Getting her kicks on a Frappuccino with whipped cream and caramel couldn't compare to the way she really wanted to get them.

  Well, the whipped cream and caramel might still be involved. But they'd be licked, rather than sipped.

  "Enough," she muttered, lifting her drink to her mouth. She sipped at it, curling her lips around the straw, ordering the icy-cold coffee brew to chill her out. Then, focusing on how much she loved the smells and sights and sounds of a bookstore, she went exploring.

  "No romance," she reminded herself, avoiding that section altogether.

  That was all she needed, to read some steamy book to get her even more hot and bothered. Since there was no sex looming in her future for probably the next decade—or at least until she changed careers and went to work where she might meet unattached men, instead of engaged ones—she needed to avoid anything involving sex. Because as convenient as some of those cute, naughty little gadgets some of her suppliers sold for bridal showers were, Rachel had never worked up the nerve to actually take one home and try it out.

  Since she couldn't go for sex and romance, she'd decided to shoot for murder and mayhem instead. Beelining for the general fiction area, she scouted out her favorite mystery writer. She'd taken another sip of the drink and begun to study the titles when the most unusual sensation washed over her. Though her drink was cold, she felt suddenly warm. Hot, in fact, in spite of the comfortably air-conditioned store. Her breaths grew shallow, and her skin taut as she suddenly went on a strange, internal alert.

  Someone was watching her. Intently.

  Slowly, she turned around, as if merely moving to another shelf of books. She let her gaze dart to the end of the row, almost laughing as she saw nothing but empty air. The mystery titles were obviously getting to her.

  "Girl, you're imagining things."

  "No, you're not," said a soft voice.

  Oh, God, it was him. Luke. He'd been standing right there. Around the corner, at the end of the bookcase she'd been studying, nearly hidden and out of sight, but so present, she couldn't help but feel him.