“You know what?” she asked with a shake of her head. “That terrify-the-troops expression you’re wearing doesn’t scare me.”
He groaned, shoved one hand along the side of his head and muttered something she didn’t quite catch. Probably for the best, she thought. Heaven knew they’d be arguing again soon enough.
“What will scare you off?” he asked tightly.
She should be scared off by the way he made her feel. Unfortunately, what she felt only made her want to feel more. “You’re making too big a deal out of this,” she told him and reached out to lay one hand on his forearm.
“Pardon me,” he said, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve never been blackmailed before.”
“It won’t be that bad,” Gina said, and let her hand drop from the tense muscles of his forearm.
“Maybe not for you.”
For goodness’ sake. This wasn’t the end of the world. It was a dance contest. “Honestly, Nick. You’d think I’d asked you to go up against terrorists with a water pistol.”
For a minute he looked hopeful. “That I could do.”
Gina laughed, and he gave her a reluctant smile as he shook his head.
“Fine,” he said. “We compete.”
“Excellent.” Still smiling, she dipped one hand into her purse, searching for her car keys.
“But,” he said, “if we’re going to enter this stupid contest, then we’re damn sure gonna win it.”
“My plan exactly,” she told him, frowning as her fingers burrowed futilely through the accumulated junk in her bag.
“And that means extra practicing.”
“Huh?” She shot him a look.
“Three times a week isn’t going to cut it, Gina. The way I see it, we’ll have to practice practically every night we don’t have class.”
“That much?”
“Any Marine can tell you, you have to drill and drill to get it right.”
“So this is now a military maneuver?” she asked.
“Whatever works.”
“I really hadn’t thought about extra practicing,” she admitted, and pulled a fistful of flotsam from her purse. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Hold this.”
He cupped his hands, and she started piling things in his palms. “What in the…?”
“I guess it’ll be all right, but I have school on Friday nights.”
Staring down at the growing pile in his hands, Nick said, “Hey, if you don’t have the time…”
“I’ll find the time,” she assured him as she dropped a few more items into his cupped hands. “I guess we could practice at my apartment…”
“Is there enough room?”
“Well, it’s not the Harbor View Ballroom,” she admitted, “but it’ll do.”
Although, she thought suddenly, the small garage apartment she’d inherited when Marie married Davis and moved to a bigger place would seem even smaller with this mountain of a man in it. Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea. Maybe she was only setting herself up for some real trouble here. After all, with the way her body reacted to his when they were close, too much privacy could be a dangerous thing.
But before she could explore that thought any further, Nick said, “Ya know, this is amazing.”
“Huh? What?” She dropped her cell phone, a candy bar and a pocket screwdriver onto the top of the pile he was holding.
“This,” he said, hefting the collection in his hands a bit higher. “I’ve never known a woman who carried around half a submarine sandwich, a full-size flashlight and a travel Battleship game in her purse.”
Defensive, she said, “I didn’t get to finish my lunch today, parking lots are dark and my nephew likes playing Battleship.” At last! She hooked her finger through the ring of keys that had been hiding in a wad of tissues and held them aloft like she would a gold medal at the Olympics.
“That purse must weigh in as much as a Marine’s full pack.”
“What?” Tucking her keys into the pocket of her pale blue sweater, she scooped her belongings out of his hands and back into her purse. Small skitters of heat swept up along her arm and dazzled her heart as her fingertips brushed across his palm.
He stared at her. “As little as you are, I’m surprised the weight of that purse doesn’t just topple you over.”
She hiked the straps higher on her shoulder and settled the familiar weight against her hip. “I’m small, but I’m tough.”
Nick gave her a long, slow look that seemed to sizzle through her blood like a line of flames. “I noticed.”
Oh, yeah. She might be in some serious trouble here. But it was too late to back out now. This whole thing was her idea. If she called off entering the contest, he’d want to know why, and she couldn’t very well tell him that she didn’t trust herself around him.
Besides, she admitted silently, she didn’t want to call it off.
“Look,” she said abruptly, suddenly needing a little space, “come by my house tomorrow about seven, and we can talk about practice times, okay?”
“All right,” he agreed, and opened the car door for her after she’d unlocked it. As she slid in, he asked, “You going to tell me where you live?”
“Oh!” Automatically she reached for her bag again. “I’ll write it down for you.”
He leaned one arm on the roof of the car and bent down. “Forget it,” he said. “Just tell me. I’m not strong enough to watch you go through all that junk again just yet.”
Frowning, she stared up at him. “Are you this pleasant with all women? Or is it just me?”
He thought about it for a moment or two, then nodded. “Actually, it’s just you.”
“Wonderful.”
“Hey,” he told her, with what might have been a glimmer of a smile, “blackmailers shouldn’t expect to be liked.”
A quick stab of guilt poked at Gina’s insides, but she fought it down. Okay, so she probably shouldn’t have blackmailed him. But he’d started it by lying to his Colonel’s wife. All he’d had to do to end this whole thing was tell the truth.
There. She felt better already.
“All right,” she said, “we’ll play it your way.”
“If we were playing it my way, princess,” he said softly, “we wouldn’t be doing this competition thing at all.”
She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I can’t stay here and argue all night. I have an early class tomorrow.”
“And I have to work, so give me your address and we’ll call it a night.”
She did. Then slammed the car door, making him jump back out of range, turned the key in the ignition and put the gearshift in drive. Only then did she notice he was still standing there, watching her.
Rolling down the window, she looked up at him with exasperation and asked, “What?”
“Nothing.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Just waiting to make sure you get on your way safely.”
A small spurt of warmth shot through her. Even though he argued with her over anything and everything, he watched out for her in a dark parking lot. An argumentative Nick she could handle. If he started being nice… “Are you this considerate of all blackmailers?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “Just you.”
Oh, boy.
“Well,” she said, letting her gaze slide away from his, “thanks. See you tomorrow.”
“Seven it is.”
Leaving it at that, Gina stepped on the gas pedal and left Nick Paretti standing alone in the parking lot.
“So,” First Sergeant Dan Mahoney asked, “you up for some pool tonight?”
Nick looked up from the pile of papers he was going through only long enough to glance at his friend. Dan was practically rubbing his palms together in anticipation. And no wonder. Last week he’d won twenty bucks from Nick at pool. “No, thanks, I’m busy.”
“With what?” Dan eased down into the chair opposite Nick’
s desk and propped his feet up onto the corner. “Or should I ask, with who?”
Grumbling under his breath, Nick looked at the other man. “What makes you think it’s a who? I’m behind on these inventory sheets, I’ve got a world of paperwork stacking up behind them, plus I’ve got to take the platoon on a twenty-mile run day after tomorrow. Does that sound like I have time to play pool?”
“Sounds like you need to play pool,” Dan said, smiling.
What he needed was to be able to get Gina Santini out of his mind. But it didn’t look like that would be happening anytime soon.
Nick sighed and leaned back in his chair. Tossing his pencil onto the desktop, he lifted his arms over his head and stretched, easing kinks out of muscles that would never get used to sitting behind a desk. He hadn’t joined the Corps to be a desk jockey. Give him men to train, battles to fight or miles to run and he was a happy man. Sit him down with a pencil and a stack of mindless paperwork and you had a man on the edge.
Which was exactly why he’d never give in to his father’s request to leave the Corps and join the family business. Nick Paretti was no businessman. He was a Marine and would stay a Marine until they pried him out of the Corps with a crowbar.
But at least while he was concentrating on the weaponry inventory lists, he had less time to think about Gina Santini and what he’d gotten himself into. It was hard enough to ignore the flash of heat between them when they were in a dance class surrounded by people. What would it be like when it was just the two of them? Alone in her apartment…?
He never should have agreed, he thought. He should have called her bluff. She probably wouldn’t have gone to the Colonel’s wife. But then again, she might have…
“Nick!”
“What?” He blinked and stared at his friend.
“Hey,” Dan said on a laugh, “if I want to be ignored, I’ll get married.”
“Very funny,” Nick told him and sat up, reaching for his pencil again. Dan Mahoney, king of the one-night stands, married? That’d be the day.
“You know what you need, Gunny?” Dan said as he pushed himself up from the chair.
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“Damn straight.” Dan planted his palms on the desktop and leaned in. “You need to get off base occasionally and find a woman.”
Right. Just what he needed. He already had one woman too many in his life. Nick snorted and shook his head. “Contrary to what you might think, a woman is not the answer to every problem.”
“Maybe not,” Dan said as he started for the door, “but they’re sure as hell good company while you’re looking for the answer.”
“Yeah,” Nick muttered when he was alone again, “but what if the woman is the problem?”
Gina had daydreamed through her statistics class, doodled through accounting and yawned through computer science. All in all, a stellar performance by the world’s most reluctant and probably oldest, college sophomore.
Sighing, she dropped her books and her purse onto the coffee table, kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot into her tiny kitchen. Every muscle in her body was tired. She’d worked a five-hour shift for the catering company and then reported for an afternoon of classes and now she was pooped. Opening up the fridge, she grabbed a jar of iced tea, unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow before closing the refrigerator and leaning back against the counter.
She just wasn’t cut out for college, she thought, disgusted. She wanted to be working. And not for Sally Simon’s Catering Club. She wanted to build her own business. She wanted to plan splashy, fun events. Hire caterers with more imagination than experience. Build both a business and a name for herself. But she’d promised her father that she’d get the darned degree, and that’s just what she would do. And when that task was finished, she could get busy on the other promise she’d made him the night he died.
Two-year-old memories crowded into her mind, and Gina swallowed them back with a swig of tea. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away. Papa had been gone two years, and she could still see his face, hear his voice, as clearly as she had on that last night.
Her fingers tightened around the cold bottle of tea as she resolutely dragged her mind from thoughts of the past. She had more pressing things to think about at the moment. Nick would be here any minute. Her stomach flip-flopped. And that quick spark of anticipation she’d just felt would be completely ignored, she warned herself.
“Giiiinnnaaa…” Her mother’s voice cut into her thoughts and not for the first time Gina had to marvel at a woman who could be heard through closed doors and windows. Never let it be said that Mama used a telephone when shouting out the kitchen door would work just as well.
Crossing the living room, Gina threw open her front door, stepped out onto the narrow landing and called, “What is it?” before she looked down to see Nick standing shoulder to shoulder with Mama as both of them looked up at her.
Even from a distance she felt as though she was being drawn into the blue depths of his eyes, and something inside her didn’t mind the thought of that at all.
“Your young man is here,” her mother said, and Gina groaned, relieved that it was dark enough outside to hide the stamp of embarrassment on her face. But Mama wasn’t finished. “He didn’t know about the garage apartment, so he came here, and I invited him for some coffee and pie. Why don’t you come down, Gina?”
Oh for heaven’s sake, she thought, and let her gaze slide to Nick’s face. He actually looked amused.
“Gina?” Mama shook her head and, in an aside to Nick, said loudly enough for the neighbors to hear, “Sometimes she daydreams and forgets what’s going on, but you’ll get used to that.”
Gina opened her mouth to argue the point, but decided against having a shouting match with her mother. Mama would win hands down, anyway. Hurrying down the stairs, Gina waited until she was at the foot of the porch steps before saying, “I wasn’t daydreaming, and he’s not my young man, he’s my dancing partner.”
Well, good. That wiped the amused smile off his face.
“Ah, dancing,” Mama said, and half turned to give Nick the once-over again. “Gina’s papa, he was a wonderful dancer.”
“Was he?” Nick murmured politely.
“And so light on his feet for a big man,” Mama was saying. Her eyes went soft and dreamy, and Gina knew her mother was remembering the nights when she and Papa had swayed together in the darkened living room to the rhythm of Frank Sinatra’s smooth-as-silk voice pouring from the stereo.
Gina sighed a little, recalling all the times she and her sisters had hidden in the shadowy hallway to watch their parents dance. She’d never said anything about it, but there’d been a magical feel to those moments. Almost as if the world stood still while Mama and Papa moved together in perfect harmony. She could still remember the warm sense of…rightness that had filled her then. Secure in the knowledge of her parents’ love for each other and for their daughters, Gina had wanted the same thing for herself.
But she wasn’t a child hiding in doorways anymore, and now she knew that responsibilities had to come before dreams of love.
“Thanks for the offer, Mama,” she said, bringing Marianne Santini back from the past, “but Nick and I have got some talking to do.”
“You can’t talk over pie?”
Mama was never one to give up easily. “Maybe later, all right?”
“Fine, fine,” her mother said, and waved them off. “But you, what did you say your name was again?”
“Nick Paretti, ma’am,” he said, and shook the hand she offered.
“Hmmm.” Mama looked at Gina knowingly. “A nice Italian boy. Well, don’t be a stranger.”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake.” Grabbing Nick’s hand, Gina tugged him toward the apartment stairs. As she hurried him along, she muttered, “Run for your life, General, before she has time to order wedding invitations and book the church.”
Five
Nick followed Gina up the stairs
and would have sworn he could feel Mrs. Santini’s interested stare boring into his back as he went. He shrugged deeper into his olive-green windbreaker and tried to ignore the sensation of being measured by a maternal eye.
Since his divorce, Nick had purposely avoided any entanglements with the kind of woman who would eventually expect a marriage proposal. And now, because of one little accident with a punch bowl, he’d been thrown into shark-infested waters.
Dance lessons. Why hadn’t the damned Major just arranged a nice, quiet firing squad instead? It would have been the kinder thing to do.
At the top of the stairs, Gina paused for less than a heartbeat, then glanced back at him and said, “Come on in.” She stepped aside to let him enter, and as soon as he did, his gaze swept across the place. Small, but neat, it looked what some people would call “cozy.” There was an overstuffed sofa with a few colorful throw pillows, two chairs and a couple of tables where lamps with pale shades sat glowing in the darkness. On one wall was a small entertainment center, where stacks of books were piled haphazardly beside a small television and a compact stereo.
From where he stood, he could see directly into the galley-size kitchen, and a closed door to the right told him where her bedroom probably was. His gaze lingered on that closed door for a moment or two before he turned his head to look down at her.
“Nice place,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets.
“Thanks,” Gina muttered, then closed the front door and moved past him into the room.
She wore tight, faded blue jeans, soft from hundreds of washings and the damn things fit her like a second skin. Her bright-green T-shirt had a V neck that was just low enough to interest a man, and her bare feet made this little meeting seem a bit more…intimate, somehow.
And after that near kiss the other night, he was a man on the edge. A rush of heat surged through him. Mistake, he thought. Big mistake. They should have met somewhere public. Like maybe the Rose Bowl.
She walked to the sofa and sat down, curling one leg beneath her. Glancing up at him, she waved him to a seat and said, “Look, I’m sorry about Mama—”
The Last Santini Virgin Page 4