Starlight, Star Bright

by JoAnn Durgin

  “Don’t think you’ll get off that easy, mister. After all, any man who—” Amanda clamped her mouth shut. Keeping quiet had never been one of her strongpoints, and if the man wanted to keep his secret, then so be it.

  Dante slanted her a wry grin. “A man who…what?” Chomping on a pretzel, he gave her one of those slow-moving grins. “Si, bella?”

  “Never you mind, mister.” She concentrated on refilling the bowl of potato chips.

  “Oh, but I do mind. All right, since that tactic didn’t dissuade you, how about the fact we’re expected to watch over the students?” He folded the pretzel bag and tucked it in the box under the table.

  “How long has it been since you’ve actually danced?”

  “Long enough. The humiliation still burns in my brain.”

  No dancing in Italian clubs for this guy? Stop it! This kind of sarcastic thinking could ruin the night if she allowed it. Dante didn’t have to be with her at the Mistletoe Dance, standing close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough to drive her crazy if she didn’t find herself in his arms—one way or the other—before the end of the evening. Oh, the heart was a fickle thing. This whole staying-away-from-the-Italian-Cowboy plan wasn’t working very well.

  “A word of warning,” she said. “There’s a dance coming up where the kids clear out and only chaperones are allowed on the floor. In other words, it’s expected. To dance. You wouldn’t want to disappoint the kids, would you?”

  He twisted his lips. “You’re good. Sneaky, but good.”

  “I’m also not desperate, and I’m sure I can get Mr. Kennedy—Starlight’s two-term mayor, for the record—to take a whirl on the dance floor with me if you’re too chicken.”

  “Calling me names doesn’t help your case.” The deep timbre of Dante’s chuckle melted her even more.

  If he kept this up, the janitorial staff would mop her off the floor at the end of the evening. “Tell you what.” He turned to face her. “The only thing that’ll convince me to go out on that dance floor is if it’s a slow one and I’m dancing with the most beautiful girl in the room—the gym. And to sweeten the deal, I need the promise of a good-night kiss.” His lips hovered close to her face, his breath fanning her temple. “To be perfectly clear, bella, I’m talking about you.”

  A flush of heat warmed her. “You obviously believe you kiss better than you dance.” The way her heart palpitated, she might as well be back in high school. Overcome with sudden shyness, she ducked her head and avoided his gaze.

  According to what she’d read on the Internet, half the female population in Europe was infatuated with Dante Moretti. Well, no wonder. Based on his muscular frame and physical attractiveness alone, it was no mystery why magazines paid big money for the man to grace their pages. Any woman on the planet would be flattered by his personal attention. But how many had glimpsed his compassion and sensitivity, the kindness and generous heart pumping beneath that…absolutely fabulous red sweater?

  Amanda forced herself to stare at the live evergreen trees they’d brought into the gym. Breathing in the rich scent, she admired the decorating committee’s efforts to create a glistening indoor winter wonderland. It was either that or ogle the man. Really, she was no better than half the women staring at him all over Starlight. Dante could leave their little town any time he wanted. Why he’d stayed this long was beyond her comprehension unless he liked escaping the media attention in Europe. In Central Iowa, he could enjoy the relative anonymity. But the fact remained that Dante was a sports superstar, shining bright like one of the twinkling white lights in the trees.

  Not long after, the DJ announced it was time for the chaperones to take the floor. Dante was across the room, talking with some of the boys, but he excused himself, strolling across the gym in her direction. Observing him made her pulse go all kinds of crazy. Was he walking slowly on purpose? He’d removed his sweater and wore his blue-and-white striped dress shirt, the one he’d worn for their dinner at Lucia’s, opened at the neck.

  Mayor Kennedy thrust out his hand and engaged Dante in conversation at that moment. Swallowing her disappointment, Amanda turned back to the snack table. Since they weren’t dancing, the kids gobbled the cookies as fast as she could replenish them. She grabbed the box from Martha’s Bakery and arranged the reindeer, bells, trees, and snowmen on a platter. Why she bothered, she didn’t know, since they’d all be snatched up in a few seconds. Still, it gave her something to do while she waited for Dante. What was taking him so long?

  When she picked up a star with blue frosting and pastel sprinkles—her all-time favorite—she hesitated only a second before popping it in her mouth. Oh, it was good. She savored the rich, buttercream frosting. No one made cookies like Martha.

  Dante walked up beside her. “Shall we?”

  “Um, sure,” she said, grabbing a napkin and dabbing it on her lips. Covering her mouth, she swallowed the cookie and coughed. “Just getting some sustenance.”

  He wrapped his hand around hers, fully encasing it as he led her to the makeshift dance floor. But that’s where his confidence waned. The awkwardness in his expression and the rigid set of his shoulders almost made Amanda regret making him endure the torture known as dancing. The selfish part of her wanted to know the pleasure of being held close in Dante’s arms. Maybe once they started dancing, he’d be more comfortable.

  A tiny line between his brows surfaced and she longed to smooth it. “Relax,” she said as he moved one tentative hand to her waist. She’d always been ticklish and steeled herself not to giggle. “Let the music flow over you. Let it move you.” Where had that come from? She sounded like a dance instructor.

  “I imagine you do this all the time at your school dances in Florida,” he said.

  She could tell he was making an attempt to relax with small talk, but his frown returned.

  “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

  He tightened his hold around her waist. “Yes, we do.”

  Ah, yes, the competitiveness thing again.

  Dante’s eyes found hers, bright in the dim lighting. “You’re very beautiful tonight, signorina. Always beautiful.”

  “You’re very sweet. Thanks, Dante.” She rested her head on his shoulder, hearing the sound of his heartbeat, strong and sure.

  She’d borrowed a black satin skirt from Julia. The cut was slim, and the fabric fell to right below her knees. She’d paired it with a fitted, soft ivory blouse, black high-heeled sandals, and pearls at her throat and wrist. While the cut of the skirt didn’t allow much freedom of range and movement, it didn’t appear to be a problem since Dante barely moved. Not that she cared. He also had a way of making her feel beautiful, like the only woman in that big gym. He smelled nice, too. All woodsy and manly. What she needed was to get a grip on her runaway emotions whenever Dante was nearby.

  “I’d love to know what you’re thinking,” Dante said.

  “I’m sure you would. I like to keep you guessing. Keeps the spark alive in the relationship.”

  When he laughed, a number of people turned in their direction.

  “And you shouldn’t do that, either.”

  He quirked a brow and the corners of his mouth upturned. “Do what?”

  “Laugh. I mean, laugh the way you just did. All deep and…masculine.”

  “Well, it’s my natural voice and I like to laugh. I could try a falsetto laugh if that makes you happy.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous.” She patted his chest. Wow, it was solid. “I like you and your voice, just fine. I should have pelted you with that snowball on the church lawn the other day when I had my chance.”

  “Hey, four feet!” One of the jocks lounging against the gym wall hollered across the floor, startling her. “Need some lessons, buddy?”

  “Shut up, Brayden. You wouldn’t win any prizes either.” A pouty brunette stared the guy down.

  Amanda did a double-take. Stephanie Hicks? Seemed like a week ago she’d rocked that child in the church nursery and then t
aught her to swim when she was six.

  Dante swung her around and addressed Brayden. “Tell you what. I’ll watch you during the next dance and get some pointers.”

  “Yeah, man, you do that. You’re embarrassing yourself. I feel sorry for your pretty lady.”

  “Hey, I tried to warn her.” The line between Dante’s brows remained as he concentrated on his steps. After trouncing her toes a couple of times, his cheeks flushed, and he mumbled a quiet apology. “I wish I could do this better, Amanda. Sorry to disappoint you,” he said, brushing a quick kiss on her forehead. Her heart did a silly little flip, making her feel like one of the high school girls. Infatuation flooded her senses and rendered her dizzy.

  “Ah, ain’t that sweet,” another boy called out in an off-key, sing-song voice. “Four feet’s got a girlfriend.”

  “Nothing like having an audience,” Dante said. “Sorry about the kiss. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “I’m not disappointed. I also happen to think you’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever known.”

  Dante’s appreciation settled in his smile. He led her toward a quiet corner near the punch table. Amanda expected more cat calls to follow them, but the kids’ attention shifted. All the adults were fair game, it seemed, and their fun, teasing banter made her smile.

  “Are we too old to sneak under the bleachers, Miss Marston?”

  Her pulse skipped a staccato beat, a common occurrence these days. “As much as I’d love to do that very thing, why don’t you pour more punch, and I’ll refill the cookie trays and snack bowls?”

  “Spoilsport.” Although he took the stack of cups she handed him, Dante made no move to fill them.

  “Dante?”

  “Si?” His gorgeous blue-eyed gaze roamed over her face, slow and thorough. Distraction was becoming a way of life with this man around.

  “We’ve got a very important job to do here.”

  “Yes, taskmaster.” He poured a cup of punch and handed it to her. “Any other demands, signorina?”

  “None that I can think of, no. I’ve already put you through enough tonight.”

  He chuckled. “Later, bella.”

  The man had too many attractive qualities that could keep her counting well into the night. But, really, what would be the point? How could she hope for a future with Dante when he could leave at any given moment? Italy and Starlight were continents apart in more ways than one.

  She offered him one of the star-shaped cookies. With a smile, he thanked her and turned to speak with some of the men standing by the table. Seemed they, Dylan and Jake included, liked hanging around the food.

  Watching him laugh, those dimples deepening, she wondered if his thoughts mirrored hers or if he longed for the day he could get back on the soccer field in Italy. Who did he call when he wanted to go grab a meal? What did he do in his spare time? Did he have a church he attended? Did she need to know these things, have a right to know? So many questions.

  Facing the harsh realities was often the hardest thing to do in life. Knowing her grandparents were never coming back. That was truth. Knowing Dante couldn’t be happy in Starlight long term? Difficult as it was, yes, that was also truth.

  15

  Since the high school was only four blocks from the house, Dante suggested he and Amanda walk home. The cold didn’t even bother him as much anymore. Being around Amanda was enough.

  She stepped beside him, wearing her snow boots. A bag with her sandals dangled from her hand. “Ever been in a serious relationship?”

  Ah, she wanted to have that talk. He kicked up snow with his boot. “Not even close. I’ve been busy with my…career.” He wasn’t used to being cagey about what he did and didn’t like to even call it a job. In reality, it was like having an insane amount of fun while getting paid a ridiculous amount of money. In some ways, it riddled him with guilt, but he was doing what he loved and what he did best. He’d trained for it and refined his skills for years. Until his body couldn’t take it anymore, he’d always planned on playing soccer. Then this stopover in Starlight changed everything.

  “How about you?”

  “I’ve dated but nothing serious,” Amanda said. “Most guys are too focused on their jobs—no offense—or else they move too fast. In the Sunshine State, the majority of guys I meet are either high school age or on the opposite end of the longevity scale. Not a lot of dating options.”

  “Tell me more about living in Florida.”

  Her lovely smile caught him off-guard. “Well, for one thing, it’s way too humid.” She tugged on one of her curls. “Makes my hair unmanageable.” Releasing it, she laughed. “I sound like I’m in a hair conditioner commercial.”

  “Your hair’s molto bella.”

  He glimpsed her blush even in the moonlight.

  “I miss the seasons, too,” she said. “Being back home only reinforces it. This may sound crazy, but the warm weather spoils me and makes me lazy in some ways, but the cold weather keeps me sharp and makes me feel more…alive.” She shook her head. “Like I said…crazy.”

  “No, it’s not crazy, Amanda. And I like you being in Starlight.” Maybe that was flirtatious, but it was the truth. Why not push the limits? “I like being with you. Everything about you.”

  “Right back at ya, Italian Cowboy. Got any pets?”

  So, she wanted to be playful and change the subject on him. Fine, he’d play right along. He loved flirting with Amanda. They’d gotten pretty good at it.

  “One. A fat, spoiled cat named Grunt.”

  Amanda laughed in that low, throaty way he liked. “Why’d you name him that?”

  “’Cause that’s what he does. Grunts instead of meows and I’m pretty sure it’s in Italian.”

  “Mom and Dad are both allergic to anything with fur. I realize how pathetic that sounds—that I live with them, not the allergy thing. I get my love fix from Bailey.”

  “No explanations needed,” he said, hoping to reassure her. “Loyalty’s hard to come by, and respect for one’s parents is very admirable. Here’s a question for you. When you were a little girl, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

  “Cinderella, an astronaut, and a veterinarian.”

  He whistled under his breath. “Impressive.”

  “And a race car driver. In my spare time, of course.”

  “Then I’m sure you think I drive way too slow.”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “Again, I had an ulterior motive for driving slow. If you use your astronaut brain, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

  “Your turn. What did you want to be?”

  He shouldn’t have started this discussion. What could he say? Amanda’s words that first night in the diner jumped into his mind about how God could be sneaky sometimes. Yeah, the Almighty had His ways of bringing out the truth. Or maybe he’d subconsciously lured himself into a trap of his own making. Wouldn’t be the first time. Drawing in a breath, Dante figured he might as well get it out now and see how she reacted. Maybe it’d burst the dream bubble of being in Starlight, but above all, he didn’t want it to change anything with Amanda.

  “From the time I was a boy, I wanted to play soccer.” He hesitated. “Professionally.”

  “Well, then, I’d say your dream came true.” She didn’t bat an eyelash.

  He stopped and touched her arm. “Wait a minute. You know?”

  Amanda turned to him and met his gaze. “Si, Dante.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “Not long.” She touched his sleeve. “Please don’t be upset with me.”

  “Why would I be mad? If anything, you’re the one who has every right to be upset because I didn’t tell you.” He opened his mouth to ask how she’d found out, but why should it matter? “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, Amanda, but when people know, they…change.”

  “Well, you don’t need to worry about that with me.” She lifted her chin in that cute, stubborn way he adored. “I liked you before, and I like you even
more now. You could be a grave digger or a mortician, and I’d still want to be your friend.”

  The weight in his heart lifted and he thrilled at her words. “I’m glad you know.”

  “Me, too. And, for the record, I’m sort of secretly happy you’re not either of those things I just said.”

  He smiled as she kicked up more snow with her boot. “Are you saying you like me, bella?”

  “Yeah, I kind of do, Italian Cowboy.” Amanda pulled him beside her as they continued walking.

  “I think you know I kind of like you, too. A lot.”

  She squeezed his hand, and they walked in silence for a half-block. “I’ve always wondered why they call soccer football pretty much everywhere but the States.”

  “There are those who say Americans have it wrong.”

  She slanted him a sidelong look.

  “Think about it. Guys throw around an odd-shaped ball with their hands and call it football. Well, except for a place kicker like our friend Adam Vinatieri.” They shared a grin. “Soccer is keeping the ball in play primarily using our—”

  “Feet. Now I get it. Except for the goalie. You’re the only player on the team allowed to use your hands, right?”

  “Exactly. I’ll make an expert of you yet. We’re allowed to use any part of our body to deflect the ball, but when I’m inside the penalty box, I can use my hands to catch it.”

  “I’d like to see you play sometime.”

  “I’m sure you can catch a replay of a match on the Internet or one of those all-sports cable channels. Caroline could tell you, and she’d be more than happy to explain the game.”