by Mary Campisi
That dark gaze slid to hers, locked. “What?”
More jaw clenching. “Maybe losing control isn’t such a bad thing.” She paused as the truth of her words hit her. “Maybe if we’re with the right person, it’s a very good thing.” Angie leaned forward, brushed her lips over his, and whispered, “Do not apologize for what happened a few minutes ago.” She trailed kisses along his jaw, nipped his neck. “It was absolutely mind-blowing.”
His hands slid down her back, pulled her closer. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” She laughed, worked her mouth back to his. “Definitely, and after we eat your mother’s manicotti, maybe we’ll try that again.”
Rich laughter spilled over her, tugged at her heart. “I like the sound of that,” he said, inching his hand along her thigh. “You’ve got a very active imagination, Angie Sorrento, and I hope to explore that further.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” She eased away, took his hand, and said, “Now let’s eat.”
Chapter 13
Roman never thought of his mother’s manicotti as a prelude to sex, but watching Angie eat it, that pink tongue darting out to catch a stray gob of cheese mixture gave sexy a whole new meaning, one he’d never forget. They sat in Mimi Pendergrass’s kitchen—the dining room was too formal, the chairs too far away from one another—enjoying manicotti and meatballs, salad, wine, and conversation. Why hadn’t he ever noticed the dimple on the right side of her cheek when she smiled? Or the way her hair shone under the lights when she moved a certain way? And those legs? Toned with a hint of tan, soft and silky—irresistible. Partway through the meal, he pulled her onto his lap, fed her bites of manicotti, held his wine glass to her lips. The Angie Sorrento who’d sniped, glared, and bugged the crap out of him had been replaced by a seductive temptress.
“So, what’s the real story behind that girl’s pregnancy?”
Or not. Maybe the real Angie Sorrento was the dynamo with the quick wit and sharp tongue who occasionally relaxed enough to turn seductress. Roman sighed. Life would never get dull or boring with her, no doubt about that.
“You know there’s a lot of speculation floating around this town, but that’s all it is. Most everybody realizes by now you weren’t the father of that girl’s baby, but what they’re wondering is why she’d say you were.”
She was too close to ignore, but his gut told him she could be standing three thousand miles away and he wouldn’t be able to ignore her. Angie Sorrento wasn’t the kind to be ignored when she wanted answers. Maybe that’s one of the things he admired about her; she didn’t pretend around the tough questions. Roman met her gaze, intent, straightforward, waiting. “I’ve asked myself that question too many times over the years. Why would a girl I’d helped pin that on me? It’s not like we hung around together and the whole school knew I had a girlfriend, so why me?” He shook his head, fell back all those years ago to the afternoon he learned he’d been accused of getting Paula Morrisen pregnant. At first he thought it was a joke, a sick one, but that made more sense than the girl pinning it on him. But she had, and then she’d refused to speak with him, and worse, the family packed up and moved away.
“Maybe she got involved with a married man? Or a teacher? Who knows?” Angie barreled right into his past as though she could pick through the rubble that had become his life for facts. “It had to be something she wanted to hide, or maybe somebody paid her off?” Her dark eyes sparkled with possibilities. “Bet I could find out if I had more information.” Those eyes narrowed on him. “Like a last known address.”
Roman laughed. “My very own champion, huh? Where were you when I was eighteen?”
“Be serious. You can find out. I know a guy who hired a private detective to report on an old girlfriend. She never knew about it and it went on for years. The guy was very thorough.”
“These people aren’t hiding anymore. I heard they’re living in plain sight in a nearby town. Big house, a pool. Sure, I could contact Paula, but what’s the point? That lie wrecked my life for more years than I want to admit.” He lifted a lock of her hair, sifted it through his fingers. “I really don’t want to do this right now. Can we let it go?”
She placed her small hands on either side of his face, leaned in and kissed him. “I could help you find out the truth.” Another kiss, this one on his right temple. “Don’t you want my help?”
He undid the top button of her dress. “Yeah, I do want your help.” The next button popped open, followed by the third. Roman eased the silky material aside, traced the design on the red lace bra. “Can you show me to your bedroom?”
She pretended shock. “Are you serious?”
His fingers toyed with the front clasp of her bra. “Very.”
A tiny smile, a breathy, “And dessert? It’s your favorite.”
He unclasped her bra, smiled. “I have a new favorite dessert. It’s called Angie.”
Roman had spent most of his adult life believing he had to control situations, circumstances, and outcomes in order to ensure success, but there was no controlling Angie Sorrento. The woman was passion and seduction wrapped in a pint-sized body. She kissed him, long and deep, those small, efficient hands roaming his body, unbuttoning his shirt, unzipping his pants, and moving, always moving. He couldn’t keep up with her, didn’t know the plan, a first for a guy who always knew the plan. When he tried to slide her dress off her shoulders, she stepped away, shook her head, the wild hair swaying about her shoulders and said, “No, not yet.” More kisses, more strokes, hard, fast…off went his shirt, his belt…
“Angie,” he breathed, pulling her to him when they reached the steps. “I want you.”
“And you’ll have me,” she whispered, easing her body along his, slow…precise…
Roman pulled away, his breath coming in uneven gasps, his body pounding with need. When she smiled and fingered the lace of her panties, he scooped her in his arms and bounded up the steps. “Which room?”
She hesitated a second, then said, “The one at the end of the hall.”
He padded down the narrow hallway, flung open the door, and stared at the massive bed. He’d heard about this room, the rose petals scattered on the bed, the heart-shaped tub. Roman sucked in air, darted a glance at the woman in his arms. “The honeymoon suite.”
“Relax.” She slid out of his arms, made her way to the nightstand, and opened the drawer. When she held up a shiny foil packet, he let out a quiet sigh. “Bet you didn’t think of these, did you?”
No, he hadn’t considered stuffing condoms in his back pocket because having sex with Angie tonight had been a non-issue. Wasn’t happening. Except it was. And what if he had considered sex as a possibility, had packed his pocket with condoms and she’d spotted them, then what? He didn’t doubt she’d make him pay for it. A punch? A kick to the shins or knee to the groin? Maybe all three. Angie Sorrento was a kickass kind of woman who didn’t put up with a guy’s jerk moves. Roman shook his head, deciding no comment was the best comment.
She tossed the packets on the nightstand, pulled back the comforter, and let the rose petals scatter and settle before she climbed onto the bed. “Come here, Roman.” She laid her head on the comforter, held out her arms. “I want to show you something.”
Her throaty laughter filled the air, pulled him to her as need and desire took over. Roman joined her, clasped her face between his hands, kissed her long and slow and deep, taking what she offered, giving back. Lovemaking had never required much thought or worry about pleasing a woman; he knew exactly how to elicit the desired response and no woman had ever left his company unsatisfied. But Angie wasn’t just any woman. She was so much more; her requirements might be, too. This woman might actually want a piece of him, and not just the sexual piece, but the one lodged in his chest.
“Roman,” Angie murmured as he stroked her thigh, slid off her dress. “You make me…make me…” Her eyes drifted shut as he kissed her belly, lower, lower still. The moaning started then, rose as he slid her panti
es off, laid his hand on her sex. Maybe he would stick with what he knew worked and forget about changing up the routine. Why fix it if it wasn’t an issue?
But he should have known better. Seconds before he tasted her, Angie rolled over, pushed him on his back and straddled him. “Relax. Trust me, okay?” “Close your eyes.”
That wasn’t as easy as it sounded. It required trust, damn it. “Angie, I’m not into domination, so if that’s your thing…”
“What? No, of course not.” She huffed, placed her hands on her hips. “Eyes. Closed.”
What could he do? Roman closed his eyes. The kisses came first, whisper soft, trailing along his arms to his belly, circling each nipple. Then came the tongue. Oh, damn but she had a tongue… He’d keep his eyes closed for a month if she promised to keep doing this. “See. Trust,” she said as she eased his jeans and boxers down his legs. Next came the condom—a perfect fit with the help of those efficient little fingers. Then, more kisses, these on his calf, fluttering along his leg, and last, but oh hell no, not least, that tongue, tracing the inside of his thigh.
And then nothing.
“Keep your eyes closed,” she murmured.
He was so damn hot and ready, he couldn’t stand it. Enough of the games; he wanted her now, hard and fast and deep. And once would not be enough. Hell no. Twice wouldn’t be enough. Maybe—
She impaled him with a sigh. A very loud, very satisfied sigh. And then she moved and he forgot about keeping his eyes closed and trusting and relaxing, forgot everything but burying himself deep inside her. He grabbed her hips, rolled her over, and did just that, and this time the sigh that floated in the air was his. She felt so damn good, this felt so damn right. Roman thrust deeper, caught her moans with his mouth as they moved together in a rhythm that spoke of hope and possibilities. Their lovemaking grew needy, desperate, and loud. Angie screamed the first time she climaxed. Roman groaned and not just a quiet groan either but one that announced complete satisfaction. Hopefully, the whole town hadn’t heard them, but right now, he didn’t care.
The second time they made love, Angie closed her eyes as he explored her body until she cried out her need. Then he lifted her onto his sex, let her take her pleasure. But she wasn’t the only one taking pleasure. Oh, no. He had his fill, too. As they lay spent and satisfied, Angie’s head resting on Roman’s chest, he realized he hadn’t been this relaxed or at peace in a long time. Years maybe. And it felt good. “We never did have dessert,” Angie said, tracing circles on his chest. “And your mother told me double fudge brownies were your favorite.”
He laughed. “She told you that, huh? Well, I couldn’t very well tell her you were my favorite dessert, could I? I mean, it’s my mother and while I suspected you might be better than a brownie, I had no prior knowledge.” When she swatted his chest, he laughed, tightened his hold on her, and whispered, “Now I know.”
***
News that Roman Ventori and Angie Sorrento were a couple spread through town faster than the grease fire in Lina’s Café twelve years ago. Four days after the initial “sighting,” the town still hadn’t stopped commenting on the union.
We just knew those two would end up together.
That boy’s finally going to find his happily-ever-after.
Did they set the date yet?
I heard they’re planning a baby.
I heard they’ve been sneaking around since she came to town.
Love at first sight.
Of course it was love at first sight; anybody could see that.
The happiest people with the news, aside from the couple, were Sal and Lorraine Ventori and Pop Benito. Sal caught his son rolling into the house that first night at 5:30 a.m., shirt untucked, hair sticking up, and a face that said exhausted. That could only mean one thing and Sal might be old but he wasn’t so old that he’d forgotten what the aftermath of being with a woman looked like. He didn’t ask his son where he’d been and he dang sure didn’t ask what he’d been doing or with whom, but his gut told him her name was Angela Sorrento. As soon as the sun rose and Sal knew Pop would be drinking his first cup of coffee, he phoned him with the news and his suspicions.
“Guess who didn’t sleep in his own bed last night?”
“Roman?” Pop’s excitement raced through the lines. “He and Angie…?”
Sal kept his voice low. “Pretty sure. Last I knew the boy was headed to the Heart Sent for dinner with Angie.”
“How the heck did that come about?”
“Lorraine. Can you believe it?” Sal laughed, pictured his wife spilling her soul and a lot of apologies to Angie Sorrento while offering up manicotti and meatballs for dinner. “That woman achieved what you and I couldn’t. She got them together, imagine that?”
“Huh.” Pause. “How?”
Sal pictured his friend scratching his head like he did when the answer skittered past him. “Told her the truth, I guess. Maybe we should have tried that instead of setting the stage. Lorraine said she confessed what you and I were up to and then she started on about how she knew Angela and Roman weren’t a match, but maybe under different circumstances, they could have been. How’s that for a switcheroo?”
“Dang,” Pop said, his voice spilling admiration. “She’s good.” And then, “You sure she wasn’t setting the girl up, waiting for her guard to go down, and then bam, nail her with enough emotion to make her feel sorry for Lorraine, maybe a little sorry for Roman, too?”
“Nah, my wife’s too honest. I’m wondering if I should tell her my suspicions or wait for Roman to confess he’s fallen for Angela.”
“You got to strike while the emotions are hot. Tell her. Wouldn’t hurt to have a chat with Roman, too. Give him the old she’s-a-good-girl speech and ‘what are your intentions’ and depending on how that goes, hit him with, ‘when’s the wedding and how about that baby?’ ’Course, I hope those two aren’t like Lucy and get the baby ahead of the wedding. Come to think of it, Lucy didn’t get the man right either. Huh. Maybe you should skip that part.”
Sal might not be a New Age kind of guy, but he did know better than to slam his son with talk of “good girls” and “intentions.” That was an end to a conversation that wouldn’t get past two sentences. He’d made enough mistakes with Roman in the past and if he’d learned one lesson, it was to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut. And have more faith in his boy. He heaved a sigh, said in a quiet voice, “I think we should let Roman and Angela steer this ship, see where it takes them. If it starts veering off course, we’ll get involved, but for now, let’s relax and enjoy the show.”
“You might be right, Sal. We could be in for one heck of a show.” Pop’s next words were filled with a burst of humor. “And maybe a wedding and a baby.”
***
Angie’s brushstrokes matched the rhythm of her humming as she painted the “A” in Sal’s. She’d gotten to the Towne Hall two hours before she expected Sasha because she hadn’t been able to sleep. A smile slipped across her face, the memory of why sleep escaped her making her tingle. Roman. He’d invaded her brain, stolen her heart, her senses, claimed her body and soul. She couldn’t form a solid thought without his voice penetrating it, swirling through her, promising everything. These past four nights had been magical, better than a dream, as they explored each other’s bodies, filled the need inside that had lain empty and wanting for too many years: the loneliness, the sadness, the desire to belong, to be understood and accepted. To be loved. But it was more than that. They talked, they laughed. They shared. Did it matter that she hadn’t told him about the ex-fiancé who left her three days before the wedding? Or that she had no idea why he’d divorced his first wife? It would come, all of it, as time passed and they grew closer. Maybe one day she’d even tell him about the entertainment magazines she obsessed over, especially the ones with his pictures inside. But not now, not yet.
“Excuse me, Angie?”
Angie looked up from the lattice she’d been painting and spotted Charlotte Simmons standing
a few feet away, looking as delicate and beautiful as an orchid in her pink sundress, blond hair swept from her face in a chignon, pearl earrings on her ears. This was Roman’s ex-girlfriend, the one who broke his heart when she dumped him. “I’m Angie,” she said, setting the paintbrush on a piece of cardboard. “How can I help you?”
The woman offered a faint smile as if it were almost too much energy to give a full-blown one. “I’ve come about Roman. We have a history together, one you couldn’t possibly understand.” Her voice shifted, the smile grew. “We shared a lot of firsts; we planned to share a life together.” A sigh escaped her full lips. “He was such a dreamer…”
Was she for real? Did she think she could waltz in here and reclaim her stake on Roman as if she had a right? “I think you forgot about your husband and children,” Angie said, hands on hips, gaze narrowed on the delicate flower. “And the fact that you dumped Roman when he needed you most.”
“I had my reasons and Roman knows that.” Pause, a sniff. “And my issues with my husband are my issues.”
“And your children? What about them?”
“I love my children.” The woman raised a brow. “Do you have children?” When Angie shook her head, the smile Charlotte offered splintered into a flat line. “Exactly. You have no idea what that means, just like you have no idea what Roman needs. But I do.” Her voice dipped, turned possessive. “I can give him everything he needs. Oh, yes, I know how to keep him happy.”
“Sex isn’t everything.” Damn, this woman and her superior attitude.
“That’s what I was about to say to you.” Her words stretched between them, wrapped around Angie’s neck, pulled tight. “Roman’s a virile man and you are so obviously panting after him, why wouldn’t he take what you offered?”
“Get out.”
Charlotte Simmons batted her lashes, those blue eyes glittering. “Roman Ventori’s mine. Now, always, forever. Don’t forget that.” Then she turned and was gone.