It was his last rational thought before his climax hit him with the force of a runaway train, carrying him into a void of pure, mind-numbing pleasure.
Six
“So there you are.”
Seated at the end of the richly patterned brocade sofa that graced her father’s cozy study, Colleen looked up from the magazine she’d been reading as her younger sister Gina swept into the room.
In a ritual instituted by their mother, Moira, when Colleen, Nick, Ryan and Joe, the four older kids, had been teenagers, barring death or imprisonment the entire family was expected to sit down to dinner together at their parents’ Beacon Hill home the second Sunday of each month—or face their mother’s wrath.
Not surprisingly, attendance was excellent. And usually Colleen genuinely enjoyed the chance to visit with her brothers and sisters and get brought up to date on their lives.
But not tonight. Tonight she couldn’t stop thinking about how Gavin was at her place helping Brett with a homework assignment. And how she could hardly wait for the clock to strike seven-thirty, the earliest acceptable time for post-dinner departure. Or that as usual, God seemed to be having some fun at her expense, since the time, which usually flew by at these little get-togethers, currently seemed to be hobbling along with all the speed of a three-legged tortoise climbing Mount Everest.
“I wondered where you were hiding.” With her usual efficiency, Gina made a quick survey of the room, then headed to the fireplace, where she stooped down in order to open the screen. Taking a stick of applewood from the bin on the hearth, she tossed it onto the dwindling flames before straightening and turning to address Colleen. “What happened? All the arguing and shouting finally get to be too much for you?”
Colleen shook her head and a little regretfully slid the magazine—a copy of American Bride that she assumed had originally belonged to Nick’s new wife, Gail—onto the end table. “Of course not. Besides, you know what Mother always says, ‘Barones do not shout. They discuss.”’ She tipped up her chin in a lofty way that was a dead-on imitation of their maternal parent “‘Albeit with passionate persistence.”’
Clearly caught off guard, Gina let out a surprised sputter of laughter, and some of the tension seemed to drain out of her. Plopping down on the sofa next to Colleen, she kicked off her shoes and stretched out her long, slender legs. “Thanks. I needed that. I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve laughed in the past forty-eight hours.” Unable to contain a slight shudder, she leaned her head back against the cushion, squeezed her eyes shut and let out a heartfelt sigh. “Lord, what a nightmare.”
There was no need for her to explain that she was referring to the Valentine’s Day disaster; Friday night’s debacle had been the dominant topic most of the night. And since Gina was Baronessa’s VP in charge of marketing and public relations, it had fallen on her slim shoulders to deal with the press the past forty-eight hours and do what she could to minimize the damage done to the company’s reputation. She’d been in the thick of every discussion.
Colleen leaned over and gave her sister a quick hug. Pulling back, she met Gina’s troubled gaze. “It’ll be all right,” she said softly. “Just give it some time. You’re doing a great job.”
“I don’t know about that,” Gina said with a sigh. “Every time I think about all those people getting sick because some twisted creep put habanera peppers into the gelato, I want to hit someone. And who ever even heard of a burning-hot pepper that’s colorless and odorless and flavorless, anyway?” Her slim, elegant hands curled into fists. “It was probably one of those sneaky, underhanded, weasel-faced Contis.”
Colleen checked her instinctive protest. Although there was no proof that the feud with their family’s long-term archenemies was behind what had happened Friday night, feelings for and against the theory were running high.
While Nick, as chief operating officer, insisted it was his obligation to remain neutral until he had all the facts, their father, Carlo, cousins Daniel and Derrick, and Gina herself obviously were convinced what had happened had to be the work of the Contis.
Their brother Joe and cousin Claudia, on the other hand, were more inclined to believe that one of Baronessa’s competitors must have been behind the malicious act.
Most unexpected of all, however, had been Maria. Almost ten years younger than Colleen and the baby of the family at twenty-three, the very capable manager of the Hanover Street gelateria had out of the blue unexpectedly defended the Contis, causing a mild uproar and a lot of raised eyebrows.
Colleen wasn’t sure what she believed. Like Nick, it wasn’t in her nature to rush to judgment. And she had faith that a certain Higher Power would see to it that things eventually got sorted out and justice prevailed.
Plus, at the moment she happened to be more than a little preoccupied with her own life.
As if reading her mind, Gina suddenly turned to her. “You certainly didn’t have much to say at dinner one way or the other.”
Colleen met her sister’s lovely violet eyes and shrugged. “I guess I don’t see the need. I’m confident that you and Papa and Nick and Joe will get to the bottom of it.”
Gina shook her head in a show of disbelief. “You know, sometimes I can’t believe we’re related. You’re always so sensible and serene.”
Don’t I wish, Colleen thought wryly. Serene was the very last word she’d use to describe herself ever since the incredible night she’d spent with Gavin. Instead, she felt like one of those tiny figures inside a well-shaken snow globe—totally adrift and completely clueless as to which way was up and which was down.
“Although,” Gina mused out loud, tilting her head a fraction as she considered her sister, “tonight you do seem a little distracted. And once or twice you’ve had the strangest little smile on your face.” He gaze abruptly sharpened. “It doesn’t have something to do with your seeing Gavin O’Sullivan again, does it?”
The small brass clock on the mantel chimed. Colleen glanced at her watch, saw that it was finally half-past seven and scrambled to her feet.
“You’re imagining things,” she said, trying not to wince as she added lying to her growing list of recent sins. She slipped on her shoes, leaned over and gave a startled Gina a quick hug. “But I love you, anyway,” she said. “And don’t worry so much. Everything will turn out all right.”
“But, Colleen, wait! Where are you going?”
She flashed her sister a sunny smile. “Home.”
The last place Colleen expected to find Gavin and Brett was out behind the brownstone in the garage with Mr. Crypinski.
In the three years she’d lived there, she’d never been allowed into the small, detached building with its boarded windows. Her landlord had always kept it securely locked.
Colleen had to admit that Mr. Crypinski’s protective, secretive behavior had caused her no end of entertaining speculation. What could he have in there? she’d often wondered. An alien spacecraft? The world’s largest collection of old magazines? A gigantic ball of string? Or perhaps there was a cache of super high-tech spy equipment because behind his gruff, taciturn facade the older man was actually a suave secret agent, South Boston’s very own James Bond. Although even she realized that last was a definite long shot.
But now, as she stood in the garage’s open doorway looking in at the scene, which was as bright as day thanks to a bank of lights overhead, Colleen finally knew.
And it was even better and more unexpected than anything she’d ever imagined.
Smack dab in the center of the concrete slab floor was a car. And not just any car. Having been blessed with four brothers, Colleen knew a classic 1961 Thunderbird when she saw one.
And this one was a beaut. Looking as if it had just rolled off the line and onto the showroom floor, the candy-apple-red convertible boasted a mirror-polished chrome grill, gleaming hubcaps, pristine white sidewall tires and a red-and-white leather interior.
By itself, it would have been impressive enough. But even more asto
nishing was the sight of Brett, sitting in the driver’s seat, his hands on the wheel. And beside him in the passenger seat was Mr. Crypinski—the same Mr. Crypinski who probably hadn’t spoken more than a hundred words to her the entire time she’d known him—gesturing with actual animation while going on at length about his pride and joy’s various attributes.
Rounding out the surreal tableau was Gavin. Perched on the edge of the back seat, the sleeves of his navy V-neck sweater pushed back to expose his forearms, which were resting atop the seat in front of him, he appeared engrossed, seeming to hang on the older man’s every syllable.
It was…amazing. Unbelievable. More than a little wonderful.
And people don’t believe in miracles, Colleen thought in bemusement. Apologizing for her fellow man, she sent a heartfelt word of thanks heavenward.
A second later, as if sensing her presence, Gavin abruptly looked over and spotted her. “Hey,” he said. Although his voice was casual, something in the way his gaze played over her made her heart skip a beat and took the chill out of the night air.
“Hey, Ms. Barone,” Brett echoed, doing his best to match Gavin’s controlled cool, only to blow it with his next sentence. “Isn’t this tight?”
“Yes. It certainly is.”
“Mr. C’s telling us all about it. Did you know that it can go from zero to sixty in under ten seconds? And that Elvis Presley owned one just like it?”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t.”
“Well, he did. I can’t believe you never told me about it.”
There was a faint note of accusation in the boy’s voice, and Colleen realized it didn’t have anything to do with Elvis, but about what he believed to be her failure to confide in him regarding the car’s existence.
Before she could decide on the best way to respond, however, her landlord surprised her all over again, this time by coming to her defense.
“Now hold on,” he said to Brett. “The truth is, she couldn’t say anything to you because she didn’t know anything.” He sent Colleen an apologetic look, then turned back to face the boy. “I never thought to show her the car ’cause I just plain didn’t think she’d be interested. This baby here—” he gave the T-Bird’s glossy dash a fond pat “—well, it’s kind of a guy thing. Or at least that’s what Edna, my late wife, always said.”
To Colleen’s fascination, the other two “guys” immediately nodded and both knowingly murmured, “Ah,” as if the older man’s explanation was a perfectly acceptable defense for behaving like a male chauvinist.
She knew she ought to be offended, yet in this instance it just didn’t seem that important. Not when it was so clear that the three of them were caught up in some serious male bonding.
That had to count for something, given that until she’d walked in here a minute ago she’d never in her life known three more stubbornly solitary individuals. Something very good indeed. And the last thing she wanted to do was put a damper on their good time. At least not tonight.
Not that she intended to roll over completely. Crossing her arms, she fixed her best expectant look on Brett, the one she’d worked hard to perfect during her tenure as a nun, and waited.
The boy managed to avoid her gaze for all of ten seconds, then finally looked over at her. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Apology accepted. Did you get your homework done?”
He nodded.
“Good.” Rubbing her hands down her arms, she manufactured a little shiver. “Now, I’m going inside. It’s way too cold out here.”
She turned and took a step, then stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, I almost forgot. My mother sent one of her German-chocolate cakes home with me. You’re all invited to come have a piece when you’re done here.”
With that she made her exit, wagering they wouldn’t last outside another fifteen minutes.
As it turned out, she underestimated the lure of dessert.
They were at her door in under six.
Moira Barone might not be his favorite person, but Gavin had to give her credit.
The woman knew her way around a kitchen.
“Wonderful cake,” he said to Colleen as he set his empty plate down on the coffee table in her living room. With a satisfied sigh he stretched out his legs and slouched down on his spine on the sofa.
“Are you sure you got enough?”
On the surface the question sounded sincere, but he was beginning to relearn the nuances of Colleen’s personality, and one sideways look at the banked amusement in her eyes as she sat in the chair to his right, her bare feet curled beneath her, told its own story.
“Yeah. Three pieces was a bit of a challenge, but then, I like living on the edge.” He’d also managed to outstay Emmett Crypinski and Brett, which had been his goal all along. For the usual male reason—the desire to get a particular woman into bed—he was in no hurry to leave. “So how was your dinner?”
She made a face. “Noisy.”
“Any word yet on who’s responsible for what happened Friday night?”
She shook her head. “No. Just a whole lot of opinions.”
“Huh. Well, your family has certainly never lacked those.”
To his gratification, the corners of her mouth tipped up. “Truer words were never spoken. But I’d suggest you try not to look quite so smug.”
“And why is that?”
“Because as I was leaving tonight, Mother informed me she wants us to get together this week.”
“Us who?” he said, suddenly wary.
“Who do you think? You and me and her and Papa. She said that unless she hears otherwise, she’ll expect us for dinner this coming Thursday.”
“Swell.”
She sent him one of those mischievous smiles that always played hell with his insides. “Don’t worry. I told her I couldn’t possibly make a commitment without talking to you first. And as far as I’m concerned, we don’t have to do anything just because Mother commands it. We can have dinner anytime. I’m thinking that February 2054 sounds about right.”
He couldn’t help it, he laughed, his equilibrium restored, along with a curiosity about just what Colleen’s mother had in mind. “No, let’s go. I can handle your mother.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Okay. If you’re positive.”
“I am.”
“Now I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“How did you ever wind up being so chummy with Mr. Crypinski?”
“Emmett?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. He came by to fix your intercom, heard Brett and me discussing my Porsche, and out of the blue he got all bent out of shape, claiming there was no way some fancy foreign import could hold a candle to a real American car. That made Brett get on him, asking what made him such an expert, and the next thing I knew, we were on our way to his garage. And then once we actually clapped eyes on the T-Bird, things sort of snowballed from there.
“Brett asked him some question, and he started going on about his baby’s finer points, and…well, you heard them. It was like once they got started, neither one of them could shut up.”
“Amazing,” she murmured. “Just a couple of weeks ago Mr. Crypinski wouldn’t even let Brett into the house.”
“Yeah, well, in this neighborhood it pays to be cautious.”
“But tonight the two of them really seemed to be connecting,” she said, disregarding his rather pointed remark.
Gavin considered the thoughtful look on her face and decided he’d let the other matter drop—for the moment. “I got the feeling that Emmett’s lonely. And he said a few things that made it pretty clear he’s been keeping tabs on Brett for a while.”
“Really…” Her voice trailed off, and it was obvious from her arrested expression that something ingenious was going on in her mind.
He settled more deeply into the couch and found himself thinking, as one minute turned into two, that despite its well-used appearance, this particular piece of furniture
was extremely comfortable. Which was more than he could say for the handsome taupe leather sofa that occupied his own living room at the Independence.
Which reminded him… “Colleen?”
“Hmm?”
“Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Why are you living here? In a place like this?”
She looked over, focusing on him. “I’m not sure I know what you mean. It’s my home.”
He gazed steadily at her, letting his silence do the talking.
“Well, it is.” She suddenly sounded just the slightest bit defensive. “Plus, it’s close to school and shopping, which is convenient since I don’t drive. And I like that I don’t have to share space with lots of other people the way I would in a bigger apartment building.”
He conceded the merits of her argument. “All right.” Then he drove home his point. “But it’s still Jefferson Heights.”
“So? That happens to be where I’m employed. And in case it’s somehow escaped your notice, they don’t exactly pay school social workers a ton of money.”
Try as he might, he couldn’t keep out the edge that suddenly crept into his voice. “And what? You’re saving your trust fund for your old age?” He knew damn well that each of the Barone kids had received a million dollars when they reached twenty-one. During the time they’d been together he’d been acutely aware of Colleen’s upcoming windfall. And his utter lack of one.
Yet to his surprise, rather than taking offense, Colleen suddenly laughed. “Oh, Gavin, I’m sorry. I thought you knew. I gave it away.”
“You gave what away?”
“My trust money. Before I entered the convent, I signed it over to the Church to start a scholarship fund for inner-city kids.”
He felt his jaw sag and clamped it shut. Still, he couldn’t stop the shock shuddering through him. “You gave away a million dollars?”
She nodded.
“Just like that?” He tried to take it in.
She shrugged one slim shoulder. “I didn’t need it,” she said softly, a touch of sadness suddenly stark in her eyes. “I told you back when we were in college, remember? For me, my life, it’s never been about money.”
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