by Joanne Rock
An idea that wasn't totally lacking in merit.
"If you're not mad at me…" he forged ahead, unable to forgo his plans for seduction even when they were exploding in his face. The thought of her in that shower every night had been making him crazy, "…then hear me out. I have a proposition to make."
Eyes widening, Christine edged to the far side of her chair. Possibly to look at him without turning her head since they were seated so close together at the patio table. But Vito knew damn well she was inserting space between them.
"You'd prefer honeysuckle over the Virginia creeper wouldn't you?" she supplied, her gaze flicking over a new vine she'd planted along the back of the house.
Sliding his hand over hers where it rested on the arm of her chair, his touch succeeded in securing her attention far better than his words had done.
"I guarantee my idea doesn't have a damn thing to do with flowers." He absorbed the smooth feel of the skin she protected every day with gloves despite the heat. The rapid beat of her heart pulsed through her veins as he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.
He wished he could tell himself that fluttering of her heart came from attraction, but his gut told him it had more to do with anxiety. He made her nervous for some reason. So much so that she was starting to make him nervous, for crying out loud.
Propositioning a woman had never been so bloody difficult.
"Remember when you told me that men weren't in your five-year plan?" He'd been thinking about those words for two weeks, assuring himself he hadn't misunderstood.
"I remember," she replied carefully, staring down at their joined hands as if trying to catalog some never-seen-before plant species. "Maybe I should have mentioned that showering in the vicinity of men was also not on my agenda."
Ah, hell. There was no hope to bring this up subtly.
Vito took a deep breath and spoke his peace.
"After you confided that, it occurred to me that we would be ideal candidates for a summer fling."
He recognized that his delivery lacked romance and passion and all that hearts-and-flowers stuff women liked. He hadn't needed to employ charm for so long he wondered if he still possessed a supply.
"A fling?" Her jaw dropped. She slid her hand out from under his then wrapped her arms around herself in the warm night air. Shadows drifted over her face as clouds covered the moon, making her reaction all the more difficult to gauge.
"Yes. From what you said about not wanting a relationship, I thought a no-strings-attached affair might have a certain appeal." He hoped. "That is, if I haven't misread you. I was under the impression the attraction between us might be mutual."
"I'm never even around you since I'm outdoors and you're inside on the computer all the time." She shook her head, her dark hair bobbing around her face with the effort. "I've avoided you at all costs for two weeks and counting." She frowned as she glared at him. "Just how in the blazes would you decide I must be attracted to you? Is this some racer-ego thing at work where you must have every woman within a mile radius of you?"
"I promise this has nothing to do with ego and everything to do with libido." It also had something to do with her, since she fired him up in a way no woman other woman had. "And I guessed maybe you were attracted because you were avoiding me at all costs for two weeks and counting."
She smacked the tabletop with her hand. "And from that you assume I must want you?" Her voice rose with the sentiment before her gaze narrowed. "How do you know you don't just have bad breath?"
"Okay, so maybe there's a little ego involved in this part. Plus I have a really great dentist." He leaned back in his chair to give her time to think. To get out of her face for a minute and maybe take some of the pressure off. He'd never seen anyone fight physical attraction with such dogged determination.
Staring up at the stars, he mentally connected the dots to make the Big Dipper. Waiting.
"I might be a little bit attracted." Her soft-spoken honesty came when he'd least expected it, her words as straightforward and honest as her work ethic. Simple. Strong.
Forgetting all about the night sky, Vito leaned closer. His first instinct was to shout "aha!" but he thought that wouldn't go over well. Unlike his brothers, he didn't need to speak his every thought.
Most of the time, anyway.
"We don't have to do anything about it, obviously." But he really, really wanted to. "I just thought it could be fun to see what happens if we act on it."
Staring out over the yard in the shifting moonlight, Christine finally dragged her gaze back to his. "But I don't know about the … fling. I'll admit the idea sounds intriguing."
Her eyes flitted away again, bouncing down to the table, up to the house, anywhere but toward him.
And just like that, his engine started heating up into the red zone. Knowing that she was thinking about him, and that thinking about him rattled her… Vito couldn't imagine what kind of reaction he'd get if he kissed her, touched her, undressed every inch of her.
"It's intriguing me, too," he admitted, hoping honesty would make up for what his proposal had lacked in finesse. "I've been thinking about you a lot lately."
She glanced back at him finally, her fingers drumming a high-speed tune on the arm of her patio chair. "But I need to think over your suggestion. Just because I'm curious doesn't give me the right to jump into bed with someone. I'd like to take a few days to decide."
Days? He'd been hoping she'd say minutes. Or maybe hours. He could have waited a few hours and then hauled her back to his bed to explore every sweet inch of her.
"Fair enough," he lied, knowing it was the right thing to say even if he'd suffer mightily while she made up her mind. "But can I ask you to take one more thing into consideration before you make up your mind?"
His blood slogged through his veins with heavy, hot force but he held himself perfectly still until she nodded.
And then, slanting his lips over hers, he employed a more eloquent means of persuasion.
* * *
6
« ^ »
Vito's kiss acted on Christine's decision-making powers with all the potency of Miracle-Gro.
She had wanted to be so smart about this, so reasonable, yet the warm heat of his mouth on hers made it nearly impossible for her to refuse him. Urged her to say yes, right then and there.
Lifting her hands to his shoulders, she told herself she should insert some space between them. Yet her fingers failed to push him away. They tracked their way down his chest, savoring the broad, masculine feel of him without her permission.
Shifting in her seat, she found herself closer to him. If not for the arm of her chair she might have been in his lap. His tongue stroked over hers with slow thoroughness, forcing her to remember she couldn't deny herself male companionship for years on end while she got her business off the ground. She wasn't a slave to her work.
She was a woman with very real physical desires. Needs. And this whole idea of a fling was making more and more sense to her passion-clouded brain. Especially when Vito's hand landed on her bare knee.
Christine broke away from him before she lost all control.
"I will keep that point in mind while I think things over," she blurted, desperate for space before she combusted right in front of him.
Rising on shaky legs, she moved away from the table. "Your last thought on the subject was particularly convincing."
He shot to his feet. "I didn't mean to … spend so much time making the argument." The half smile he gave her stole away her very last defense. "That kiss sort of took on a life of its own."
She backed away across the patio toward the French doors leading into the house. "No need to stand on my account." She waved him away while she made her escape. "I'm just going to head to bed anyway."
If he'd been the player she'd once accused him of being, he would have asked to join her. Or worse, used another kiss on her to change her mind. God knows she'd proven herself susceptible.
But
he remained right where she left him by the patio table, his hands jammed into his pockets.
"'Night, Christine."
This time he didn't have to wish her pleasant dreams. They both knew exactly what she'd be thinking about tonight.
* * *
Days passed. Christine bent over the roots of an uncooperative fig tree nearly a week later and told herself she had to give Vito an answer one way or another soon. She'd told him she'd get back to him in a few days' time, but ever since he'd kissed her she'd been plagued with indecision. Should she? Shouldn't she?
The temptation persisted even while her logical mind made all sorts of rational arguments. Really smart rational arguments. Like, why should she ever subject herself to romantic involvement again after the valuable lesson she'd learned last time? Those cartoon hearts in her eyes sure had clouded her judgment with Rafe.
Digging a circle around the base of the transplanted tree, she was attempting to stabilize the unsteady fig when she heard the door to the house slam.
Vito.
Her heart picked up a ridiculous rhythm while she kept her eyes focused on the goal. Fix the damn tree. Figure out what to do about Vito later.
"I hear it's going to be a scorcher today." His voice rumbled along her senses as he paused at the edge of the driveway. Dressed in a wheat-colored linen jacket and dark slacks, he looked too sleek for her, much like the curvy Ferrari in the driveway behind him. Unfortunately, her rapid-fire pulse thought he looked just fine.
"No news there." She stood her shovel on the ground and leaned on the handle. "It's been hot for days." The words barely left her lips before she realized they sounded like a come-on. Or did they just sound that way to her because she had sex on the brain lately?
"Doesn't look like there's an end in sight for the heat wave, does there?" His hazel eyes bored into her for a long moment, making her all too aware of the temperature. Inside and out.
Her throat dried up like a neglected houseplant. Apparently, she wasn't the only one suffering from sex on the brain.
Before she could snap out of it, Vito was sliding into the driver's seat of his low-slung sports car.
"You're killing me, Christine." His words mingled with the rumble of the engine as he turned the key, and then drove out of sight.
Damn.
He thought she was killing him? Didn't he know this decision was eating her up inside, too? Tormenting her all night with sexy dreams when she should be sleeping like a log?
Guilt pinched her as she turned back to the matter of the fig tree. It wasn't fair to keep Vito wondering when she'd said she'd get back to him in a few days. She could only avoid him—and the inevitable attraction she felt every time she so much as glanced his way—for so long.
Her legs suddenly as shaky as the unsteady fruit tree, Christine wished it could be as easy to solve her problem as it was to fix the sapling. All the fig needed was some more dirt. Then, with a little water and a bit of sunshine, the tree would put down roots to keep it healthy for years to come.
But what would stop her legs from shaking? Burying herself in work clearly wasn't helping. If anything, being so distracted by Vito and the surges of desire he inspired probably hurt her job performance. The poor fig tree might have been standing tall this morning if she hadn't been sneaking covert glances at Vito stripping off his shirt while he fixed the broken garage door opener yesterday.
Maybe she needed to stop worrying so much about getting caught up in romantic fairy tales that would only disillusion her and start taking a more practical approach to men. What if she simply fed her own needs the way she nurtured her plants? Quit denying herself basic human sustenance.
Like sex.
It was sort of a physiological need, wasn't it? She seemed to recall some hierarchy of needs she'd learned in school that placed sex right after food and shelter.
No wonder her legs were shaking. She was malnourished.
She walked a circle around the tree to tamp down the dirt against the slender trunk. New energy seemed to spark in her veins. Anticipation?
Definitely.
It had taken her almost all week, but she'd finally figured out how to indulge herself just this once without getting ensnared in her usual overinflated expectations of relationships. She would have a fling with Vito, damn it. And she wouldn't do it because she had cartoon hearts in her eyes.
She would do it as an act of self-nurturing. To fulfill a basic need. And to keep herself from losing her mind while she toiled away at the most challenging job of her career.
It was all perfectly practical.
* * *
How many days was it going to take her to put him out of his damn misery?
Thinking of the heat wave sweltering between him and Christine, Vito grumbled to himself late that afternoon while he reviewed the menu for Giselle's wedding at Club Paradise in South Beach.
Because his sister still owned a share of the exotic resort, she wanted her reception at the house to be catered by the hotel's restaurant. And since she'd created the menu during her time as chef at Club Paradise, Vito thought it shouldn't be too damn hard for her to choose what she wanted.
That didn't stop her from asking him to go over everything anyway since he was standing in as father of the bride for her. It was a role he normally wouldn't mind, but somehow today it made him feel ancient when all his younger siblings were marrying off so quickly.
Struggling to banish images of Christine's trim ankles encased in work boots from his mind, he tried to focus on the list of a thousand and one appetizers in front of him so he could scratch another item off his list before the wedding. Still, the view of the ocean beckoned from his outdoor table in the hotel's café-style restaurant, the deep blue calling to mind Christine's eyes.
Club Paradise might be a steamy singles resort with a reputation for provocative theme rooms, but the overt, sex-drenched atmosphere didn't light his fire the way Christine could with her lean, toned muscles and her long, tanned legs. He'd never again be able to see a pair of women's work boots without getting seriously turned on.
"How's it going?" Lainie Reynolds, the resort's CEO, who also happened to be engaged to his brother Nico, breezed into view. Her sleek blond hair swung neatly around her shoulders, her simple red coatdress lacking any sign of creases.
How his sports-crazy, outspoken brother had ended up with someone so damn smart and together, Vito had no clue.
"Honestly, I don't know goat cheese from Gouda. I just want to write the damn check and be done with my part of the wedding preparations." He loved his sister and all, but he had more things to do today besides labor over the food selections. Besides, he thought spaghetti sounded better than anything on the menu.
Lainie plucked the paper out of his hand. "Why don't I give it a once-over for you? I can make sure Giselle didn't miss anything while I see if there are any good menu ideas I should snitch when Nico and I tie the knot next spring."
"Is my brother still trying to talk you into getting married in Kentucky?" Apparently Lainie hailed from the remote Appalachian area of the Bluegrass State, a surprise to all her South Beach friends who'd assumed the former attorney and business dynamo had been born someplace more Ivy League.
"He's had his heart set on it ever since we took the trip up there a few weeks ago." She flicked her hair over one shoulder, the sunlight catching the fat diamond ring Nico had placed on one of her perfectly manicured fingers. "I think I'm going to give it the thumbs-up as long as he promises not to wear buckskins. Did I mention he's really into the whole mountain-man thing?"
"I'll definitely be there. And I want you to know I'm really happy for you both." As he withdrew his checkbook from the pocket of his linen jacket, Vito had to hand it to his brother for landing the woman of his dreams. Everyone in his family would be married off within a year except for him and Marco.
Not that Vito minded. He'd left Miami to put his days of domestic duties and child-raising responsibilities behind him and hadn't look
ed back since. Although he had to admit, looking at how happy Lainie and Nico were together made him wonder if there might be more to wedded bliss than he realized.
"Thanks, Vito." Lainie bent to kiss his cheek. "And it's only fair that I warn you, since we're almost family now—Nico and Renzo agree you're overdue to find a bride. Apparently something about being in love is turning them both into muscle-bound cupids. I'd be on the lookout for potential matchmaking efforts."
Vito's pen stalled as he wrote out a check to the resort. Then, adding a few more zeros to the sum, he scrawled his name and passed it to his future sister-in-law.
"You're a good woman, Lainie. I appreciate the warning, but there's not much I can do to duck the determined efforts of the whole clan. I've even got a sixty-year-old widowed uncle on my case. I'm just going to resign myself to catching the blasted garter at Giselle's wedding and pray whoever catches the bouquet at least has all her teeth."
Briefly, he wondered if Christine could ever be persuaded to attend the wedding. He tried to imagine her without her work boots, her slender feet in delicate high heels. Maybe she could dance with him instead of some jet-set sophisticate friend of his sister's.
Then again, if he showed up at his sister's wedding with a date in front of his entire extended family, he might as well propose to her then and there because his relatives would probably never let her escape.
Business concluded, Vito left Lainie to her job while he wandered back inside the hotel. His phone rang and he answered it while he studied the latest erotic statuary added to the collection in the lobby. He never had any problem with straightforward classical pieces, but this modern stuff that was all body parts … forget it.
Squinting, he thought he'd deciphered a woman's fingers spreading her own thighs by the time he said hello.
"I've got a race for you in Germany the second week of September." The clipped British accent of his publicist, Oswald Martin, crackled through the cell phone.
"Hey, Ozzie. Nice to talk to you, too." For a publicist, the man sure didn't waste time with niceties for his client. Vito tore his gaze away from the smooth marble rendering of a woman's splayed thighs. He didn't need any more sensual incentives while he waited for Christine to make up her mind about his proposition. "I've got a commitment here on the first, remember?"