Stronger

by Janet Nissenson

  His phone buzzed with an incoming call, and he saw from the caller ID that it was Cara. Dante hesitated for a brief moment, realizing that this was his last chance to back out of a date he should have never made in the first place. But when he heard her happy, animated voice on the other end, he lost his nerve, knowing he couldn’t ruin this for her.

  “Hi, it’s me,” she trilled cheerfully. “Cara, that is.”

  Dante chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Does this mean you’re on your way?”

  “I’m about two blocks from your office building, so I should be there in less than five minutes. Should I wait for you in the lobby or would you rather I came upstairs to your office?”

  He shuddered to imagine the ribbing he would take from his business partner if Howie was to catch a glimpse of Cara. Howie was not only something of a practical joker, but he fancied himself a would-be comedian as well. Dante wouldn’t put it past him to ask Cara for her ID to make sure she wasn’t jailbait. Or make an even more distasteful comment.

  “Nah, that’s okay. I’ll be downstairs waiting for you, and then we can go to dinner. I hope you like French food.”

  Cara sighed in bliss, a sound that was oddly arousing. “Love it,” she assured him. “Actually, anything that isn’t ramen noodles, PBJ, or dry cereal would be amazing, but French food sounds incredible.”

  Dante shuddered at the thought of having to survive on the sort of diet she’d just described. He was admittedly something of a food snob, having grown up in a family of cooks and restauranteurs, and even during his college years he’d shied away from the usual sort of junk foods most students subsisted on.

  “Well, then I think you’ll love the place I picked out tonight. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.”

  He put on his suit jacket and walked out of his spacious, lavishly appointed office. The venture capital firm that he co-owned was on the small side in terms of staffing, but Dante and Howie had both insisted on making sure the office decor shrieked class and money – a detail they had deemed essential in attracting high end clients.

  Dante’s assistant had already left for the day, and since it was a Friday the office was more or less deserted as he headed for the elevators. During the descent down to the lobby, he steeled himself anew to keep things as casual as possible tonight, to make it very clear to Cara that this was a one time thing, and that their dinner together wasn’t even a real date.

  But all of his good intentions got shot to hell real quick when he got his first look at her as she waited for him in the lobby. The girl – correction, woman – who hovered somewhat nervously near the front doors bore little resemblance to the Cara he’d seen at Nick’s office over these past few months. That Cara had looked even younger than her twenty-two years, like a fresh-faced high school student, and he couldn’t truthfully recall what she’d been wearing yesterday except perhaps that it had been black and white.

  The young woman who waited anxiously for him to arrive now was stunning – there was really no other word for it. And Dante knew he’d remember quite well what she was wearing this evening, perhaps for months to come.

  The red dress hugged her lush curves closely without being too tight or revealing. The vivid color was perfect for her skin tone, and the style of the garment gave the illusion that she was a little taller than she actually was. She’d taken some pains with her makeup, so that those twinkling golden brown eyes looked enormous in her small, heart-shaped face, and her full-lipped mouth with its defined cupid’s bow was glossed over in vivid scarlet. Her dark brown hair fell in tousled waves over her shoulders and more than halfway down her back, the sheer volume of it nearly overwhelming her petite frame.

  For the first time since meeting her six months ago, he thought of her as a full grown woman, and not someone who’d barely left her teenaged years behind. And not just any woman, but a sexy, sultry one who reminded him of a young Sophia Loren, calling to mind the old Italian movies he’d once watched with his grandparents as a child.

  Cara glanced up and met his eyes at that particular moment, and the smile on her face froze in place momentarily when she noticed the way he was staring at her. It was only when he smiled at her reassuringly that she seemed to relax, and the familiar sparkle returned to her eyes as he began to walk her way.

  He took her hand in his, surprised to realize how small it looked clasped in his much larger one, and also to notice that she was trembling a little. And she gasped out loud when he brought that same hand to his lips and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted with a mischievous grin. “I barely recognized you. This isn’t your usual office attire, after all.”

  Cara’s cheeks flushed becomingly. “Um, no, that’s for sure. And you aren’t the only one who noticed. For example, Nick asked me who my hot date was with tonight. I, ah, told him it was with someone I met at school.”

  Dante nodded in approval. “Good move. Because the last thing I need is for Nick to kick my ass. Which he would threaten to do in a heartbeat if he knew I was taking you out to dinner to night.”

  Cara pressed her lips together, and pretended to run a zipper across them. “Sealed tight,” she declared. “Besides, I really doubt Nick would care that much. He barely says more than a few words to me at a time. And,” she added confidently, “you definitely look like you could hold your own with him.”

  She rested her free hand on his bicep, and for some reason that light touch felt electric. To mask his reaction, he gave a shake of his head. “I wouldn’t even want to try,” he admitted. “I mean, I work out a lot, but Nick’s like an animal in the gym. He’s the one wearing his personal trainer out instead of the other way around. And even though he’s getting close to forty years old, he’s in good enough shape to still be playing pro football today. So, thanks for the vote of confidence, honey, but I’m pretty sure I’d get my ass kicked by lean, mean Nick Manning. Now, enough about your asshat boss. I don’t know about you but I’m starving. Let’s head down to the garage and get my car, hmm?”

  He steered her towards the elevator with a light hand on her back, belatedly realizing that even with heels on the top of her dark head barely reached his shoulder, giving him close to a full foot in height advantage. That knowledge pleased him in an odd sort of way – odd because he nearly always dated women who were of at least medium height or taller. Katie, for example, had only been about three inches shorter than his own height of six foot two, and with the stilettos that she had been so fond of wearing she’d often topped him by an inch or so. Cara’s petite stature instinctively made him feel protective of her, and, in some bizarre, unexplainable way, also made him feel more – well, manly.

  Dante unlocked the passenger door to the car he was driving today, one of an even dozen vehicles he owned, and held it open for Cara. She was staring at the dark silver gray car, touching her hand almost reverently to the hood.

  “You drive an – an Aston Martin?” she asked in disbelief. “Wow. I didn’t think anyone but James Bond actually owned a car like this.”

  He chuckled as he assisted her inside. “Well, this is a newer model than the one 007 typically drives in movies – the Vanquish. It’s the most recent addition to my car collection.”

  As he drove halfway across the city to their destination, Dante told her about his longtime fascination with cars – a fascination that had started during his boyhood when he’d hung out at his maternal grandfather’s automotive repair shop. He confessed to having something of an obsession with cars, to the point where he had actually had a special garage custom built on his mother’s property to house the bulk of his collection.

  “I have three parking spaces allotted to me at my condo building,” he told her. “I keep the rest of the cars up in Healdsburg. And since I try to visit my family every weekend I rotate vehicles each time I’m up there.”

  “Wow.” Cara looked a bit dazed at this information. “Are all of your cars this awesome?”
>
  He shrugged. “Depends on your definition of awesome, I suppose. Most of them are considered high end, but I also own a few classic cars. Including my Dad’s Camaro, one of the most popular of the old muscle cars. Though if I had to pick a favorite out of all of them, I’d have to go with my 1963 Corvette Stingray. That was the only year they made it with a split-back window. It took me about five years to track one down and then another three to restore it. But it was well worth it. That car’s my pride and joy, though I don’t drive it very often.”

  As the drive continued, Cara seemed to hang on his every word, though he was willing to bet she knew next to nothing about cars. Still, it was flattering as hell to have her undivided attention, something he wasn’t always used to getting from his dates over the years. In his experience with women – which was both extensive and varied – Dante had often found that the majority of them tried to keep the conversation focused solely on themselves. They expected him to be totally interested in every aspect of their lives, to want to know everything about them, but seldom reciprocated by asking him about himself. Unlike Cara, who gave the impression of being more than content to let him control the conversation.

  She looked around curiously when they arrived at their destination - a cozy French bistro named Chou Chou, located in a largely residential neighborhood. “Where are we exactly?” she asked as he assisted her out of the car. “I mean, I know we’re still in San Francisco but I have no idea what part.”

  Dante locked the door and made sure the alarm system was set. “It’s called Forest Hill,” he told her. “A little out of the way, and I’m not surprised you aren’t familiar with this area since it’s not exactly trendy. But I think you’ll like this place. The food is out of this world, and it’s very charming inside. You’ll see.”

  What he didn’t add, of course, was the fact that the bistro was so far out of the way that none of his acquaintances would be likely to see him here. And once inside the admittedly appealingly decorated restaurant, Cara’s face lit up with pleasure.

  “Oh, it’s so pretty!” she exclaimed, her small hand drifting up to clutch his upper arm. “Just like what I’d imagine a little Parisian bistro to look like.”

  The interior of the place was small and intimate, with brightly painted walls, patterned carpet, and wooden tables covered in pale pink linens. Dante had only dined here once before, to have a quick lunch with a client who lived in the neighborhood, but he’d been sure that Cara would like it. He was pleased to see that his instincts had been right.

  “I’m afraid they don’t have a full liquor license here, just wine and beer,” Dante advised after they had been shown to their table. “I hope that’s okay.”

  Cara nodded. “It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t be drinking much anyway.”

  He grinned teasingly. “Why? Are you the sort who has one glass of wine and starts dancing on tabletops?”

  She laughed in response. “It would take most of a bottle before I was that far gone! Not that I haven’t experienced a few ugly hangovers, of course, but not since freshman year. I figured out pretty early that partying wasn’t really my thing. No, the reason I shouldn’t have too much to drink is because of the calories. Empty ones at that. If I’m going to splurge a little tonight I’d rather it be on food.”

  Dante waved a hand in dismissal. “Hey, it’s your birthday, don’t forget. You can have a few glasses of wine plus a delicious dinner and dessert. Why do you think you need to be counting calories anyway?”

  Cara rolled her eyes before patting herself on her shapely ass. “You’re joking, right? Or just being nice because it’s my birthday. I’m a good twenty pounds overweight, maybe more since I’ve been terrified to get on a scale for months.”

  “Who says you’re overweight?” he challenged. “I guarantee that no one in my family would think something like that. In fact, my grandmother would probably say you were too skinny and insist you ate an entire plate of her homemade linguine with pesto sauce - for starters.”

  “Pasta with pesto. God, that sounds amazing!” she groaned, licking those full, scarlet glossed lips as though she could actually taste the food. “I hardly ever eat pasta anymore because it’s so fattening, but linguine with pesto is one of my favorites.”

  Astonishingly, Dante felt his cock harden just from the sight of her licking her lips. He guessed that Cara was totally unaware of how naturally sensual she was, or how expressive her eyes and mouth could be. And he was pretty damned sure she had no idea that her nipples were hard, or that the fabric of that sexy red dress was molding itself to the lush curves of her full breasts. Hastily, he took a long gulp of his water, and wondered what was taking the waiter so damned long to bring the bottle of champagne he’d ordered.

  “If I’d known you loved pasta so much I would have chosen an Italian restaurant instead,” he lamented, willing himself not to stare at her cleavage.

  She shook her head, causing her glossy dark brown curls to tumble over her shoulders. “Oh, no. This place is perfect, really. And I can make Italian food for myself anytime I want to. Well, within limits, of course, given that I don’t have an actual stove in my apartment. Just a cooktop. But you’d be surprised at what you can make using just a skillet or a pot.”

  He frowned in concern. “Why don’t you have a stove? A dishwasher I could maybe understand, considering how old some of the buildings in this city are, but a stove is a fairly basic appliance.”

  Cara looked distinctly uncomfortable at his question. “It’s, well, just a really small apartment. An in-law unit, actually. An illegal unit,” she confessed in a whisper, looking around her anxiously to make sure no one overheard.

  Dante laughed, his good humor restored. “Your secret is safe with me. And I know exactly how many different dishes you can make on a stovetop. My family owns one of the oldest and best known Italian restaurants in northern California, and I’ve spent an awful lot of time there, both in the kitchen and out.”

  The waiter arrived just then with the champagne - the most expensive bottle the bistro offered. He filled two flutes before handing them dinner menus, and reciting the two specials of the evening.

  Dante had noticed Cara eyeing the bread basket discreetly more than once, and as soon as their waiter left he held it up to her.

  “Come on. Take a piece. And don’t even think about the calories. Or those so-called twenty pounds you absolutely don’t have to lose. You can’t truthfully call yourself an Italian if you don’t eat bread and pasta. That’s what my grandmother always tells anyone who’ll listen to her.”

  Cara laughed and carefully took the smallest slice of bread from the basket. “I’m actually only half-Italian,” she admitted. “On my father’s side. My mom was of Irish and Scottish descent mostly.”

  “Was?” inquired Dante as he spread butter over his bread, giving her a mock scowl when she refused the butter.

  Cara took a small nibble of her bread and nodded. “She’s been gone four years now. She died just a few days before my eighteenth birthday, on the night of my senior prom. Pancreatic cancer. By the time the doctors diagnosed her it was already too late.”

  “I’m so sorry.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent. My father died when I was only eleven. He was a firefighter, lost his life in the line of duty.”

  She gasped, and squeezed his hand back. “Oh, God, how awful! You were just a kid when it happened! At least I had a few more years with my mother. Is your mom still living?”

  “Yes. Along with my younger brother and two sisters. I’m the oldest. Plus we have too many aunts and uncles and cousins to count any longer, and my grandmother, who’s more than likely going to live until she’s a hundred or even older. What about you - do you have a big family?”

  It was almost as if the light in her expressive eyes had been snuffed out at this question, and an expression of such utter sadness crossed h
er face that it made his heart ache a little.

  “No,” was all she said in response. “Just my dad, and he’s not one to keep in touch very often.”

  Dante was oddly incensed to learn that her father had remarried within mere months after losing his wife, and that his new bride had been pregnant at the time. The newly married couple had moved clear across the country to Florida, and now had two very young children. He could easily read between the lines, and determined that Cara’s father had more or less pushed her out of his life so that he could focus on the new life he’d made for himself, and on the new family he now had.

  But he could also sense that it was a very upsetting topic for Cara to talk about, so he quickly changed the subject. The waiter arrived to take their order, and before she could protest he ordered several courses for them – appetizer, salad, soup, entrée – and merely grinned at her when she protested that it was way too much food.

  “As I recall, they serve small portions here,” he assured her. “At least compared to what we dish out at my family’s restaurant. Besides, I’ll remind you once again that it’s your birthday, so indulge yourself for once, hmm?”

  Cara sighed in resignation, reaching for a second slice of bread. “Okay. I guess for one night it won’t hurt. I’ll starve myself for the next week to make up for it.”