Romano's Revenge

by Sandra Marton

  "I am good-natured," Joe shouted, while the veins stood out in his neck. "And sweet-tempered. And whatever else Nonna told you. I am all of those things. I always have been. I was born that way."

  "There's no need to try and convince me. Plenty of people are already debating the topic."

  Joe's head shot forward. "People are debating my disposition?"

  "Oh, for goodness' sake! You know what I'm talking about. " Angrily she shook herself loose of him, or he let go of her, whichever. Either way, it was a relief not to have his fingers pressing into her flesh. How could a man who wasn't really a man be so strong? How could he have kissed her and turned her into melting butter? "One thing's for sure, Romano. You most definitely were not born with a pleasant temperament."

  "I was, too," Joe said, and hated himself for sounding like a six-year-old.

  "You weren't." She stepped back, massaging her elbows and glowering. "I not only believed your grandmother, I bought into the stereotype that all gay men are sweet and kind. Even the ones who don't like to cook!"

  "That's crap! Being gay has nothing to with ... " Being gay?

  Joe could feel the blood draining from his head. Gay? Was that what she'd said? "Gay?" he wheezed. His mouth twisted; he told himself to be calm. He'd misunderstood her, that was all. "You don't think I'm ... you can't possibly believe I'm ... "

  One look at his paper-white face and Lucinda wished she could call the words back. She had the feeling that the trouble she'd found herself in just a few hours ago was nothing compared to this. Maybe he wasn't "out." Maybe he wasn't happy having people know the truth about him.

  How come she hadn't thought of that?

  "Look, Mr. Romano." Her voice was hoarse with nerves and she cleared her throat. "Honestly, it's none of my affair what your personal preferences are. If you're still in the closet, you can count on me to keep--"

  "I'm not in any damned closet."

  His voice was a low growl. The color was returning to his face but too rapidly, as if the blood were erupting from an underground geyser.

  "My nonna couldn't have said- She couldn't think-" "I'll keep your secret, if that's what's-"

  "Hot damn!" Joe spun away and dug his hands into his hair. Then he swung back towards Lucinda, his eyes wild.

  "Does she really think that's the reason I haven't married?

  Because I'm-I'm-" "Gay?"

  ''I'm not. Dammitt, woman! Not that there's anything wrong with it, but I'm not!"

  Lucinda stiffened. "You don't have to take that tone with me. You may be an arrogant, mean-tempered, unpleasant, hateful, no-good rat, but I told you, your personal life is your affair."

  "You're damned right it is," Joe shouted. He clenched his jaw, shut his eyes and counted silently to ten before he looked at her again. "Look," he said very calmly, "I don't know where my grandmother got this idea, but I assure you, I am a perfectly normal man. I like women. I love women. I don't want to boast, but half the good-looking females in this town can vouch for my-my virility."

  "Whatever you say, Mr. Romano."

  Joe did another mental ten-count, went to twenty, and wondered what the penalty could be for murdering your own grandmother.

  You can vouch for it, he almost said to Lucy, but what would that get him? He was a regular guy but she-hell, he'd done his best to forget what she was, although how a woman could come to life in a man's arms when her tastes ran to--ran to ...

  He really didn't want to think about that.

  Joe grabbed his shirt from the floor and tugged it down over his head.

  "Look, lady. I'm straight. I always have been, and I have to admit, I don't understand anybody who's into something different. It's not natural. It's not normal. The male of the species, the female of the species ... " Whoa. He was getting lost here. He took a breath. "What I'm trying to tell you is that I think any other arrangement is crazy. Not that I'm condemning you for your preference, of course."

  Lucinda blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I'm heterosexual," he said, jabbing his thumb into his chest. "But what you are is your own concern."

  "Huh?"

  "It's what you are, and that's all there is to it." "I'm a cook, is what I are. Am."

  Joe's mouth took on a cynical twist. "Sure."

  "I don't like the way you say that," she said coldly. "I am a cook, no matter what you think." Lucinda put her fists on her hips. "In fact, it will give me great pleasure to wave my graduation certificate under your nose as I go out the door because, just between you and me, Romano, you know what you can do with this job."

  She turned and began marching from the room. Joe strode after her.

  "That's fine," he yelled as she made her way up the stairs, "because I don't want a woman like you around. You're either the world's clumsiest stripper or its most lethal cook. And forget what I said about it being okay for you to be what you want to be. Truth is, I know it's not politically correct to condemn anybody for anything in today's crazy world but frankly, Miss Barry, I think that babes who are into other babes are-"

  "What?" Lucinda spun towards him, her face white. "What did you say?"

  "You heard me. Go on, get the P.C. police, for all I give a damn." Joe looked away in disgust and started towards the kitchen. "Nonna," he muttered, "Nonna, you just wait until

  Oof!"

  Lucinda's balled-up fist got him right between the shoulders.

  Joe swung around, grabbed her, and shook her, hard .

  . "Listen," he growled, "I'm tired unto death of ... " The rush of angry words stopped. He looked at her, really looked at her, this woman his grandmother had wished on him. He looked at her shocked expression. At her emerald eyes, her soft mouth. He thought of the feel of that mouth under his. Of her sighs and moans. Of the heat he'd discovered when he'd touched her ...

  And he knew. She wasn't gay, any more than he was.

  "You aren't," he said softly, "are you?"

  Lucinda knew it wasn't really a question. She shook her head.

  "No." She looked up into those dark blue eyes and felt a little breathless. "And you aren't, either."

  Joe's smile was lazy and wicked. He dipped his head and kissed her. It was a long, slow, deep kiss and when, at last, he took his mouth from hers, both of them were breathing hard.

  "Any questions?"

  Lucinda touched her finger to her lips. "Just one." She cleared her throat. "How could you have thought I was-that I was ... ?"

  Joe's easy smile vanished. "The same way you did," he said grimly. "Because of my dear, sweet, innocent, meddling grandmother.' ,

  CHAPTER SIX

  LUCINDA wasted a few seconds trying to find her voice.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You heard me. My grandmother made up a story, spoon fed it to each of us, and sat back to see what would happen."

  "No. I don't believe it. I can't believe it! That sweet, charming little old lady ... "

  "That sweet, charming, little old conniver, you mean." "But why? Why would she do this?" Lucinda took a deep breath and told herself to stay calm. "She seemed so-so sane."

  "She is sane. Her mind would put Machiavelli's to shame." "Well, maybe she's becoming senile. I had a great-aunt once, my great-aunt Harriet, and she-"

  Joe threw up his arms. "I don't give a damn about your great-aunt Harriet," he snarled. "We're talking about my nonna. And trust me, she's not senile. She's not crazy." His jaw tightened. "She's a meddlesome old witch, is what she is."

  "Meddlesome?' '

  "That's right, honey. You want me to spell the word? Meddlesome. M-e-d-d-"

  "You know, Mr. Romano, if you'd stop being such a smart-ass ... " Lucinda blinked. Where had that come from? "Smart-ass" was not a word in her vocabulary but then, neither were some of the other things she'd called this grim-faced, tight jawed male pacing around the room. No question about it. The man brought out the worst in her.

  Joe stopped and swung towards her. "Oh, don't stop now."

  He smiled cold
ly. "You were saying that I'm a smart-ass."

  "I was simply pointing out that we might be able to figure out how this happened, and what to do about it, if you'd stop being so sarcastic."

  His smile tilted, grew even more frigid. "There's nothing to figure out, Nonna's done this kind of thing before. Well, not with as much style, but this isn't the first time she's tried to play matchmaker."

  Lucinda stared at him. "Matchmaker? You mean-you mean, that's what she was doing? She thought that you-that you and I-"

  "Preposterous, isn't it?"

  Joe jammed his hands into his pockets, kicked a chair out of the way and resumed his march around the kitchen. His aim was off; his foot hadn't hit the chair squarely and now his big toe stung-but that was okay. Considering the enormity of his irritation, a little pain for somebody, even himself, seemed good.

  "It's more than that." Lucinda made a sound that might have been a laugh. "It's impossible. You and I ... ?"

  "You already said that."

  She had, hadn't she? But the very idea that anyone would think she could ever, in a million years, be attracted to a man like this, was-it was ...

  "It's crazy."

  "It's vintage Nonna."

  "Does she do this kind of thing often?"

  "Try and set me up with women?" Joe nodded. "Often enough. And it's never worked. I guess she decided a direct approach wasn't going to do the job."

  Lucinda shook her head, sat on one of the stools and rubbed her hands over her face.

  "I really don't understand any of this. If she was trying to get us interested in each other, why would she tell me that you were ... You know. And why would she tell you that I was-"

  "Yeah." Joe kicked the same chair again as he stalked past it. His aim wasn't any better this time, either, and the pain went straight from his toe to the top of his head. Fine. Maybe it would cancel out the headache that had already begun drumming in his temples. "The only thing I can come up with is that she figured she could sneak a live-in lady right through my front door, if I thought that lady wasn't interested, in men."

  "No! I mean, that sweet little old woman wouldn't ... Your own grandmother wouldn't. .. "

  "Don't look so shocked, honey. A live-in lady as in, 'My, but it's nice to have a female around the house.' As in, 'Isn't it great to find home-cooked meals on.the table?:" He looked at her, his eyes as dark as the sea at might. As look, Joseph, If you won't find a good Italian girl on your own, one who can cook all your favorite dishes, I'll find one for you.":

  Lucinda ran the tip of her tongue over bone-dry lips. "But" she choked out, "but, I'm not."

  "You're damned right, you're not." Joe stopped pacing, slapped a hand on the counter on either side of her, and gave her a smile that made her breath catch. "The last word a man would ever use to describe you is 'good.'''

  Rising to the bait wouldn't get her anywhere, Lucinda reminded herself, especially when Joe was so close to her that she could almost feel the heat radiating from his body.

  "I meant," she said with dignity, "that I am not Italian." "Your name is. She thought so, anyway."

  "And I'm, urn, I'm not particularly expert at cooking Italian dishes."

  He laughed, but not pleasantly. "You're not particularly expert at cooking anything that requires a pot."

  "For your information," she said coldly, "I have some excellent desserts in my repertoire."

  "Gelato" Joe said. "That's what snared my grandmother." "I was not trying to 'snare' her. And are we going to critique my talent in the kitchen, or figure out why she would do

  such a thing to us?" .

  "I just explained it to you. My Nonna did what she thought would get you into my house." His smile was sexy and dangerous. "As for your talent .aside from that ice cream-and, for all I know, you bought that in North Beach-aside from that, the only place you have 'talent' is in a bedroom."

  "Mr. Romano." Lucinda kicked back her stool and got to her feet. Big mistake. He didn't budge, not by an inch, which meant there wasn't more than a breath of space separating them. "Mr. Romano," she repeated crisply, "insulting me won't get us anywhere."

  "You keep using that word." "What word?"

  "'Us.' As if there were an 'us.''' He lifted one hand from the counter and stroked her cheek. "Of course, we could change that. For an afternoon, anyway. Hell, you are my birthday present."

  He'd meant it as a kind of bitter joke, but the feel of her skin under his hand made his breath quicken. He remembered how she'd looked, her eyes wide and blind with desire. How she'd tasted, and smelled.

  Unplanned, his fingers slid into her hair and he bent to her and kissed her. He kissed her hard and fast, offering no soft pleasantness or gentleness, and she reacted by making a startled sound. Her hands rose as she pushed against his chest-pushed, until her fingers curled into his T-shirt and her lips parted beneath his ...

  And then she twisted her head away and jerked back. "Stop it," she said. Her voice trembled, but then, his kiss had made her knees wobble, which only proved that he was clever, this Joseph Romano, and that she despised him. "I was supposed to be your cook. Nothing else."

  "That's your story," Joe said. "You might as well stick with it."

  His jaw knotted and he took a step back. That damned smell, the scent of flowers, drifted to his nostrils. How could a broad like this smell so old-fashioned?

  "Meaning?' '

  "Meaning, I'm having trouble imagining my grandmother coming up with this neat little scheme all by herself."

  "Well, who could possibly have helped .. ." Lucinda bristled. "Are you suggesting that I had something to do with this?"

  Joe shrugged. "All I know is, she wants me married." His eyes narrowed, became obsidian slits. "And, most conveniently, here you are."

  "What nonsense!" Her chin lifted in a gesture of contemptuous defiance. "If I were ever foolish enough to marry, it would never, ever, not in a million lifetimes, be to a man like you."

  "Oh, baby, what a disappointment." Each of his words was encapsulated in icy sarcasm. "And here I'd hoped you wanted to be Mrs. Joseph Romano. I mean, what more could a guy want? You're a liar. A scam artist. A woman who can't decide between a career as a stripper or as Lucretia Borgia." Joe's smile glittered with malice. "In other words, the perfect wife."

  "The perfect wife for you," Lucinda snapped, "is a blob of plastic lying in a box in an adults-only toy shop, waiting for the moment somebody decides to take her out and blow her up."

  "That's witty, Miss Barry. Incredibly witty." "I thought so."

  Her smile was smug and infuriating. Just for a second, he thought about kissing that smile away, about swinging her into his arms, carrying up to his bedroom and unwrapping his gift but he wasn't that much of a fool.

  Besides, he had too many questions. Was his Nonna really capable of cooking up such a risky plan? And, if she was, why lie about him to the woman she'd chosen to be his wife?

  He couldn't think of a reason. Not one. And that left him wondering, again, if the sexy blonde who could make herself look like a candidate for a convent, who called herself a cook but didn't know how to fry an egg, was somehow involved in the scheme.

  Maybe Nonna had only wanted to give him a cook, not a wife. And maybe she'd said that, just that, to Lucinda.

  I'd love to give my grandson a cook for his birthday, his nonna might have said, but I know my Joey. He wouldn't want a woman underfoot.

  And Blondie could have replied, Why don't you tell me about your grandson, Mrs. Romano?

  And his Nonna, who didn't think he knew how much she boasted about him, would have done just that, listed all his manly virtues, including the fact that he was rich and that he wasn't married.

  And then Blondie could have batted her lashes and said Well, you know, if you really want to convince him that I'm not going to be any sort of problem, you could let him think ...

  No. That didn't make sense. Even if that was the way it had gone down, why would Lucinda have thought he was ... what s
he d thought he was?

  Nonna was at the bottom of it, he was certain-as certain as he could be of anything, without confronting her. And when he did, he wanted Lucinda right beside him.

  Joe folded his arms and jerked his head towards the door. "Five minutes," he growled.

  "Five minutes for what?"

  'To get dressed." His eyes raked her from head to toe. "I'm going to see my grandmother, and you're going with me."

  "You're damned right, I'm going with you! I want to know what's going on here."

  "Yeah, well, that makes two of us. Change out of that silly suit and let's get going."

  "It's not a silly suit, it's a professional uniform. And if you weren't so damned self-centered, you'd realize that I'm the one who's really paying the price for your grandmother's meddling."

  "Watch what you say about her." Lucinda blinked. "But you just said-"

  "I know what I said. She's my grandmother, not yours." Lucinda thought of her stiff-necked, starchy grandmother who insisted on being addressed as Grandmother Barry and wouldn't have known a hug from a handshake.

  "She is, indeed," she said coolly. "And that makes it doubly wrong that she told you an untruth about me."

  "Which 'untruth' were you thinking of?" Joe replied even more coolly. "That you could cook? That you're from Italy?" HIS eyes narrowed. "Or that you're not into men?"

  'She misinterpreted everything."

  "With a little help from you, maybe?"

  "That's not true."

  "Yeah, well, let's just find out, shall we?" Joe jerked his head towards the door. "You want to change your clothes, go and do it." He looked at his watch, then at her. "You've already used up three minutes."

  "Oh, yes, sir. Certainly, sir. Your wish is my com-" . Lucinda gasped as Joe caught her and pulled her to him.

  "I'm not in the best of moods, Ms. Barry." His voice was soft, his eyes dangerous. "If I were you, I'd keep that thought firmly in mind."

  A tremor ran through her at the brush of his body against hers. For one wild moment she imagined what would happen if she put her hands in his hair and dragged his mouth down to hers.

  The thought gave her the strength she needed to pull out of his grasp.