"You're a horrible man!"
Joe grinned. "Sticks and stones, Blondie. They don't mean a thing."
"No?" Lucinda was almost sputtering with rage. "Well, then, try this. As soon as we get back from your precious nonna's, I'm packing my things and quitting!"
"No, honey, you're not." ..,
"Of course I am. If you think I'd stay on in this house with you-"
"You can't quit. You've already been fired." "Been what?"
"Fired. You know, as in 'terminated.' As in, 'most definitely unemployed.' " . .
"You're worse than horrible," she said, her voice trembling. Joe laughed. She fought back the urge to .slug him again.
Instead, she rushed from the kitchen and hurried up the stairs with the sound of his laughter following after her.
Quitting was one thing, but fired? Fired, by the most arrogant, super-macho stud that had ever walked the planet? He was still laughing, as if what had happened were amusing .Instead of awful. He was, in fact, guffawing. She could hear him, all the way up here.
"Chauvinistic rat," she muttered, and slammed the bedroom door after her.
Lucinda took off her sensible shoes and put them, neatly, beside the bed. She took off her chef's whites, folded them and laid them over the back of a chair.
"Fired," she said. "That hideous man fired me!"
She stood in the center of the room, heart racing. Then she sped around, snatched up the white jacket and tried to rip it in half. Panting, she threw it into a corner, flung the pants after It, and kicked the shoes, those damned sensible shoes against the wall. '
"Fired," she whispered, and sank down on the edge of the bed. What now? She had an empty bank account and nowhere to go ...
Bang!
Lucinda leaped to her feet and spun towards the door. It shuddered under the pound of Romano's fist.
"One more minute," he yelled, "or I come in and get you." He would, too. What an awful man Joe Romano was! To think she'd tolerated his kisses ...
Tolerated? She'd climbed allover him, just as he'd said. Oh, the embarrassment of it! But it was his fault. The man was a practiced seducer. He'd taken advantage of her at a weak moment...
"Thirty seconds!"
Lucinda pulled on a blouse and skirt, hissing when the zipper Jammed. Romano pounded again, just as she stuffed her feet into a pair of loafers.
"Dammit!" She wrenched the door open and glared.
"There's no need to break down the door. Of course, I shouldn't expect you to know that. You aren't civilized and you're certainly not the gentleman your poor, deluded grandmother thinks you to be. You probably knock down doors for a hobby."
Joe glared right back. His tight-lipped, tight-mannered, lying, cheating excuse-for-a-cook was a mess. Hanks of blond hair hung in her face. Her blouse was buttoned wrong and hung two inches shorter on the right side than the left. A piece of the tail was stuck in the teeth of the zipper.
She'd probably never looked so disheveled in her life except, of course, when she was wearing nothing but sequins and a smile and popping out of cakes.
"I, on the other hand," she continued coldly, "am a person of dignity and delicacy. And it's a good thing for you, Mr. Romano, that our relationship has ended, or I would tell you precisely what I think of you, your temper, and your unruly disposition.' ,
It was quite a speech, delivered in rounded tones that spoke of good schools and good breeding. Joe figured he'd probably have fallen for the act, if he hadn't known what Blondie really was.
But he did know, and that changed everything.
"Are you finished making speeches?" he said politely.
"It was a comment, not a speech, but yes, I'm finished, for the moment."
"Actually, you're finished for ... " Joe glanced at his watch.
"For twenty moments." He looked at her, his face expressionless. "Or thirty. It all depends on traffic."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's simple. I don't want to hear another word out of you until we get to my grandmother's. Got that?"
Color arched swept along her cheekbones. Those high, elegant cheekbones... .
Stop it, Joe told himself tightly, and set off down the stairs.
She ignored what he'd said.
He'd suspected she would. Joe doubted if Miss Lucinda Barry had ever done what she'd been told to do in her entire life. So it was no surprise when, halfway to Nonna's, she gave him a look he figured was supposed to turn him to stone.
"Must you drive this thing so fast?" .
"It isn't a thing, it's a Ferrari. And no, I don't have to drive it this fast. I could drive it a hell of a lot faster, if there weren't so much damned traffic."
"There's no need to prove your masculinity to me," she said coldly. "If you say you aren't-what your grandmother said you were-then you aren't."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Joe barked out a laugh.
"Talk. about being egocentric ... I don't want to shock you, Blondie, but I drive fast all the time. I like to drive fast. I love to drive fast. You got that?"
"Certainly," she said in a smug little voice that made him want to pull over to the curb and haul her into his arms again.
Stupid thought, Romano, Joe told himself coldly, and made no response at all.
Ahead, the light went from amber to red. He cursed under his breath, brought the car to a squealing halt and sat tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
"And," she said, "my name is not Blondie." "Excuse me?"
"You keep calling me that, and it isn't my name." Joe's jaw tightened. "Anything else?"
"Only that you needn't take out your anger on me. I'm the innocent party in this sordid affair."
He shot her a sideways look. "Are you, now?"
"What's that supposed to mean? A little old lady planned this. Do I look like a little old lady to you?"
What she looked like was a disaster. Her hair was still a mess, her buttons were still closed wrong, but she'd crossed her legs and her skirt had risen up and up, until it lay high above her knee, exposing a length of slender, tanned thigh. She probably knew it, too. The prim and proper act was just that. It was as phony as a three dollar bill, and only a fool would respond to it.
But oh, that was an interesting bit of skin. He knew what it felt like, too. Silky. Warm. No, not warm. Hot...
The light changed. He jammed his foot down on the gas pedal and the car shot away hard enough to leave rubber behind.
"I know what you're thinking, Romano."
Joe looked at her. "You only wish," he said coldly. "Wish what?"
"That I'm thinking what you think I'm thinking. What you hope I'm thinking." Hell, he sounded daft. A muscle knotted in his cheek. "You're wasting your charms on me," he growled. "You might as well get that through your head."
Lucinda frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"The hell you don't."
"If what you're thinking is that I had something to do with this charade, you're wrong."
"I am, huh?" "Yes, you are."
Lucinda recrossed her legs. The sound of nylon whispering against nylon made the hair rise on the back of Joe's neck.
"I know exactly what happened," she said. "Things are starting to make sense."
'Sense, " he said, and forced himself to concentrate on the road. "Sense, how?"
"Your grandmother was confused."
Joe gave a short, unpleasant laugh. "And you had nothing to do with that, right?"
"As much as you choose not to believe it, that's correct.
She wanted a live-in cook. I wanted a job, and I needed a place to live. The situation seemed ideal."
"Oh, yeah." Joe's words were rimmed in icy sarcasm. "I'll just bet it did."
"Mrs. Romano phoned me," Lucinda said primly. "And we set up an appointment.'·
"And when you got to her place, she told you she had a grandson who needed a cook."
"Exactly. "
"Or maybe," he said, his tone hardening, "may
be what she told you was that she had this rich, single grandson, and you thought, 'Bingo!'"
"What I thought:' Lucinda said, ignoring the remark, "and what I said, was that if he were single and lived alone, I couldn't possibly accept the position."
Joe braked for another light. "Why not?"
"Because. "
"Oh, that's an excellent answer, Blondie. So definitive. So informative. So full of-"
"Because," she said sharply, "it would be improper." "Improper" wasn't even on the list of possible answers that had flipped through Joe's head.
"Improper?'
"Exactly. "
He looked over at her again. She was staring straight ahead, her face flushed, her hands knotted in her lap.
"Improper, because I wouldn't be comfortable living in the same house with someone of the opposite sex. I told that to your grandmother. It wasn't easy because-well, you know this, of course--her English isn't very good."
Joe flashed Lucinda a sharp look. "It isn't, huh?"
"No. Surely, you know that."
The light changed. Joe gunned the engine, shifted gears, roared up the street and made a hard right into his grandmother's driveway. What he knew, he thought grimly, was that it must have been an irresistible combination. A scheming old lady and a scheming young one. It was a match made in heaven ...
Or in hell.
He shut off the engine. In the sudden silence he could almost hear the sound the hammer would have made as the nails sealed his coffin.
"Your grandmother finally seemed to understand my concerns," Lucinda said.
Joe swung towards her. She sounded as prim and proper as she had when he'd opened the door to her that morning. She almost looked it, too.
But she wasn't prim or proper. Not if she entertained at stag parties. Not if she went up like dry tinder at the touch of a match, in a man's arms.
"And then she made it clear that propriety wouldn't be a problem because her grandson was-"
"Gay."
"Exactly. "
Joe grunted. "And you saw that as a challenge." "No. Of course not."
"What, then? As a reclamation project? As a guy you could turn into the kind of male who'd be butter in your hands?"
"Are you crazy? What I saw was that I'd be safe." She looked at him. "If you were gay, I wouldn't have to worry about you making unseemly advances."
Unseemly advances, he thought coldly. This, from a woman who'd been sitting on his kitchen counter an hour ago, her thighs open to his touch.
"And then she asked me if I liked men. Well, I told her I didn't, not since my fiancé had ... What's the matter?"
Joe sprang from the car, pulled open her door, grabbed her hand and tugged her onto the sidewalk.
"Nothing," he said as he hustled her up the steps to the front door. "Everything! Hell, what a setup. I'm just wondering what jury in the world would possibly convict me for nonnacide after they heard this whole-"
The door swung open. Nonna Romano stood in the entry, a smile as innocent as sainthood on her face.
"Giuseppe, " she said, and opened her arms in welcome. "And Luciana. Come in, come in."
"It's Lucinda," Joe said grimly. He maneuvered past his grandmother, his hand still wrapped around Lucinda's wrist. "And you can cut the 'Giuseppe' stuff. We're going to conduct this little talk in plain old American."
His grandmother swallowed nervously. Her black eyes darted from Lucinda to Joe and back again.
"Something is wrong? I look out, I see your car, I see that you do not come around to the back door the way you always do, Gius-Joseph."
"You bet there's something wrong," Joe snapped. "Did you tell this-this person...that I was..." He took a deep breath. "That I didn't like women?"
Nonna's eyes darted from face to face again. "No. Yes. I mean, women like her. Forgive me, signorina, but I knew you were not my Joseph's type."
"Her English is much better than when I met with her" Lucinda hissed. "I can hardly believe it's the same woman:"
Joe smiled tightly. "Oh, it's the same woman. Isn't that right, Nonna?"
Nonna stepped back. "Joseph," she said in a soft sweet voice, "mio bambino, I just put a tray of manicotti in fue-"
"Never mind the manicotti." Joe let go of Lucinda's elbow and folded his arms. "You told her I didn't like women. And when she told you she'd just broken off with a boyfriend-"
"A fiancé," Lucinda said. "Back home, in Boston. I told her that, and I said I was really off men, that I'd never want to get involved with one again."
"Is that what she said, Nonna?"
"Well-well, maybe. It's so long ago. You know how things are, Joey, when a woman gets old and feeble..."
"It was a week ago. And you're about as feeble as Godzilla."
"Joey. I meant well."
"You always mean well," Joe said sternly. "But this time you've gone too far." He put his arm around Lucinda's rigid shoulders and dragged her forward. "Do you know what you've done, Nonna?"
"Yes," Nonna said with a wide-eyed smile. "I found you a cook."
Joe laughed. Lucinda stiffened, tried to pull free but he wouldn't let her.
"You found me a woman who needs to consult with Julia Childs before she can boil water."
"No! She learned to cook in Florence..."
"She doesn't know Florence from Florenze."
"Now you are confusing me, Joseph."
"Never mind." His eyes narrowed with anger. "The only thing this babe knows how to cook are testosterone levels."
"What?"
"The little lady here spends her evenings entertaining gentlemen."
Nonna clapped a hand to her heart. "Dio mio,” she whispered.
"It isn't true," Lucinda said quickly. "I don't do anything of the sort, Mrs. Romano, your grandson is-"
"And," Joe said triumphantly, "to top it all, she's not even Italian. How's that grab you, Nonna, my love?"
Tears glittered in Nonna's eyes. "But you said," she whispered to Lucinda, "you said your name was-"
"Lucinda Barry. From the Boston Barry's." Lucinda blinked. Had she really said that? It was the first time in her life she'd fallen back on the horrid phrase, but right now, it was all she had.
"So, that's the story," Joe said. "She can't cook. She's not Italian. And she not only likes men, she loves 'em." He beamed a smile at Lucinda. The sight of it sent a chill coursing through her blood. She tried to move away from him but his arm clamped even more tightly around her. "And, you know what, Nonna dearest?"
"What?" Nonna whispered.
"I've decided, despite everything, you finally made the right choice."
His grandmother stared at him as if he'd lost his mind, and hell, maybe he had, but it was too good to pass up. Revenge, he thought, revenge so swift and sweet that when it was over, his dear, devoted, irritating-as-hell Nonna would never, ever try and play matchmaker again.
Joe put his hand under Lucinda's chin and lifted her startled face to his.
"I've finally realized that a man would be a fool to walk away from the right woman, once he's found her."
"What right woman?" Nonna said blankly, and he grinned. "Why, this one," he purred, grinning at Lucinda. "The one you personally selected for me, Nonna, darling. Miss Lucinda of-the- Boston- Barry's. ' ,
There was a moment of silence. Then his grandmother moaned, Lucinda gasped, and Joe used the moment to his advantage.
He bent his head, took Lucinda's mouth with his, and kissed her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE kiss was payback.
It was supposed to be, anyway.
An announcement that would set his grandmother back on her heels. A kiss that would show Lucy who was in charge here. All in all, a moment's revenge on two women who'd made his day a misery.
Except, it wasn't happening the way Joe had intended. Not once his mouth found Lucy's.
The kiss should have been a joke, not something he felt right down to his toes. The sweetness of her mouth. The warmth of her br
eath, as she gave a startled gasp. The softness of her body, as he drew her closer ...
"Hey!"
The sharp bite of her teeth, as she sank them into his lip. Joe jumped back, slapped his hand to his mouth, then looked at his fingers, smeared with pinpricks of bright red blood.
"You bit me," he said in amazement.
"You're damned right, I bit you!" Lucy's breasts rose and fell in rapid rhythm. "You-you-"
"Be careful what you call my Joseph," Nonna said.
Lucy swung towards the old woman. "Your Joseph," she said hotly, "is a no-good, no-account, lying, cheating, miserable son of a-"
"My Joseph has a poor sense of humor," Nonna said coldly. 'Isn't that right, Joey?" She turned towards him, her expression beseeching, her voice turning soft and sweet. "It was a joke, yes? About you and this-this woman."
Joe looked from his grandmother's worried face to Blondie's indignant one. Now was the moment. Of course, he'd say, what else could it have been? Certainly, it was a joke, and in the future, his nonna had better keep it in mind because if she meddled again...
But she would meddle again. A week from now, this would all be history. Give her a month, she'd be up to her elbows in more matchmaking.
"Joseph?"
Joe took a deep breath. "No," he said carefully. "It's not a joke. I'm going to marry Lucinda Barry."
His grandmother stared at him through dark, moist eyes and clapped a hand to her heart.
"No," she whispered, "oh, Joseph, mio ragazzo, no!"
"Oh, yes," he said politely. "Just consider, Nonna, and you'll see that she'll make me the perfect wife."
"This woman?" Nonna said, with a cold glare in Lucinda's direction. "One who is not Italian? Who cannot cook?"
"She can learn." He smiled. "We can train her, darling Nonna. Together, we can make a silk purse from the proverbial sow's ear."
"I am not a sow's ear," Lucinda said furiously, "and you can stuff your silk purse!"
Joe ignored her. "As for her, uh, her talents with men..." He shrugged lazily. ''You have to admit, Nonna, a woman well-versed in pleasing a man can be an asset."
"Are you two crazy? I don't want to be an asset! I am not marrying your grandson, Mrs. Romano. Have you got that straight?' '
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