She nodded. The guy was drool-worthy with his thick, chestnut-brown hair, heavily lashed, dark eyes and lean face, but couldn’t be too bright if he thought somebody was hiding in here. There was certainly no place in this teensy closet-size space where anyone else could be. “Obviously.”
“I heard…that is, I thought…”
She realized he must have heard her moaning and bawling like a baby in here. “You were trying to help me?”
He nodded. “I heard you saying no, and I thought someone was, well, making unwanted advances.”
Making unwanted advances. She almost laughed. It sounded like something her mother would have said, or one of the old ladies down in the neighborhood. Definitely the term did not suit this gloriously masculine man, whose body seemed to suck up every inch of space in the small kiosk.
The guy appeared tall, especially standing above her while she sat in the chair. Eye-level with his waist, she noted the faded, tight jeans, and a soft, broken-in, brown leather bomber jacket. The jacket, which probably didn’t do much to keep out the Chicago cold, hugged broad shoulders and thick arms. So in some respects, it probably was effective at providing warmth in the winter—at least for all the ladies in his vicinity. Just the look of him could certainly be enough to make even the most happily married woman feel suddenly hot. And his jeans…the worn, strained denim did sinful things to the leanest hips and flattest stomach she’d ever seen on a man.
Swallowing hard, she continued to study him.
His dark hair brushed his collar and was matched in shade by his rich, brown eyes. He had the kind of chin that warned of stubbornness and the kind of mouth that could drive a woman crazy wanting to taste it. Even a woman like Meg.
So this is what instant attraction feels like.
She’d never felt it before. But she was a fast learner and—wham, bang—she suddenly knew what it was to look at a strange man and suddenly be filled with the most wickedly erotic longings she’d ever felt. How funny to feel them here and now, beside the humiliatingly bright, glowing image of her dominatrix-wannabe image on the computer screen.
It wasn’t fair. A man had finally made her feel breathless, wondering and achy…and any moment now she was going to have to kick him and run. If he looked at the screen again and came up with one sexist, suggestive remark, she’d have to do bodily injury. On that amazing body. Yep, downright unfair.
He didn’t look. Not one sneaky peek.
Instead, he crouched next to her chair and took her hand. Its coldness must have startled him, because he gently rubbed her numb fingers between both his hands. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, still watching closely, waiting for the eyes to shift, for the mouth to lift in a smirk or an appreciative leer. Come on, you’re male. Just do it and put me out of my misery. Stop trying to pretend you’re a concerned, nice guy.
But as the silent moment stretched out, without the slightest attempt by the man to look at her nearly naked body, Meg began to relax. “Yeah,” she said, pulling her fingers free of his. “I’m…a little confused, that’s all.”
“Can I help?”
She stared at his face, liking the gentleness in his brown eyes. “Think you could shrink me, tuck me into your pocket and get me out of this place without anybody seeing me?”
He thought about it. “Nope. But I guarantee I can walk by your side, lead you out of here without anybody saying one word to you.” Standing, he extended his hand, palm up, silently asking her to trust in him. And though he was a perfect stranger, for some reason, Meg did.
She took his hand and let him help her up. Still reeling from the discovery that her picture was, indeed, being used to model the most seductive lingerie she’d ever seen, she felt shaky and weak. He immediately slid his hand to her waist to steady her. “You can do this.”
“I’ll bet somebody said the same thing to Lady Godiva.”
He glanced at her concealing bulky sweater and ankle-length skirt, which covered most of her chunky black boots. “I don’t think anybody’s gonna mistake you for her.” Glancing at her long ponytail, he grinned. “I hear she was a blonde.”
Amazingly, Meg felt a tiny answering grin on her lips.
“Ready?”
Taking a deep breath for courage, she nodded. “Let’s go.”
“Oh, wait, I almost forgot,” he said, letting go of her hand for a moment. Meg watched as he glanced down at the keyboard—never at the screen—and pushed a few buttons.
The image disappeared.
And even though she didn’t know his name, Meg fell a little in love with him right then and there.
They pushed through the doors, but hadn’t gone another step when the stranger paused. “Head up, honey. Don’t you let anybody make you feel ashamed.” He lifted her chin with one finger.
His touch was soft, his skin rough and warm. She shivered slightly, though the store was well heated against the cold February day. “What, are you some kind of superhero or something? Going around saving damsels in—” hootchie-mama lingerie? “—distress?”
“Just a man who doesn’t like seeing a woman cry.”
Without another word, he led her through the crowded area. No one pointed. No one stared. Not one man leered. The place was crowded with shoppers, all of whom seemed to be having a good time in the new complex. If she hadn’t been feeling so anxious to get out before anyone recognized her, Meg might have enjoyed checking the place out. Maybe curling up in one of the overstuffed chairs near the huge free-standing fireplace beside the coffee bar and warming up with some gourmet espresso.
She immediately nixed that idea. The waiters had probably all seen her in thongs and push-up bras.
As they exited the building, the man never left her side. Only in the vestibule did he look in another direction, keeping his head down and turning away as they passed the pickup counter. The attractive, middle-aged saleswoman was busy with someone else and didn’t spare them a glance as they walked out the red front doors into the cold and sunny day.
“Okay, safe and sound.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” she murmured.
“It was nothing.”
“No, it wasn’t. I’d probably still be sitting in there, afraid to come out, if it weren’t for you. Some night watchman doing his rounds would have thought I’d hidden in there to rob the place when I finally got up the nerve to try to sneak out during the middle of the night.”
He chuckled. “You had nothing to be ashamed of.”
Meg mentally snorted. Except the half-naked pictures on the computer screens. “I’m in your debt.”
“No, you’re not. But you do have me curious.”
She raised a wary brow. “Curious?”
“Yeah.” He leaned close, glancing around as if to ensure he wouldn’t be overheard. “Answer one question for me and we’re even. How could anyone not know they were a lingerie model?”
Judging by her widened eyes, Joe realized he’d hit the nail right on the head. He didn’t know how it was possible, but her shock had been legitimate. The woman had had no idea her image was being used to model seductive lingerie in a public store.
Aside from her astounding confirmation, Joe still hadn’t quite wrapped his mind around the fact that he was here, talking comfortably in broad daylight on a public street, with the object of his deepest fantasies. She wasn’t supposed to exist.
But she did. And she was as perfect in person as she’d been in his dreams.
“I don’t understand it myself,” she admitted, biting helplessly on the corner of a full lower lip.
Joe watched, amazed at the creamy smoothness of her face, those blue eyes, the tiny cleft in her chin. He suspected she had a killer smile. And he really wanted to see it. “Someone told you about the pictures, I guess? You came to The Red Doors to see for yourself?”
She turned and glanced at the store they’d just left. “Yes. Listen, I should probably go. I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do. Thanks again for your help.
”
“Wait,” he said softly. “You don’t look up to going anywhere yet. Why don’t we go across the street and have a cup of coffee?” Her eyes widened, clearly showing her uncertainty. “Please?”
After a long pause she said, “How can I refuse my knight in shining leather?” He held his breath until she finally nodded. “Okay, one cup. Then I really have to leave.”
We’ll see about that.
CHAPTER TWO
TEN MINUTES LATER they were seated in a private booth in a quiet restaurant. The place was nearly deserted since it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner. She seemed to relax.
“So,” she said after the waitress had ambled away, “I guess we’ve reached the introduction stage. My name’s Meg O’Rourke.”
“Meg,” he repeated, liking the way her name tasted in his mouth. “It’s nice to meet you, Meg.”
“What should I call you, other than my hero?”
He shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. He’d done what any man would do when confronted with a woman in tears. Well, okay, not exactly true. Probably most guys facing a crying woman would run like hell, stand there looking stupid, or go to the nearest roadside stand and buy her flowers.
Joe considered himself a step above the average guy when it came to how to treat women. Probably because his mama had threatened all five of her boys with a frying pan if she ever caught them being nasty to’da leedle girls—particularly their baby sister, affectionately dubbed the demon child of D’Angelo Street. “I’m Joe Santori.”
“Santori… There’s a great Italian restaurant called Santori’s not far from my neighborhood.”
He shrugged. “My parents own it.”
She gave him a genuinely delighted smile, the one he’d wanted to see earlier. It was every bit as brilliant and sunny as he’d imagined it would be. But even he couldn’t have predicted the tiny little dimple in her right cheek. That dimple grabbed the breath right out of his lungs and took a piece of his pounding heart right along with it.
Wow. What a smile.
“I’ve only been there a few times, but it’s number one on my take-out list,” she continued. “The last time I was there…” She bit the corner of her lip, shaking her head as she primly crossed her hands on the table in front of her.
“What? What happened the last time?”
She countered with a question of her own. “Your mother, she runs the place, right? Is she a dark-haired woman who wears a huge pin made out of various kinds of dried pasta on the collar of her dress?”
Joe nodded warily, wondering what his infamous mother had done this time. “Uh-huh. What’d she do?”
Meg giggled. “She, uh, made me stand up straight, walked all around me, then told me it was God’s plan for me to have lots of babies and feed them the way nature intended.”
He groaned and sank down in his seat.
“I wasn’t offended. Believe me, I’ve heard it often enough from my mother and all her friends in the neighborhood.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t insist you meet one of her sons. There are six kids in my family—five of us male—and only one married. Unfortunately, I’m second on the totem pole, so I’m the one in her matchmaking crosshairs right now.”
Meg laughed, the sound deep and throaty. It wasn’t like her earlier girlish giggle. This laugh was full and rich, intoxicatingly feminine and mysterious. “Oh, she tried. Are you her boy Joey who owns dat’a construction comp’ny buildin’ the twenny story ’partment building for the millionaires?”
He shook his head. “It’s ten stories. And I’m just a contractor. Should I get up and leave now or would sinking under the table in total humiliation be sufficient?”
“I take it you’ve been embarrassed by her before?”
He shuddered. “You have no idea.”
“I might. My family’s the same way. My father fully expected me to come back to live under his roof after I finished college. When I insisted on my own apartment a few blocks away, he got all the young single cops at the local police precinct to check up on me every day. I think he was offering a dowry.”
Joe almost snorted. As if any man would need anything more than the woman herself.
“Some days I’m tempted to have a wild, public affair to shut them all up,” she muttered.
He raised a brow. “Oh? Any candidates in the picture?” Say no. Say you’re single. Say you’re unattached and ready and I’ll give you the wildest, most public affair you’ve ever dreamed of.
“The only males I encounter on a daily basis are the seven-year-olds in my class, their mostly married fathers, and the hundred-and-fifty-year-old priest who runs St. Luke’s.”
“You teach?”
She nodded. “Second grade. And if you think it’s bad having your mother trying to set you up with women who come into your family restaurant, get a load of my life. The mother of one of my students informed me last week that all the boys in my class are suddenly falling and getting hurt because they want a get-better hug. It seems they’ve been discussing the softness of my pillows.”
It took a second to sink in, then he let out a loud bark of laughter. “Starting young.”
She sighed heavily. “Males. It’s a wonder we made it out of the Dark Ages.”
Their waitress brought their drinks, and Joe watched Meg sip carefully at her hot espresso. “Better?”
She nodded. “Much. I don’t know whether I was colder from the wind or from the shock.”
“So you were really shocked seeing yourself?”
She raised a brow. “Uh, yeah. Wouldn’t you be? How would you feel if you found out women all over Chicago were ogling your half-naked body? Coming on to you? Whispering about you and cat-calling as you walked by?”
He grinned. “You really want me to answer that?”
She rolled her eyes and took another sip from her cup. “Spoken like a true guy.”
“Well, I am a guy,” he explained in self-defense. “But you’re not, and obviously you didn’t have a man’s reaction.”
“Being flattered?” she asked.
More like horny. “I guess.”
“No,” she said quietly, her eyes growing suspiciously glassy again. “I don’t think I’d say I’m feeling flattered. I’m humiliated. Shocked.” She took a deep breath. “And very angry.”
“If you didn’t give permission, I’d say that’s grounds for a lawsuit against the store,” Joe said. “One of my brothers is an attorney. If you want, I can pass you his card.”
“Thanks, I’ll think about it. Right now I’m just trying to make sense of it. I don’t understand how they could have gotten hold of my picture to begin with.”
“You’ve never posed? Never been approached to model for Sheer Delights?”
From across the table, he watched the color drain out of Meg’s face. She went pale suddenly, and her mouth opened once, then closed, then opened again in shock. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you were ever approached to model for them.”
She shook her head, still appearing dazed. “No, the other part. The name. Did you say Sheer Delights? I thought the place was called The Red Doors.”
“The complex is. But the three shops upstairs all have different names. There’s a scent and lotion one, a jewelry one, and the lingerie shop, which is called Sheer Delights.”
She sat back heavily in her seat, staring at him in complete disbelief. He saw her gaze shift quickly around the room, as if her thoughts were darting in all different directions. Finally, she smacked her hand flat on the table and growled, “That rotten, miserable, pissant little toad.”
His fantasy woman had a temper. He suddenly liked her even better.
“I’ll kill him.”
Okay. He got the picture. She had posed for some photos. Probably in private. Probably for a boyfriend—an ex-boyfriend—who’d then sold them for a quick buck.
He hated to think of it. Of Meg, dressed in provocative lingerie for some guy who hadn�
��t valued her enough to respect her privacy. Whoever the toad was, he’d not only been tacky enough to sell the pictures, he had to be pretty stupid to have let her slip through his fingers in the first place.
He had to hide a smirk of satisfaction, though, as he wondered what the jerk would think about being publicly called “little” by his ex. Every man’s worst nightmare after a breakup.
Finally, seeing the way her fingers clenched convulsively on the table, he reached over and touched her hand. “It’s okay, honey. He’s a total loser, but at least you’re rid of him.”
“Rid of him? I’ll never be rid of him. The louse is probably sitting at my mother’s kitchen table right now, eating banana bread and telling her how much he loves the family.”
Uh-oh. Maybe not such a definite breakup, after all. “He stayed friendly with your parents?”
Bad sign. The one time one of his ex-girlfriends had remained friendly with his family, he’d almost caved under pressure and gone back to her. Luckily, the Santori clan eventually got wise to her. When she heard Joe had gone to a Cubs game with someone else, she put sugar in his gas tank. That was why he now had a locking gas cap on his truck, but, thankfully, no ex-girlfriend hovering around the restaurant, making nice with his outraged mother, who held on to a grudge the way a toddler held on to his blankie.
“What a snake,” she muttered, hardly paying him any attention, even though he was holding her cold, shaking hand. “I’ll get you for this, Georgie.”
“Georgie?” Joe’s concern immediately dropped a notch. With a name like Georgie, how much competition could the ex be?
“As if it wasn’t bad enough the time he broke a window playing baseball in the backyard, then leaned my pogo stick against the sill so Dad would think it was me.”
Pogo stick? He somehow had a hard time picturing a grown woman on a pogo stick, particularly a woman as, uh, blessed as Meg. The sudden mental image was enough to make him shift in his seat as a rush of pure male heat dropped from his brain to his lap. Meg. Jumping on a pogo stick. Dressed in the pink push-up bra and tap pants.
Behind the Red Doors Page 20