Behind the Red Doors

by Vicki Lewis Thompson, Stephanie Bond

  Staring at his mother, he didn’t ask how she knew who he’d focused all his attention on. His mother knew everything. She often said Santori women were born with the second sight. The one time he’d dared to remind her she’d been born an Antonelli, she’d thunked him in the head with a plastic soup ladle.

  “Just you watch,” she said.

  So he did. He watched as Meg bent her head low over the table, reaching her arm beneath it. Then she said something to her date and began to slide down in her seat. He realized she was going under only when her butt hit the black-and-white-tiled floor. “What is she…?”

  His mother merely smiled and nodded her approval. “She tells him she dropped something under the table.”

  “Why?” He realized why when he saw her boot-clad feet stick out, one after the other, from under the opposite side of the booth. Her feet were followed by ankles. Then curvy calves covered in sheer, silky hose. As she shimmied out, her skirt was shimmying up. Her curvy legs were revealed inch by heart-stopping inch.

  She gradually gained the attention of other people in the room. Many stopped chattering and eating to watch the sexiest pair of women’s legs this side of a Playboy centerfold emerge like a breech birth from beneath booth number seven. Then her hips, upper body and head popped out. She breathed a visible sigh of relief as she stood.

  Damn, he wished he was close enough to hear what she said as she turned back to speak to her date. Or what the guy, who looked very surprised, said in return. He was close enough, however, to see where the guy’s hand went.

  Right under her skirt.

  This time, his mother’s restraining hand on his arm wasn’t enough. He strode toward their table in time to hear Meg snarl, “Yeah? Well, I think you’d look awful hot and sexy in this!” Then she swung around, grabbed a plate of half-eaten spaghetti off a nearby table, which was thankfully empty and waiting for the busboy, and dumped it all over her date’s head.

  The entire place grew so silent you could hear a heart beating. Joe froze where he stood, watching as the man rose from his seat. Long sauce-laden pieces of pasta dangled from his hair into his eyes and plopped on the shoulders of his pansy-ass crew-neck sweater. Joe almost felt sorry for the pathetic S.O.B., who looked around and realized he was the focus of every person in the place. Remembering the guy’s Russian hands and Roman fingers, however, he saved his pity for someone who maybe deserved it—like the cleaning person who was gonna have to try to get the red stains out of the sweater and tan pants.

  Meg didn’t stick around to hear her date’s response. Instead she whirled on her heel and stalked toward the exit, never shifting her gaze away from the front door. She passed within five feet of him and still didn’t see Joe. Judging by the fire in her eyes, she wasn’t seeing anything but red.

  As she reached the door and put her hand on the knob, someone began to clap. He only realized it was his mother when he heard her low laughter. Others in the dining room took up the applause. Finally hearing it, she glanced over her shoulder, obviously mortified as she realized what she’d just done in front of this audience of people.

  Her eyes widened as they met Joe’s. The color drained from her face before she turned and walked outside without a word.

  “Now you go after her,” his mother said, giving him a little shove of encouragement.

  As if he’d needed any encouragement. Joe immediately zigzagged between the tables, not stopping to say hi to the many regulars who greeted him. He didn’t spare another glance for the spaghetti man, figuring he’d crawled back into his booth to try to clean himself up with some napkins.

  He caught up with her a few yards down the sidewalk. “Meg, wait.” Catching her arm, he forced her to stop and look at him. “Honey, are you okay?”

  Her lips were quivering, her eyes glassy and her cheeks reddened. Such a physical state could have been caused by the cold as well as the embarrassment.

  Then she sniffed.

  Aw, man, she’s gonna cry again.

  But he was wrong. She didn’t start to cry. Instead, her lips widened into a tiny smile. A giggle spilled out. The giggle turned into a snorty chuckle, then an outright belly laugh. “Oh, God, Joe, did you see his face?” She leaned against a light post, bending over as she gave in to her laughter.

  “I saw.” He made no attempt to hide his grin. “I just wish whoever was sitting at that table had had the spinach pasta. The green woulda gone well with Mama Santori’s famous red gravy in his hair.”

  She airily waved her hand. “Nah. Too Christ-massy. This week’s Valentine’s Day, so I think the red was perfect.”

  He couldn’t argue the logic. He simply delighted in her amusement. The dimple still slew him and he had a feeling the sound of her laughter would echo in his mind for a very long time to come.

  “My mother would tell me I earned myself an extra year in purgatory. But you know what? It was worth it!”

  “If it’s any consolation, my mother, who’s probably a lot like yours, told me the guy’s a dog. He’s here with different women all the time.”

  She shook her head in disgust. “The creep. He saw me at The Red Doors. That’s why he asked me out. He seemed to believe I’m a good little teacher by day and a wicked floozy by night.”

  Joe really wished he’d gone ahead and smashed the guy’s face into red spaghetti, to match his hair and clothes. Anyone who’d spent more than five minutes in this woman’s company should have recognized the goodness shining in her eyes and the sweetness of her smile. Absolutely the only thing mildly wicked about her was her sense of humor. And, perhaps, a bit of temper.

  Two of the things he liked best about a woman.

  She fisted her hands and put them on her hips, looking disgruntled. “My first date in six months and it blows up, not just in my face, but in front of dozens of strangers.”

  “Six months? You’ve gotta be kidding me. You been living in the nunnery next to that school of yours?”

  “I’m not so good in the dating department,” she replied, looking embarrassed. “It doesn’t help that everybody knows my parents and any man I go out with has to duck and weave to get past my nosy neighbors.”

  “Note to self—study up on ducking and weaving. Anything else I should remember?”

  “Yes,” she said with a grin, obviously realizing what he meant—that he planned to be one of her dates. “At least feed me dinner before doing something to make me dump a plateful of pasta on your head.”

  He reached for the collar of her coat, buttoning it to protect her from the wind whipping down the street. She’d rushed out of the restaurant so quickly, she’d barely pulled it on over her shoulders. After he finished, he held her shoulders, making sure she knew he meant what he was about to say. “Meg, I can’t promise to never make you mad. But I will never intentionally say or do anything to hurt you.”

  She stared at him intently, gauging his sincerity. “No, I don’t think you would.”

  She shivered. Probably from the cold. Or, possibly, because she felt the same certainty Joe did that something kind of incredible was happening here.

  But what?

  Seeing her clutch her coat tighter, Joe realized she must be cold. “Okay, let’s get you something to eat.” He offered his arm to lead her back to the restaurant.

  Her eyes widened. “I can’t go back inside.”

  “Sure you can. I’ve got an in with the owners.” He took her arm. “Come on, we’ll go in through the kitchen door.”

  She didn’t move. “I can’t show my face in there again. All those people saw what I did. Besides, he’s still inside. His car’s right over there.”

  “Well, then, he’s eating pizza cursed with my mother’s evil eye.” Seeing her reluctance, he improvised. “Look, I’m parked in the alley behind the building. You wait for me there, I’ll go in and snag us a pizza. We can sit in my truck and eat it, okay?”

  He wondered for a minute if she’d agree, or if she was still feeling too uncertain because of the emoti
onal ups and downs of her day. Seeing what she’d seen on the computer screen today had really hurt her. When she got over her amusement at the vision of her lecherous date with pasta hanging off his ears, she’d probably begin feeling very vulnerable again.

  “What do you say, Meg? Do you want me to take you home? Or do you want to have dinner with me?” He held out his hand, waiting, letting her make the choice. If she said she wanted to go, he’d take her. If she wanted to go alone, he’d get her a cab…then follow it to make sure she got into her place safe and sound. But he really hoped she wanted to stay with him.

  When she slipped her hand into his, he had his answer. He smiled gently. “Pepperoni?”

  “And no mushrooms,” she replied vehemently.

  “Great.” Leading her to his truck, which was parked within feet of the back door of Santori’s, he locked her safely inside. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  Sneaking in through the back door, he waved to his brother Tony, who was the only Santori child to follow their parents into the business. Sure, they’d all waited and bussed tables during high school, but only Tony wanted to run the restaurant when their parents were ready to retire. Joe was happy with the small construction company he’d built with his own two hands. His brother Lucas enjoyed swimming like a shark through the chum-filled waters of the legal system as a hot-shot attorney. The twins, Nick and Mark, had parlayed their enjoyment of pounding the crap out of people into careers in the military and law enforcement, respectively. Charlotte, the baby of the family, was unsure what she wanted to do with her life. But at twenty-two, just finishing college, she had time. Besides, she still had a lot of growing up to do.

  Looking at Tony, he pointed to their father, who was tossing a pie crust into the air, then pressed an index finger across his lips. “Shh.”

  Tony gave a good-natured shrug and turned away, not watching as Joe pioneered a pepperoni pizza out of a huge wall oven. He boxed the pizza and stole toward the door. As he left, he grabbed an open bottle of Chianti his father kept back here for medicinal purposes.

  He was pulling the back door shut behind him when he heard his father yell, “Ant’ny! Where’s my pie?” The old man began cursing and yelling in Italian, wondering what had happened to the pizza he’d been about to take out of the oven. His brother winked at Joe and shrugged in complete innocence.

  Joe whistled as he walked toward the truck. His first real date with his fantasy woman was gonna involve drinking house red right out of the bottle, and eating his family made pizza in a pickup truck parked in an alley.

  Sounded like the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MEG HAD NEVER ENJOYED a date more. Sitting inside Joe Santori’s truck, eating gooey pizza and licking grease off her fingers, ranked right up there among her best evenings ever. They wiped their mouths with the backs of their hands. They sipped Chianti to keep warm. They speculated over whether it was worse to freeze, or to risk fumes by leaving the engine and heater running. Eventually, they compromised: heater on once in a while, windows partially open, just in case.

  Above all, they laughed and talked. For hours, until the wine was gone and the pizza cold. He told her what it was like growing up in a brood. She told him about growing up with Georgie the Goat. They argued over the Bulls, agreed on movies, and left politics alone.

  Though the truck was a small one, leaving them in close proximity as she’d been with Ted in his car, Meg never felt one instant of unease. In fact, if she were to be perfectly honest, she’d have to admit a slight disappointment that he never tried to touch her. But it didn’t matter. Whether they touched with their bodies or not, tonight they were touching with their laughter, with their conversation, with every breath shared in the close confines of the truck. It was incredibly intimate. But it wasn’t quite enough.

  Finally, needing reassurance that she wasn’t the only one feeling affected by their closeness, she leaned over and touched Joe’s cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered as she ran her index finger along his jawline. She tested the texture of his skin, roughened during the hours since his morning shave. Then she lifted her thumb to his mouth, wondering if the wine had given her courage or just made her foolish. “Tonight has been wonderful, Joe.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if inhaling the scent of the perfume she wore. Then he caught her hand in his, pressing hers tighter against his cheek. He turned slightly, kissing the fleshy part of her palm. When his tongue tasted the pulse point in her wrist, she sighed. He feels it, too.

  “I somehow suspect I might end up being thankful to Georgie for being such a creep,” she whispered.

  “Me, too,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I didn’t know you really existed twelve hours ago.” He didn’t let go of her hand, still gently kissing her, driving her mad with the tiny flicks of his tongue against her skin.

  Finally he entwined his fingers with hers and lowered their clenched hands to the seat between them. “I think I should probably get you home. It’s pretty late.”

  Home. Yes. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was after midnight. Hopefully, the fates would be kind and her neighbors asleep. If they weren’t…well, after hours sitting here in the dark, admiring his profile, dying to taste his lips, aching to be held by him, to feel that hard, masculine body beneath his clothes, she wasn’t much sure she’d care.

  Tonight she didn’t much feel like the good little second-grade teacher. She felt very much like a grown woman with needs she’d buried for far too long.

  When she told him her address, he glanced at her in surprise. “You said you live near your parents, right? Then we grew up a few miles apart. Ten blocks closer and we might have gone to the same school, though we wouldn’t have been in the same class.”

  “So I might have gone to school with one of your brothers?”

  He nodded.

  She raised a brow. “Are they as cute as you?”

  He shot her a look out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t. I’d hate to have had to steal you away from one of my little brothers.”

  “Confident, huh?”

  “Only when it’s important.”

  Like this? Like her? She didn’t ask.

  When they arrived at her building, she asked him to park a few spaces down from the entrance. Some of her neighbors were light sleepers. He did so, giving her a quizzical look, probably seeing the nervous way she chewed on her lip.

  Meg sat in the passenger seat while he got out and came around to open her door. He walked quickly, his breath creating little clouds of condensation in the cold night air. Watching his every move, she saw him tuck one hand into the pocket of his soft leather jacket. I’ll warm you up.

  Meg couldn’t believe she was about to do what she thought she was about to do. Invite a man into her apartment. Kiss him because if she didn’t she’d never be able to sleep tonight, wondering what his mouth tasted like. And if it tasted as good as she suspected it would, she had a feeling she’d want more than one kiss. One of the books she sometimes read to her students flashed into her mind. If you give a mouse a cookie…

  “She’s going to want a glass of milk,” she whispered.

  Joe, who had just opened the door, smiled as he helped her out. “Pizza, wine and milk. Interesting flavor combination. Maybe I should ask right now if you can cook.”

  She shook her head. “Not very well. Does it matter?”

  “Not a bit.”

  When they reached her front door, Meg fumbled with the keys. Dropping them, she winced at the klinking sound of them hitting the hardwood floor in the hall. She hoped Mrs. Mahoney wasn’t awake, soaking her bunions or reading another of her never-ending tabloid newspapers.

  Bending, she reached for the key ring, realizing when she had it between her fingers that the position was a very incriminating one. If Mrs. Mahoney opened her door right now, she’d see Meg, eye level with the impressively filled crotch of a pair of faded men’
s Levi’s. She gulped, unable to look away from the lean hips, the long legs, the boot-covered feet.

  Good Lord, was she really about to make a serious pass at this amazing man? Was she really going to find herself in his arms soon? Five minutes. Maybe less. Just get the stupid keys in the door, Meg.

  “Let me,” Joe said, reaching for the keys from her cold, shaking hand as she rose.

  She did, passing the key chain to him, nearly unable to breathe from his closeness. His breaths touched her hair, his fingers sent friction shooting up her arm. His low, sultry whisper was only a tiny bit louder than the roar of her wildly beating heart.

  Finally, when the door was open, she could resist no longer. She swung around, backing into the darkened room, throwing her purse to the floor. Grabbing the front of his jacket in both fists, she tugged him in with her. She noted the surprise in his widened eyes, but paid no attention to it as she leaned up on tiptoes and crushed her lips against his.

  “Sweet Meg,” he whispered against her mouth. He resisted for no more than a second, then wrapped his arms around her as if he were a man holding on to a life ring. Their lips parted. Breaths were shared. Tongues met and danced in a hot, wet frenzy that tasted like wine, pizza and frantic need.

  And suddenly Meg knew she didn’t want a glass of milk. She wanted the whole damn cow.

  When he moved his hands lower, cupping her hips, pulling her tighter against him, she whimpered. Feeling how affected he was by their embrace—hard and stiff against his jeans—her whimper turned to a moan. Instinct, not experience, made her grind her hips against him there. She needed so much more.

  When she felt his hand slide up, under her sweater, to delicately stroke the sensitive skin along her spine, her legs went weak. He held her tighter, caressing the arch of her back, his fingers moving in tiny circular patterns near the edge of her skirt. She hissed when they dipped below the waistband.

  Reaching for the door, intending to slam it shut, she suddenly realized Joe’s other hand was already there. He was holding it open. He moved his mouth to her jaw, kissing her, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck, just under her ear.