A Taste of Romance

by Rhonda Laurel

  “Yes, it’s just business. I don’t usually conduct business this way, but Genevieve is a longtime business associate and has many contacts. She can be very persuasive. I want you to join us. You’re a guest in my home, and you have to eat something.”

  Longtime business associate? More like a regular femme fatale morphing a business meeting into a private dinner at Marco’s residence. He may not be hip to her schemes, but she wouldn’t get away with that crap with Trina around. Maybe it would be a good idea to put in an appearance for dinner.

  “What’s on the menu?”

  “On such short notice?” He walked up behind her and gazed into the fridge. He moved a few things around. “Let’s see what’s in here.”

  Marco started talking, but she was distracted by his proximity to her. She felt so small next to him. The height difference was obvious since she didn’t have on any heels. She liked tall men. But he was so close now, she barely heard what he was saying. With each reach, he was getting closer to her. He may have been working all day, but he still smelled great.

  “Katrina?” Marco said.

  “Yes?” She turned in the cramped space to face him.

  He looked down into her eyes. “Does that food selection sound good to you?”

  If she asked him to repeat himself, she’d feel like an idiot. She’d just go with it and hope the man hadn’t recommended anything that wiggled too much before it became part of her dinner plate. She loved crab, but she felt like their beady little eyes followed her around the room, even though they’d already met their demise in the steamer. She hated picking live lobsters because she felt sorry for them being in the tank and wanted to set them all free. Her love of calamari was tamped down when she’d seen Derek cook it one day when she was visiting him at the Slap Shot.

  “Sounds good,” she said brightly so he wouldn’t realize how distracted she was by his closeness.

  “I’m not sure I have anything suitable for dessert.”

  “Yes, you do. I went to the bakery in town this afternoon and bought some things as a thank you. I’m sure we can plate that up to look like a presentable dessert.” She pointed to the bakery box on the counter. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

  “You are a dentist’s dream come true. How can a woman with such a beautiful smile eat so much sugar?”

  “It’s my caffeine.” She smiled. “It’s also my coping mechanism, so essentially the sweets serve multiple purposes. But I brush twice a day and use a Waterpik. Just in case.”

  “You should try the flowerless cake the chef makes at the restaurant with natural fruit juices. No sugar. It’s divine.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Or, why don’t I just munch on a paper bag?”

  “I bet I could get you to enjoy it,” he countered with a wicked gleam in his eye.

  “I’m not that easy to sway.”

  “Challenge accepted.”

  “Why don’t I do my part of the dinner while you get ready? Then when you come down, I can go change. That way we’ll have everything ready when Genevieve arrives, and we can have her on her way in no time.”

  “Grazie!” He kissed her on the cheek. “I appreciate it!”

  Trina watched as Marco walked out of the kitchen and up the back staircase. She wondered what he was going to wear, and what she should put on. The outfit she had on was nice, but she suddenly felt like dressing up. Besides, she had a feeling Genevieve wouldn’t be showing up in her best business casual and orthopedic shoes.

  With a smirk, she turned back to the task at hand. She could do a simple garden salad, heaven knew there were enough vegetables in his fridge, but she wanted to impress him. She’d keep with tradition and do something she knew he’d enjoy. She opened the fridge again. Yes, he had everything she’d need for a Caprese salad. And impressing him with the salad would put her on the scoreboard ahead of Genevieve.

  Marco would need a wingman tonight, whether he knew it or not, After all, if Mama Paloma were here, Trina had a feeling she’d insist on being part of the dinner.

  Trina was just looking out for Marco. Simple as that.

  * * *

  Marco moved around the kitchen, careful not to make too much of a mess. The Bolognese sauce had been thrown together in record time, and he had the pasta pot on the stove to boil. Genevieve would be there in an hour, and he wanted to get the meeting out of the way. The last thing he wanted to do was sit through a business presentation when he really wanted to talk to Trina about their smooch by the Kissing Fountain. It was as sweet as it was intense, and he wanted to do it again. He’d had a hard time getting his mind off it for the rest of the day. He’d bumped into things, lost paperwork, and almost dropped a bottle of champagne. After a while, he gave up and retired to his office for fear he’d cause a disaster.

  While sitting at his desk, he decided to do an Internet search on her because he couldn’t stop thinking about her and he wanted to know more about her singing. She’d made quite a name for herself as a singer on the Philadelphia music scene and was poised to make a big nationwide debut. It was when he kept searching that he found the articles about her microphone malfunction. He played the clip of her on stage during the interview, and it looked like she was frozen in place once the music began to play. After a couple of minutes of standing there, someone announced there had been an equipment failure. It was possible, but the expression on Trina’s face looked like fear. He suspected she’d gotten a wicked case of stage fright. Something in him wanted to comfort her and tell her that it would be OK.

  But the other thing that caught his eye was the gossip article about her having a fling with that obnoxious-looking music producer. Marco didn’t believe for a moment they’d had a lovers’ spat at Lana’s party. That could’ve been the final straw that made her flee Los Angeles.

  In all the chaos, he’d forgotten to call his mother today. She was probably busy anyway. He needed to focus on the task at hand. He didn’t like throwing a meal together so quickly, but he had no choice. He went over to the panel on the wall and hit a button for the sound system that was wired throughout the house. It was programmed to his mother’s favorites, so it was no surprise when of the soundtrack to the opera “Turandot” began to ooze through the speakers. The tempo immediately relaxed him. All that was missing was his mama sitting on the stool sipping her favorite glass of vino, retelling for the hundredth time how she saw Luciano Pavarotti sing it live.

  He stopped breathing when Trina walked into the kitchen in a turquoise halter dress with a fuchsia sash at the waist that fit her like a second skin and a pair of matching strappy heels. She had her hair up in a fancy-looking bun with a flower tucked into it. She looked absolutely breathtaking. Things just always looked amazing on her. She was definitely a unique woman.

  “You look gorgeous.”

  “Thank you. It’s not too fancy, is it?” She did a little twirl.

  “It’s perfect for an intimate patio dinner.” He gave her an appreciative once-over, his eyes locked on the faint lines on her chest. “You’ve certainly gotten a lot of sun.”

  “I’m uneven.” She looked down at herself. “I don’t know how else to get an even skin tone.”

  “There’s always topless sunbathing.” He waggled his eyebrows. “That would clear up those tan lines and even out that mocha skin tone.”

  “I don’t have the nerve to lay out stark naked somewhere in public.”

  “You should try it. It’s liberating.”

  “Been to a few nude beaches, eh?”

  “I do when I leave the country. Europeans aren’t as uptight as Americans.” He slowly stirred his sauce. “The body is a temple to proudly display, as they say.”

  “Who says that?”

  “I don’t know, but I thank heaven every day for the person who thought it up.”

  “I bet.” She laughed. “I’ve never been out of the country.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m just a diehard Philly girl.�
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  He smiled. “And yet you are far from home.”

  “I’m here for business, and then it’s right back home where I belong.”

  “How do you know if it’s where you belong if you’ve never really been anywhere else? Home is as much a state of mind as it is a physical place.”

  “Home is where my family is. I get to see my sisters and a dozen cousins at will. I get to eat my Grandma’s delicious food on Sundays after church.”

  He looked at her for a moment. “Home is where you feel most comfortable.”

  “Yes.” She looked around. “Can I help with anything?”

  “No. I wouldn’t dare let you get near anything that would ruin your beautiful outfit.” He wiped his hand on the towel on his shoulder. He looked down at her pretty polished toes. “How on earth can you walk in those shoes?”

  “Very carefully.”

  “Well, you make it look effortless.”

  “You clean up well yourself. I forgot to say that when you came down.” She smiled. “Do you always get dressed up for a business meeting?”

  He was hardly dressed up. He had on a pair of gray slacks and a black shirt and had run a comb through his hair. But he could see how it must look to her. He’d run home and got spiffed up for a meeting that had taken an intimate turn. He wasn’t the person who’d initiated it, but it was intimate all the same.

  “I must confess, I do put in an extra effort when I have guests. Looking the part is the hallmark of a good host. Can you imagine me serving my award-winning rosé, but my guests are too busy staring at my sloppy shirt or messy hair?”

  She put a hand on her hip. “As long your vanity isn’t a factor.”

  “Vanity is twenty-five percent of being a good host.” He laughed. “The other seventy-five percent is good wine.”

  “Don’t forget the food. It smells awesome in here.” She moved closer to the pot.

  He carefully scooped a bit of the sauce onto the spoon, holding his hand underneath. “Taste. Let me know what you think.”

  Her eyes lit up when she tasted the sauce. “How do you say ‘perfect’ in Italian?”

  “Perfezionare,” he said with a little extra flare.

  “It’s perezionare.” She gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Good.” He nodded. “I hate to be predictable, but I can make a Bolognese with my eyes closed, and there’s always pasta in the house.”

  “Dry pasta?” She stood next to the metal contraption next to the mixer with a crank on the side of it. “Is this not a pasta maker?”

  “Mama makes her own pasta. I don’t have the patience, and this is short notice.” He threw salt into the boiling water. “As a matter of fact, she’d faint if she saw store-made pasta in the house. I’ll be lucky if Ingrid doesn’t rat on me.”

  She laughed. “While mom’s away you get to be a total bachelor and cut corners?”

  “Something like that.” He stirred his sauce.

  “Do you miss her?”

  “Very much. We talk every day,” he said. “Well, almost. The past few days I’ve been a little occupied.”

  “I know the feeling. I’ve been known to stay with my Grandma from time to time. I think it’s the best. And not because she cooks good food and spoils me.” She grinned.

  He raised an eyebrow. “But it’s definitely a perk?”

  “Yes. But the best part is the hugs. My grandma gives these superhero-like hugs that have been known to give you courage and strength. It makes you want to be a better person because of them.”

  “And if you’re lucky, you get a little of her wisdom too.”

  “Exactly. I think it’s sweet you share a home with your mom. It shows what kind of man you are.”

  “What kind of man do you think I am?”

  “A rare breed.” She looked around the kitchen. “Seriously. Can I help? I get fidgety when I don’t have something to do.”

  “I think you’ve done wonders already. The table setting is excellent. The Caprese salad you put together looks delectable.”

  “If you have any balsamic vinegar, I’d like to make a balsamic vinegar reduction to drizzle over it. I’ll just need a small saucepan.” She took an apron out of the pantry and put it on, then opened the cabinets.

  “I sure do.” He opened his pantry and retrieved a bottle.

  “Nice.” She inspected the bottle. “Fancy.”

  “It’s the finest around.” He opened the bottle poured a little on his finger. “Taste.”

  “OK.” She leaned over and licked his finger. “Yum. You know what? Why don’t I crumble up some Parmigiano-Reggiano and pour a little of the reduction over it?”

  Marco couldn’t answer because he was too busy telling his body to behave. The stroke of her tongue on his finger made his body pulse. He loved the smell of her.

  “I better get this started.” She looked into his eyes. “You’re spilling over.”

  “Excuse me?” Was that some sort of new euphemism for horny? Because if it was, she was reading his mind and his body language.

  “The water for the pasta.”

  “Yes, of course.” He leaned in, wanting to kiss her again. “I will put on the pasta.”

  He put the pasta in, then lowered the temperature on the burner for the sauce. Trina poured the balsamic into a saucepan she had put on a low simmer. Everything was coming together quite nicely. As they worked, she began telling him stories about home. How she was helping Theresa with the preparations for her wedding to her cousin Trevor. How she got a kick out of spending time with Derek, Charisma, and the kids. Her sisters Dana, Melina, and Beverly were constantly trying to give her advice she didn’t want. She chalked it up to them keeping her in the little sister role.

  He loved listening to her talk about her life. She led an insulated life in Philadelphia, and striving for her career goals had put her in a precarious position. For instance, she’d missed Alex and Peyton’s wedding because her manager had booked gigs at small venues. It amazed him that they’d come so close to meeting, but it wasn’t meant to be at the time.

  At first, it was a faint sound of humming, and he realized the lovely sound was coming from Trina. She was off in her little world humming to Pavarotti. Finally, they had the hard part done and had a few minutes to spare. It wouldn’t hurt to have a glass of wine together before Genevieve arrived.

  He opened the cupboard and retrieved two glasses, then went to his refrigerated wine room off to the side of the kitchen and got a bottle of Chardonnay.

  “You have a lovely voice.” He placed a glass in front of her. “You know opera?”

  “I know Pavarotti. Derek and Charisma put on opera to lull the kids to sleep. You know it works like a charm. I keep a CD with me in case I have to babysit.”

  “Pavarotti as a lullaby? I’ll have to remember that when I have kids.”

  “You want kids?”

  “Sure, I do,” he said. “Do you?”

  “I’d like to jump over the hurdle of finding the right mate first, then I’ll think about children.”

  “I agree. Finding the right mate is crucial.” He sipped his wine.

  “Is that why you’ve been divorced twice?”

  “Yes,” he replied. So she’d been asking about him. “I’ve been married twice. The first time it was youthful lust. The second time was to prove I’d grown from the first mistake.”

  “Had you?”

  “A little, but not enough to know we wanted different things.”

  “Like what?”

  “She wanted to move to another state to open a restaurant. I wanted to stay here. My life is the winery. It’s not negotiable.”

  She sipped her wine. “It’s a good thing you found out before kids.”

  “Yes. I don’t believe children should suffer for their parents’ mistakes. But it was a valuable lesson learned.”

  “Did you learn anything from the mistakes?”

  “Yes. I know exactly what I want, and I won’t waver until I have it.”

/>   “Interesting,” she said.

  “So why did you leave Los Angeles?”

  She gave him a look.

  “Turnabout is fair play. I just confessed my deepest secrets to you.”

  “OK.” She stopped plating the desserts. “I used to sing for fun. Now I’ve gone and decided I wanted to make it a career.”

  “It’s no wonder you’re here in L.A. to promote your debut album. You’re going to be a huge success.”

  “I don’t know about that.” She shrugged. “Singers are a dime a dozen. I was lucky. I’m to be related to Tate, and he has connections. But you still need something extra. It’s all about having a gimmick.”

  “A gimmick?”

  “You know. Blue hair. Sexy dancing. Chaotic personal life. Serial dater.”

  “Oh. You mean being a spectacle. People like that are more entertainers who screech out a few words while they’re trying to seduce you into idolizing them.”

  “Well, they’re the ones making all the money.”

  He chose to ignore that. “Why did you leave Los Angeles?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I have nothing but time.” He saw something in her eyes that said she might be willing to talk about whatever was bothering her.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get that.” She took another sip of her wine. “I’ll go let Genevieve have it.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘I’ll go let Genevieve in.’” She tossed back her wine as she walked out of the kitchen.

  Marco smiled. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was jealous.

  * * *

  Trina did a quick check of herself as she passed the mirror in the foyer. She got a preview peek of Genevieve through the frosted glass in the door’s window pane. She was right. The woman was dressed to the nines in a skin-tight, scoop-neck red dress that fit snug as a sausage casing. It definitely wasn’t business casual attire unless she moonlighted as an escort.

  She opened the door. “Hello.”

  Genevieve gave her a strange look. “I’m here to see Marco.”