The Devil Served Desire

by Shirley Jump

  A little seasoning is always a good thing. Like a good fight adds spice to a marriage. Keeps him on his toes and doesn't let him get too comfortable in his damned chair.

  Stir in the drained fusilli and zucchini, cover and cook for another minute or two. Serve with the Parmigiano on the side. That's the only thing your man should have on the side—a little cheese.

  If it doesn't work out, then toss the whole thing and start again. It's just a meal, not a marriage. With a man, you need a bit more patience and a hell of a big sense of humor.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She had to go in there. It was either that or play subway sumo wrestling with the other five o'clock commuters to get over to Downtown Grossing and pray she could find something that fit—and she could afford— in twenty minutes, then hop back on the train for home.

  Antonio was coming at seven. She didn't have enough time for T games.

  Maria stood on the sidewalk outside her mother's house off of Hanover Street and debated. Inside was a killer black dress she'd stored in her old bedroom. The kind of dress guaranteed to make Antonio sweat.

  But another very dangerous thing lurked inside. Her mother's quilting club.

  She squared her shoulders and vowed to march in there, grab the dress out of the back bedroom and—

  Sneak out the back door before those women could get their matchmaking paws on her.

  She made it as far as the front hall. "Maria? Is that you?" her mother called from the dining room table. "Come, say hello."

  "Mamma, I'm late. I need to grab a dress and—"

  "You come in. Say hello." When her mother spoke in that tone, arguing with her was about as productive as trying to take a bone from a pit bull.

  Maria poked her head into the dining room as little as possible. "Nice to see you, Mrs. Tamburo and Mrs. Benedetto. Hello, Nonna."

  She didn't pull her head back fast enough. Rosa Benedetto was the first to put in her ante. "Maria, my Nicky is out on parole next week, you know."

  "Great." Maria tried again to leave but Mamma came up beside her, blocking the way. She bent over, ostensibly looking for thread in the little sewing caddy beside the doorway.

  "You always liked Nicky," Rosa said, arching a brow. "He has the eyes."

  "What eyes? I never see no eyes," Lucia Tamburo said.

  "The eyes. The kind women like," Rosa said.

  "Women like eyes that stay at home. Not go roaming around the neighborhood like a tomcat in heat," Nonna said. She snipped the end of the thread on the pastel baby quilt she was making as a good luck charm for newlywed and as-yet-not-pregnant cousin Rosina. "He got eyes like that?"

  "He's been in jail for three years. He's gonna look at his woman, believe me." Rosa put down her sewing and gave Maria a nod. "He always like you. Whenever I go see him at Cedar Junction, he say, 'Mamma, how's that Maria? She was a looker.' "

  Mamma found a spool of black thread and straightened. "How he going to support my daughter with the jail on his record?"

  "Mamma, I'm not marrying Nicky. I'm only here to borrow—"

  "Are you saying my Nicky isn't good enough for your daughter?"

  "Beggars can't be choosers," Lucia said with a shrug. "Not at her age."

  "I am not that—"

  "Rosa, you know trouble hangs around Nicky like pigeons around a bakery." Mamma took a seat across from Rosa and picked up her wedding ring pattern quilt.

  Rosa thrust a fist onto her hip. "Nicky is not trouble."

  "Then why is he in jail?" Nonna asked. "Three years is no vacation."

  "He didn't take that car. He borrowed it. How you expect him to get to work with no car?"

  Mamma waved a hand and let out a mutter of disagreement.

  "God gave him two legs," Nonna said. "And a subway system."

  "Nicky can't ride the T." Rosa heaved a sigh. "He's color blind."

  "Maria should date my grandson," Lucia piped up. "He's very good with color. You should see how he decorated the ladies' bathroom at the Sons of Italy hall. The boy knows his pinks." She emphasized the point with a needle.

  Maria knew the only way to end this. Offer herself up for sacrifice. "Actually, I have a date tonight."

  The heads of all four women in the room swiveled faster than a lazy Susan on a power drill. "You do?" they said in concert.

  "Yes. That's why I need the dress. I don't want to be late."

  Mamma jumped to her feet. "We get the dress."

  "I can get it myself. It's in my old closet."

  "I help you; make sure you get the right one." Mamma was fast on Maria's heels now, her hand at her daughter's back, lest she escape without providing details. They headed up the stairs to Maria's old room. "Who is this boy? What does he do?"

  "Mamma..." Maria warned. "It's just a date. Nothing more."

  "Do I know his family?" Her mother put a finger to her chin. "Is it Angie Giovanni's boy? He's no good, you know. Never calls his mother."

  "It's not him." They had reached the top of the stairs. The door to Maria's old bedroom was three feet to the left. "Mamma, I can get my own dress."

  Her mother didn't take a hint well. She opened the door for her daughter and entered the room, taking a seat on the old twin bed with the pink ruffled comforter. "Where is he taking you? Somewhere nice?"

  "I don't know. We didn't talk about it yet."

  Her mother tsk-tsked. "Not a good sign. A man should warn a woman. Let her be ready."

  Maria opened the closet door and rummaged past the size sixes. Shoved the size eights aside. Took a longing glance at the tens before digging past them and finding the black dress she was looking for. Long, sleek, shiny.

  And best of all, with a ten percent Lycra count.

  "Make sure he opens the door." Mamma reached back and fluffed the two pillows, even though they had gone unused for the better part of eight years. "He treat you nice, or he answer to your papa."

  "Mamma—" Maria bit her tongue. She could stand here and argue chivalrous conduct for an hour or just nod her head and escape unscathed. "He'll hold the door. Or he'll answer to me first."

  Mamma rose and crossed to her daughter. She patted Maria's cheek. "That's my girl. So strong."

  "Thanks, Mamma."

  Her mother's face took on a stern look. "But don't be so strong you act like a man. Ask for help with the car, the sink." She nodded. "Men, they like that."

  "I'm not some damsel in distress who needs a man to help me out of the castle." Maria shifted the dress in her arms. "I can change my own oil, fix my own faucet, even pay bills without any help. I don't need a man to fix anything.''

  Mamma's soft brown eyes met hers. "Ah, but you do, cara." Her palm rested again on Maria's cheek, but this time in a quiet, gentle touch. "To fix your heart."

  Antonio's Tempting-Maria Wine-Stuffed Apples

  1/2 cup golden raisins

  1/2 cup dried cherries

  1 cinnamon stick

  1/2 cup sugar

  Pinch of grated nutmeg

  Grated lemon zest

  3/4 cup water

  3/4 cup Marsala wine

  6 tart apples

  3 tablespoons butter

  Ah, apples. The fruit of temptation. Start by combining everything but the butter and the apples. Let this spicy stuffing sit for an hour while you whisper the sweet words she wants to hear.

  Preheat the oven to 375 degrees while she's getting hot, from the magic of your touch and your words. Wash and core the apples, being sure not to cut through the bottoms. Wouldn't want your stuffing to leak out too soon, now would you? Divide the delectable mixture between the apples, filling the hollowed cores just as you'll fill the empty void in her Friday night.

  Arrange the apples in a buttered dish. Pour the remaining wine mixture around them, then top each with a little pat of butter for additional richness.

  Bake for 40 to 50 minutes, basting with the wine mixture every few minutes. Serve hot, with a dish of cold ice cream on the side. The mixture of sensati
ons is guaranteed to set her palate on fire while the wine will sweeten the way for you.

  And she'll be putty in your hands once again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Maria heard Antonio before she saw him. The red Ferrari came zooming down her street, breaking the speed limit three times over. When he stopped outside her building, the tires squealed in protest.

  She headed downstairs to greet him. He stood outside the car, holding the passenger's side door open with all the flourish of one of Bob Barker's girls.

  "Maria,'' he said in a dark, deep tone that made her name sound like the title of a really good porno.

  And all comparisons to game show help disappeared.

  Antonio's black hair was slicked back from his head, emphasizing his dark eyes. He wore a white collarless shirt open at the neck and tapered black dress pants that showed off his trim, tight abs.

  Oh, Mamma.

  She came around the car to his side. "Hi."

  A long, slow smile stole across his features. "You haven't seen me in years. Can't you come up with a better greeting?" Then he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.

  The Fourth of July fireworks over the Esplanade had nothing over a kiss from Antonio. He was good. No, he was damned good. And she remembered all over again why she'd offered to be his love slave back in high school.

  'There," he said, ending the kiss, "that's how you say hello to an old friend."

  "I can't wait to see how we say good-bye."

  He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, easing her into the car. "Patience, bignole, patience," he said, calling her "cream puff," just as he had all those years ago.

  He came around the other side and slid into the driver's seat of the Ferrari, then put it in gear and roared forward. Maria's silky dress slid against the cream leather seat. She braced herself with a hand on the dash.

  "Am I going too fast for you?"

  "A little."

  He chuckled. "You haven't seen anything yet." And he depressed the accelerator again, commanding the winding streets of Boston with the skill of a teenager at the helm of Mortal Kombat.

  A few minutes later, they arrived at a ritzy downtown restaurant. Antonio pulled up to the valet, handed over the Ferrari, then joined Maria on her side. Together, they walked into the restaurant, Antonio's arm slipping in against her waist.

  "You look beautiful," he whispered in her ear.

  She glanced at him to see if he was lying, but his gaze was clear. "Not the same as in high school."

  "Better," he murmured. "More of a woman now."

  Whew. It was warm in here. She might have to get home and get out of this dress soon.

  Antonio nuzzled against her hair.

  Very soon.

  The diet had been a success, even with only a few pounds of loss. As had her almost calorie-free day. If she could just refrain from eating tonight, too, she'd be okay. Otherwise, Maria knew the first big bite she had would make her explode at the seams like an overfilled Mylar balloon.

  Within a few minutes, they were seated and had ordered. Antonio asked the waiter for a martini and a bottle of Soave.

  "I don't really drink," Maria said.

  "Don't worry," he told her, leaning forward, his hand grasping hers. "I'll be joining you." When he looked at her like that, refusal didn't seem to be an option.

  At least with the menu she managed to stick to her resolution. She went with the skinless chicken topped with roasted vegetables with a side salad.

  For dessert, she'd have a bowl of Antonio. With whipped cream and extra chocolate sauce on the side.

  After the waiter left, she watched him sip his martini, and told herself this was exactly what she wanted. A date with a sexy man. A no-strings, no expectations evening. A fun time in bed and a kiss good-bye in the morning.

  She didn't want someone else's slippers on her bedroom floor. Another's towel hanging on her shower door. Someone else's coat taking up the second hook by the door.

  Been there, done that. Only an idiot whacked her head against the same wall twice.

  Antonio put his glass down and reached for her hand. "It's been a long time, Maria."

  She sipped her wine. The Soave went down smooth and easy. "More years than I care to count. Makes me feel old."

  "Oh, you aren't old. You're just better." The smile that crossed his lips told her the exact kind of better he was anticipating.

  "And you're still the same flirt as always."

  "I do my best to live up to my reputation," he said, grinning. They exchanged small talk until the waiter came by, depositing their meals with a minimum of interruption.

  Worried about potential Lycra stressing, Maria picked at her chicken, leaving half her plate untouched. What she had eaten was delicious and it took tremendous self-restraint not to dive across the table and suck down Antonio's lobster casserole. She stuck instead to beverages, especially the wine.

  Wine held virtually no calories and beverages, she reasoned, didn't boast the same dress-straining properties as solid food.

  From his side of the table, Antonio flirted just enough to let Maria know he was still interested. Very interested.

  Clearly, he hadn't noticed the extra pounds. Or maybe he had, and didn't care.

  And why did she care what he thought so much, anyway? If he were that shallow that he would reject her over a dress size, then Dante was right—she needed to start pulling from the deep end of the dating pool.

  Maria bit into a sliver of chicken and swallowed that thought. Dante, right? Well, she certainly wouldn't tell him that.

  "What's on your mind, bignole?"

  "Oh, nothing," Maria lied. "Just lost in the company."

  Antonio shoved his empty plate to the edge of the table, placing his silverware in precise straight lines atop the white china surface. "Do you remember those days in high school?"

  She took a gulp of her wine and caught his gaze. "Oh, yeah."

  "They were fun, weren't they?"

  She smiled and took another long sip, trying not to look at the half-eaten dinner, which had been so delicious ... too delicious. "Lots of good memories."

  Antonio removed his napkin from his lap and folded it into precise quarters, then laid it on the table to his right. "And do you remember, in English class, how you'd help me sometimes?"

  "Do your homework is more like it," she teased. "Did you ever read a word of Shakespeare?"

  "Only the sex scenes." He grinned.

  "Just what I thought. You missed a lot of great literature."

  "I was too busy staring at you. I couldn't keep my mind on all those silly plays."

  She flushed and took another sip from her goblet. When she placed it on the table again, Antonio drew the bottle out of the marble wine caddy and refilled the glass. "I wasn't going to have any more wine," she said.

  "Life is about indulging," Antonio said, pouring. "Drink deeply of it."

  "Now that sounds like Shakespeare."

  "See, I learned something while I was staring at your legs." He grinned and signaled to the waiter for another martini. Then he steepled his hands and directed the full force of his gaze on her face. "I have a... proposition for you."

  She picked up her glass to sip again, and realized she was more tipsy than she thought. Heat flooded her face and flushed against her chest. Maria lowered the goblet to the table without drinking. She should have eaten more. She felt so... empty inside. It had to be the beverage dinner.

  "The way you say it, it sounds illegal," she said.

  "No, no, nothing illegal. Just a little... help." He smiled.

  The waiter came by with Antonio's second martini. "Can I interest you in dessert?"

  "No," Antonio said. "We have plans for dessert." And he sent Maria a wink that made the flush on her chest flame red.

  And yet, the empty feeling seemed to multiply. She reached for her goblet and drained it, trying to fill whatever was missing.

  It didn't work. It did, however, make
the room start to spin in a very interesting way.

  The waiter nodded. "I’ll be back momentarily with your bill."

  Antonio reached for his wallet. "Let me settle this and then we'll talk back at your place."

  The wine had settled into her like a comfy blanket and she leaned against the soft chair, a happy grin on her face. "Sure."

  By the time they got back to Maria's apartment, the happy feeling had begun to wear off, replaced by one of exhaustion. She slumped against her leather sofa, trying her best to maintain decent posture so the Lycra wouldn't have to do the work of Hercules to hold her body in the dress. "So... what was this idea you mentioned?" Some of the words kind of blurred together in her head. Had they come out that way, too?

  Antonio took the seat beside her on the caramel love seat, turning so that his arm draped over the back of the couch and his fingers toyed with her hair. Ah, that felt good. Sort of like a scalp massage by dwarves. Maria smiled.

  "I don't want to talk about work now," he said, his voice all deep and throaty, coming to her as if through a tunnel. "Not with you looking so beautiful."

  She smiled. "I take it you don't want me for my mind, then?"

  Antonio chuckled. "Since when has that ever been my focus?" He reached out a hand and cupped her breast, his thumb rolling over the nipple through the fabric with an expert touch that said he'd done it a hundred times before and knew what would make her turn on like a spigot.

  But for some reason, this time it didn't work. Maybe it was the wine. The heat of the room. The fact that she'd barely consumed three hundred calories all day.

  "Maria," Antonio whispered, moving his face closer and his hand into a more aggressive grip.

  "Antonio—"

  "Ah, baby, I love the way you say my name." Then he closed his eyes and kissed her.

  She felt—

  Nothing. His kiss, which had seemed so wonderful before now felt about as exciting as hanging Nonna's girdle on the clothesline. There was no answering zing from her hormones. They'd all gone on hiatus.