The Devil Served Desire

by Shirley Jump

  After pausing to greet her parents, Dante arrived at her seat. "You came back," he said, a smile on his lips.

  "I keep my promises."

  "Good." He looked at the crowd surrounding the pushed-together tables. "And who did you bring with you?"

  "Your new demographic."

  "My new ... what?"

  "We're the Chubby Chums," Arnold said, spreading his arms to indicate the group. "And Maria said you've got some great healthy Italian food that can fit on our diets. Best of both worlds."

  Dante paused, thinking. Maria tensed. If he didn't go along with this, then she'd read him completely wrong. A long second passed as he looked at her, then the others. Finally, a slow smile spread across his face.

  He turned toward her, his dark brown eyes linking with hers, like a connection stretching for miles. Strong and deep, seeming unbreakable. She took in a breath, held it.

  "Maria," he said, the word quiet and intimate, "I love you."

  The Chubby Chums whooped. Mamma clapped.

  "You-you—," she sputtered.

  "He loves you, Maria," Arnold said. "Tell him you love him back."

  "But-but..."

  "Those who delay, lose their way." Arnold tugged her out of her chair. "And your way is right"—he gave her a little shove—"there."

  She stumbled toward Dante. The room seemed to drop away, leaving only them. That dimple by his smile. Those eyes that saw further inside her than any eyes before. "All I expected to hear was thanks."

  He grinned. "Didn't seem like enough. You saved my restaurant. And my heart."

  "Your heart?"

  "It was going down the garbage disposal fast until you came along."

  She chuckled. "Gee, you're so romantic."

  "I've got an audience." He came closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "When we're alone, ma petite, I'll show you romantic."

  She smirked. "Nonna taught me some of her self-defense tricks, you know."

  His brown eyes twinkled. "Now that could make things very interesting."

  She took in a breath and held his gaze until the tease disappeared. "You... you really meant what you said?"

  In an instant, he had both her hands in a firm, secure grip that seemed like it could hold her forever. "I love you, Maria Pagliano. You. Not what's on the outside. Just you."

  "Kiss him!" Nonna shouted.

  "Kiss him!" the Chubby Chums echoed.

  "Kiss him before my damned beer gets warm," Bert muttered.

  And so they obliged the crowd for a long, sweet second. Dante's lips on hers felt as perfect as cheese on penne, as delicious as meatballs with sauce. The chef and Venus—but with a much happier ending.

  She drew back, pressing her cheek to his. "I love you, too," Maria whispered into Dante's ear. "But don't tell my mother."

  He chuckled and motioned toward the Pagliano table. "I think she already knows."

  Maria turned. Nonna and Mamma had taken out a piece of paper. Each had a pen in their hands, writing as fast as they could, the names pouring down either side of the paper.

  "Is that what I think it is?" Maria asked. "If we don't get out of here soon, they'll be planning our baby shower next."

  He grinned. "That's not a bad idea," Dante whispered in her ear.

  For just a minute, Maria's heart stopped beating.

  Dante’s Dreams-Are-Made-of-This Linguine with Clams

  32 fresh-from-the-Cape Cherrystone clams

  1 pound linguine

  2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil

  1 onion, finely chopped

  4 cloves garlic, sliced

  1/2 cup dry white wine

  Salt and pepper to taste

  1/2 ounce finely chopped Italian parsley

  Steam the clams until they open, begging you to remove them from their shells. Put them into a dish, reserving a few tablespoons of broth. Discard any shells that didn't open. Meanwhile, boil the linguine until it's al dente. Cook the onion in olive oil, stirring often, letting it soften under your tutelage. Just like her resolve and her heart finally have.

  Once the onion is translucent, add the garlic, wine, and the strained clam broth to the sauce. Ah, perfection. Almost ready to share with the woman you love. Bring the sauce to a boil, stirring occasionally, until the liquid is reduced by about half. Now add those delicate clams, season with salt and pepper to taste, and stir in some of the parsley. Delectable, just like her.

  Bring the yin and yang together by spooning the hot sauce over linguine. Garnish with parsley and a bit of hope for a steamy future.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The lasagna had been a huge success. The Chubby Chums raved about it and promised to tell all the other Chubby Chum chapters throughout the eastern seaboard about the new option in Italian dining. They also made a long-standing reservation for dinner after every meeting. As she walked out, Chubby Chums in tow, Stephanie called Vita the perfect destination for dieters who wanted to have their pasta and eat it, too.

  Dante looked around the familiar walls of his father's dream. It had now become Dante's vision, too. A twist on the original.

  "You're brilliant," he said to Maria. They'd stolen a moment alone in the lobby while Mamma and Nonna argued about inviting a few cousins who couldn't hold their liquor and their tongues at the same time.

  "That's why you love me," she said, grinning up at him. "Meet me at my place tonight when you're done. I'll wait up for you."

  "Should I bring the Chianti?"

  She tiptoed her fingers up his chest, lingering at the open V of skin above his shirt. "You don't even have to bring clothes."

  He groaned, grabbing her fingers and putting them to his lips. "Oh, Lord, Maria, you torture me."

  "You haven't seen anything yet," she said, her voice full of promises she intended to keep. "Wait till you see what I can do with my bishops."

  When Dante arrived, he held a plastic container in his hands. Red-and-white roosters danced around the perimeter of the opaque bowl. "I found this outside your front door."

  "That's one of Mamma's containers," Maria said. She took a closer look and saw liquid swishing beneath the clear lid. "She wouldn't."

  "Let me guess." He held the bowl up to the light and laughed. "Wedding soup?"

  "I've told her a hundred times that you aren't going to propose just because I have some meatballs and spinach. Give me that," she said, taking the bowl from him. "I'm going to settle this once and for all."

  Maria marched towards the kitchen, withdrawing a stoneware bowl from the cabinet. "I'm going to eat this soup and prove to my mother that eating it doesn't automatically generate a marriage proposal."

  "No way could that happen." Dante said as he followed behind her. He stifled a grin and fingered the small velvet box in his pocket. He'd had to call in a hell of a favor to get this ring after hours, but given the timing, it was going to be worth it, just to see the expression on Maria's face after she ate the soup. "No way at all."

  Maria's Recipe for Happily Ever After

  1 skipped class reunion

  1 well-meaning, meddling family

  1 sexy chef

  1 confident heroine

  Chubby Chums, to taste

  Take family and add in all their good wishes, charms for grandbabies and muttered prayers.

  Mix chef and heroine together. Often. If necessary, dip both in mascarpone.

  When needed, sprinkle in Chubby Chums for garnish and rhyming advice. Invite all to the wedding. But banish the words "I told you so" from everyone's vocabulary.

  Excerpt from The Bride Wore Chocolate

  Book 1 in the Sweet and Savory Novel series

  Chapter One

  Candace Woodrow stared at the gooey, sunken mess inverting onto itself like there was a Hoover under the table. "This was supposed to be a groom's cake, not a pancake."

  Rebecca poked at the chocolate failure. "Did you cook it long enough?"

  "I thought I did," Candace said. "I lost track of time because Tri
fecta needed to go out."

  "I've seen you with that dog." Maria wagged a finger at her. "Taking a three-legged dog for a walk is a comedy of errors." She gave an indulgent smile to Candace's shelter-rescued mutt, dozing in the front part of the shop, separated from the kitchen by a glass door. "We still love ya, Trifecta, even if you are a living tripod."

  Candace laughed. The best thing about working with her friends every day was the laughter. Without them, she swore she'd have gone crazy planning her wedding.

  Two years ago, the three of them had started Gift Baskets to Die For in the basement of Candace's Dorchester duplex. Within a year, their food-themed baskets had hit it big with the corporations in Boston, allowing them to open a storefront in a quaint building not far from Faneuil Hall Marketplace. Business had been brisk enough to pay both the rent and decent salaries for all of them.

  Candace's life was settled, secure. On an even, planned keel. She was twenty-seven, three weeks from being married, and her life was chugging along on the path she'd laid out.

  Everything was perfect—except the cake.

  "Maybe the eggs were spoiled," Candace said. "I mean, look at this thing. It's an overgrown hockey puck."

  "It's a sign." Maria nodded and her shoulder-length chestnut curls shook in emphasis. "Yep. Definitely a sign."

  Rebecca shushed her. "Will you stop with that? This is Candace's wedding we're talking about. Don't make her more nervous than she already is." She took another look at the cake. "I think you just underbaked it. Besides, this was a trial run. We'll make another one before the wedding."

  "What if it is a sign?" Candace threw up her hands. "Look at all that's gone wrong with my wedding. The DJ I booked had a heart attack—"

  "He said the wheelchair won't stop him from spinning CDs," Rebecca pointed out.

  "If he doesn't electrocute himself with the IV drip," Maria added.

  "And then last week Father Kenny ran off with the church secretary."

  "Who turned out to be a Daniel, not a Danielle like we all thought." Maria grabbed a raspberry thumbprint cookie from the Tupperware container on the counter and took a bite. Maria Pagliano's method of dieting involved buying the latest issues of Cosmo, Glamour and Woman's World, picking and choosing the parts she liked from their diets of the month, then chucking the whole thing on weekends.

  "Don't forget the fire at the dress shop. I still can't believe the store burned to the ground, and with your dress inside." Rebecca twisted a scrunchie around her straight brown hair, creating a jaunty ponytail. On Rebecca Hamilton, almost any hairstyle looked good. She had one of those long, delicate faces made for Cover Girl. "It was kind of heroic, though, how that cute fireman kept you from going in after it. He saved your life"

  "I would have rather he saved my dress," Candace muttered. "At least I have insurance. But I still need to find another dress. I can't get that particular one anymore and even if I could, there's not enough time to order it."

  "You haven't bought one yet?" Maria's jaw dropped. "But Candace, the wedding's only three weeks away."

  Since Candace had said "I will" to Barry, it had been one disaster after another. If she put stock in things like signs, she'd have called off the wedding months ago. But she didn't believe in any of that. It was a string of bad luck, mat's all. Marrying Barry was the right choice, she was sure of it Candace had never made a move in her life that she hadn't thoroughly researched, planned and analyzed.

  Well, except one. But that had been a long time ago. Ever since then, Candace had subscribed to the "more control is better" life mantra. That's why Barry was so perfect for her. They matched like plaid and stripes.

  On her marrying Barry list the pros had far outweighed any cons. Now if Murphy's Law would just see that too.

  Candace sighed. "Between the business and all those last-minute glitches, I haven't had time to find another dress."

  Rebecca looped her arm through Candace’s. "Tonight we're going dress shopping, and then well get good and drunk because tomorrow is Sunday, our day off, and we don't have a single delivery due on Monday."

  Of the three of them, Rebecca was the oldest by four months and thus had become the unofficial decision maker. She was also the thinnest and the only one who came equipped with both an iron will and a Blackwell-worthy fashion sense. And, as the sole married one, the wisest when it came to matters of weddings and bridal gowns.

  "Wow. An instant vacation." Maria grabbed a second cookie and finished it off in two bites. "I hope the bar is well stocked."

  Rebecca gave her a wry look. "You mean you hope the bartender is well built."

  "Yeah, that, too." Maria smiled. "But if he doesn't know how to make a killer margarita, what good are looks?"

  Excerpt from The Angel Tasted Temptation

  Book 3 in the Sweet and Savory Novel series

  Chapter One

  One of the first things to greet Meredith Shordon to Boston was a man in a pair of Fruit of the Looms, playing a set of bongos.

  She'd come here looking for a man—but not one like that.

  Meredith stood in the middle of the bustling airport subway stop and stared. Exactly like every other tourist beside her. If there was one thing she hadn't wanted to do, it was look like a gaping Midwesterner who'd never seen a big city in her life.

  Well, there went that plan.

  Heck, she'd been gaping since she left Indiana. First, there'd been the quartet of Patriots fans who'd been on the second leg of her flight, returning from an out-of-town game. They'd brought the ongoing celebration with them, from the red and blue stripes painted on their faces to the way they yelled "Go Pats!" at odd times, like they had a rare, two-word form of Tourette's syndrome.

  Then, the clouds had parted and revealed the massive skyline through the oval window of the jet.

  She'd forgotten the NFL fools behind her and stared at the massive stone behemoths of Boston's skyline. It looked more like Neptune than Heavendale, Indiana, where she'd been a few short hours ago. There were none of the wide expanses of green land and patchwork quilts of farms she was used to.

  She'd stopped staring long enough to get off the plane and through the overwhelming crush of people to meet her cousin's friend, Maria Pagliano, and to claim her baggage without looking too much like a bewildered farm girl.

  Until now.

  The man tum-tummed on the two drums hanging from a leather strap around his neck, his long, dark, curly hair swinging in concert. He danced to the rhythm, a contented smile on his face, as if bongoing hit a high sex never could.

  He caught Meredith's stare, hit his bongos harder and thrust his slim hips to the left, toward a big white bucket with a handwritten sign that read Tips for the Hips.

  Meredith drew her caramel leather trench coat closer around her, resisting the urge to button up. She hadn't seen a man this naked since she'd walked in on Bobby Reynolds getting his football physical at the end of senior year.

  Unfortunately, she'd opened the locker room door right in the middle of his hernia screening.

  For two years after that, she'd been unable to look Bobby in the face. Or eat pork products ever again.

  "Don't give a dime to Bongo Boy," Maria said, grabbing Meredith's arm and hauling her away. "He makes more than most investment bankers."

  "He does?" Meredith craned her head over Maria's, casting one last look at Bongo Boy's swiveling anatomy.

  "He heard about that naked cowboy who plays guitar in New York—"

  "There's a naked man playing guitar in New York?" Geez. She needed to travel more. Scratch that. Travel, period, considering this was only the second time in her life she'd left Indiana, if she even counted that trip to the Ohio State Fair.

  And this time she hadn't left. Exactly. More like run away. She'd abandoned a whole lot of people's expectations, leaping at the chance for something new, exciting, different.

  She just hadn't expected the first exciting thing she saw to be a man in his tightie whities pounding out Yankee Doo
dle Dandy.

  "The Naked Cowboy isn't really naked. I saw him once in Times Square." Maria shook her head, clearly disappointed. "I tell you, there's no truth in advertising anymore."

  The instant she'd met her, Meredith decided she liked Maria. Maria was one of the trio of business partners at Gift Baskets to Die For, along with Meredith's cousin, Rebecca Hamilton, and another woman named Candace Woodrow.

  A buxom Italian brunette, Maria wore a bright red dress and medium heels that set off her fabulous legs and made virtually every man in a thirty-foot radius stop and stare. The complete opposite to Meredith's long, straight and uninspired blond hair and dark blue eyes, all about as exciting as a Honda in a lot full of Ferraris.

  Brash, outspoken and unafraid of color in her clothes, Maria was everything Meredith was not. Most of all, Maria was a perfect friend for what Meredith wanted to accomplish while she was staying in the city: a major overhaul of her life and her self.

  "I think it's great that you're doing this for us," Maria said, shouting a little to be heard as they made their way through the crowds. "Dropping everything to come and help Rebecca while she's on bed rest. We were desperate for the extra help."

  Desperate was something Meredith understood. When Rebecca had called yesterday morning to ask if Meredith could help out while Rebecca was home working on a healthy pregnancy, Meredith couldn't say yes fast enough. Undoubtedly, her blue-ribbon past at the Indiana State Fair and familial loyalty made her the first choice for helping them out of a jam.

  Meredith circumvented a businessman with a lethal briefcase that kept swinging into her knees. "When Rebecca called, it took me about a half second to give my notice at Petey's Pizza Parlor, hang up my uniform for good, pack my bags and hop on the first plane out of Indiana."

  Maria laughed. "A little eager to leave?"

  "Oh yeah. I'd have crawled to Boston from Indiana to finally find a life that involved more than cows and corn." She glanced back over her shoulder at Bongo Boy. "I just didn't expect to have it thrust in my face, percussion complement included."