by LuAnn McLane
As if reading her mind, something Reese was doing a lot of lately, he remained silent but kissed the top of her head. She hoped he had the patience to allow her to ease her way into this slowly, surely, erasing all doubts and fears along the way.
16
Hot and Spicy
TRISH LADLED MORE FRAGRANT CHILI INTO THE PLASTIC container and then snapped the lid in place. After putting it in a tote, she added a small bag of shredded cheddar cheese and a box of oyster crackers and spaghetti. She picked the package up with the intention of taking lunch over to Anthony but then lost her nerve. She’d seen him limp across the lawn earlier still using crutches and assumed he was finally staying home from the restaurant.
Craving Cincinnati-style chili, something she couldn’t get in Cricket Creek, she decided to make a pot of her own. Taking some over to Anthony was the neighborly thing to do . . . right? Plus, she wanted to make sure he saw the new article she’d written about River Row Pizza and Pasta. She looked at the canvas tote in her hand and sighed. No big deal.
So why wouldn’t her feet move?
Because seeing the man made her heart beat fast and butterflies flutter around in her stomach. That’s why! But she really wanted him to read the article and make him say something nice to her for a change. Trish arched an eyebrow and grinned slightly. If he thought the cannoli he’d handed her yesterday with a mumbled apology for being such an ass the other night was enough, he was wrong.
Trish inhaled a deep breath and squared her shoulders but then remembered she was wearing sweatpants and a Cincinnati Bengals T-shirt. Damn, she should change into something more flattering and take her hair out of the sloppy bun.
“What?” she questioned through gritted teeth. She had no desire to impress the man, she thought darkly. She only wanted to do the right thing and take lunch to her injured tenant. Besides, being nice meant that he’d lease his half of the house longer. This was smart business too, Trish told herself, and then looked down at her orange flip-flops. She planned on killing the man with kindness. “Move!” she ordered.
A minute later Trish stood holding the bag in front of Anthony’s door. She thought maybe she’d just hang the lunch on the doorknob, knock, and then hightail it back to safety, but of course Digger started making a fuss and before she could take off, Anthony opened the door.
Digger greeted her with enthusiasm. Anthony scowled.
“I made chili and thought you might like some.” She thrust the bag at him, trying very hard to ignore that he wore lounging pants low on his hips and no shirt. Did the man ever wear a shirt? His thick wavy hair was mussed as if he’d been lying down, and of course that thought had Trish imagining him in bed. God . . .
“Should I critique it?”
“If you want to. It’s Cincinnati-style, sort of an acquired taste.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You put it over spaghetti, top it with the cheddar cheese and crackers. It’s called a three-way,” she said.
He finally grinned. “A three-way, huh? Hmmm, haven’t had one of those in a while.”
Trish felt her cheeks grow warm. “You are impossible,” she sputtered, and started to turn on her heel.
“Would you like to join me?”
Trish wasn’t sure if he was still trying to get her goat with the three-way thing or if he was serious, so she said, “No!”
“Ah, afraid that I won’t like your cooking, huh? So you can dish it out but you can’t take it? Um, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
“I won’t dignify that with an answer.”
“Thought so.”
Trish glared at him and then, putting a hand on his chest, she pushed past him into the kitchen. Her traitorous fingers tingled from touching his warm bare skin. Digger seemed confused at what was going on and whined to go out, most likely to get away from their squabbling. Except it didn’t feel like squabbling but something else entirely.
“Don’t go far and don’t chase rabbits.”
Trish put a saucepan on the stove to reheat the chili and then filled another pan with water to boil spaghetti. As she added a dash of salt she could feel his eyes on her and tried to act as if it didn’t make her nervous.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, and then added, “Oh, right, you’ve already done that.”
“I told you I never came inside your home, Anthony. I know where everything is because I furnished this place,” she said. After tapping the spoon on the side of the metal pan, she turned to face him. “I felt sorry for Digger. Can you blame me?”
“I can try.”
Trish let out an exasperated sigh. She thought about leaving until she saw the slight grimace of pain that he failed to hide. She pointed to the chair. “Sit.” To her surprise, he did. She walked, or rather stomped, into the living room and grabbed a pillow from the sofa. After returning to the kitchen she pulled out another chair from the dinette table and put the pillow on it. “Prop your foot up.”
“You’re pretty good at giving orders.”
“And you’re pretty good at not following them.”
“Hey, you’ve gotta be good at something.”
Trish bent down and lifted his leg up and gently looked at his swollen ankle. “You’ve got stubborn down pat. Do you have any plastic bags? You need some ice on your ankle.”
“Top drawer.”
Nodding, Trish walked over to the stove and stirred the chili and then added the pasta to the water, all the while trying not to be intimidated that she was cooking for a chef. After filling the bag with ice, she walked back over and gently placed it over his ankle.
“Damn, that’s cold.”
“That’s the idea. Have you taken an anti-inflammatory?”
“Yes, this morning.” He gave her a salute. “It’s driving me nuts that I can’t run.”
Trish nodded. “So, what threats were used to get you to leave the restaurant?”
“Tessa threatened to whack me over the head with a spoon. And since I couldn’t run . . .”
Trish laughed. “I like your sister.”
Anthony’s features softened. “She enjoyed hanging out with you guys. It would be great if you did that more often. She sure needs it.”
“I’ll remember that,” Trish agreed.
“And will you do me another favor?” he asked, and waited for her to answer.
“I’m not going to agree until you tell me what you want,” she said suspiciously.
And then he smiled.
Not just any smile but a genuine oh so sexy smile that made her toes curl. His smile was a lethal weapon. Trish knew she could never, ever give him an inkling of how it made her want to go over there and slide onto his lap. So instead she frowned back at him. “So, what do you want?”
He arched an eyebrow and the damned smile remained. “That’s a loaded question. A couple of things, actually. First, don’t overcook the pasta. I prefer it al dente.”
“Okay. . . .”
“And call me Tony. The only person who calls me Anthony is my mother, and that’s only when she’s pissed.”
“Then she probably calls you that a lot, Anthony.”
“Tony.”
He laughed again, disarming her even more. Flustered, she walked back in to the stove and checked the spaghetti for doneness. She turned the burner off.
“Where’s your strainer?”
“You mean you don’t know?” he asked, and then pushed up to his feet, knocking the ice bag to the floor.
Trish fisted her hands on her hips. “What do you think you’re doing? Sit back down!”
“I think we already covered that I don’t mind very well. Besides, it’s above the fridge. You won’t be able to reach it.”
“Sit down, I can do it.” She turned toward the fridge. At five foot eight, Trish rarely had trouble reaching things, but h
e was right. The cabinets above the fridge were tucked back too far. He came up behind her, and at well over six feet tall he easily reached over her head. Dear God . . . she could feel the heat from his body so very close to hers. Her heart hammered in her chest. “What’s taking you so long?” she tried to ask in a testy tone, but of course it came out breathless.
“I thought it was up here,” he said, but Trish could tell by the slight amusement in his voice that he was lying. “Maybe not,” he admitted, and then she remembered she’d put the damned thing in the cabinet over the stove, easily within reach.
“Are you enjoying making me uncomfortable?”
“Immensely.”
“Back up or I’ll stomp on your sore foot.”
“No, you won’t. Why does having me standing so close make you uncomfortable?”
“You’re invading my personal space.” And it makes me long to turn around and wrap myself around you. Tilt my head up for a long, hot kiss.
“It that it?” he asked. But she was surprised to hear his tone wasn’t teasing anymore. Surely he knew how sexy he was even with the constant scowl? When she didn’t answer he abruptly stepped back, reached over the stove, and started draining the pasta in the sink. It occurred to Trish that he was divorced. Hurt. Had his confidence been shattered as well? “You can stop glaring at me now. I’m sorry. I don’t know what gets into me sometimes,” he said quietly.
“I’m not glaring at you, Tony,” Trish admitted softly. She wanted to touch him, to explain, but didn’t know where to begin. Trish used to feel so embarrassed to admit that her ex had cheated on her as if it were somehow her fault. Steve had a knack for making her feel as if every bad thing fell on her shoulders. Those days were done. “Not in the least.”
Tony went very still and then slowly turned around.
“Look, I don’t know your story, but here’s mine in a nutshell. My ex-husband cheated on me with his secretary, a woman half my age. To add insult to injury he got her pregnant.” She swallowed hard. “And I had always wanted a child . . . children, but he didn’t. He . . . he told me that he turned to Heather because I’d let myself . . . go.”
“What a flaming idiot,” Tony said so hotly that Trish smiled.
“Thank you. Steve pretty much shattered what was left of the confidence he’d chipped away at for years.”
“I’d like to punch him in the face.”
Trish laughed. “I have to admit that I’d love that.” But then her smile faded. “So I get it. You start to wonder what is so unappealing about yourself.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw, but he didn’t look away or make a wisecrack.
“So, I’m about to tell you something and if you use it against me I really will stomp on your injured foot.”
“Go ahead.”
Trish felt heat creep into her cheeks, but she took a deep breath and said, “Anthony Marino, you are one sexy man. I would think that surely you must know that, but from the haunted look in your eyes I’m guessing you might have your doubts just like I do. You were testing the water with me, standing close, shirtless, no less, to see how I would react. So let me make it clear to you. You are superhot.”
Tony looked at her for a long moment. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why tell me?”
“I’m not coming on to you. Just being honest.” Trish tilted her head to the side. “Because I know how self-doubt feels. And . . . you might be kind of a jackass, but I can read people pretty well—it makes me a good writer—and if I had to guess, you were the injured party and I don’t mean your ankle. Look, Tony, I know that you stepped up with your nephew and that you care about your sister very much. So whatever happened in your marriage isn’t any of my business, but I think you were hurt. I’m sorry for that.”
When he glanced away Trish knew she was right. Her heart went out to him and that’s when she knew she had to end where this might lead. Finding him sexy was one thing. Getting emotionally involved was another. She was just starting to find herself and she needed to not get lost in anyone else. Right? That’s what her towering stack of self-help books preached. Rediscover yourself first, get centered . . . find a hobby! She’d been buying in to that whole scenario until Anthony moved in, turning her resolve upside down. Damn the man! Trish suppressed a sigh. Getting her groove back was one thing, but was she ready to put her heart on the line?
“Let’s eat lunch,” she suggested, determined to change the topic. “Oh, and would you please put on a shirt? I’ll even go get it.”
17
Just One More Thing
SHE THOUGHT HE WAS SEXY. SHE UNDERSTOOD HIM AND what he was going through. And above all else Trish seemed to care.
Knowing he shouldn’t but unable to stop himself, Tony reached out and snagged Trish around the waist, pulling her into his arms. Her mouth parted in surprise before he dipped his head and kissed her. Tony told himself that he was just getting caught up in the moment, allowing himself to get just a taste of what he really wanted. It also didn’t help that he’d already read the excellent article she’d penned about restaurant reviews in general and giving a second chance after a bad experience. She wrote with humor and insight because she possessed both. And hearing Trish’s story made Tony realize that he didn’t own getting hurt.
But Tony wasn’t even remotely prepared for the sensation of capturing those lips of hers or of having her lush body pressed against his chest. He knew this was doing a one-eighty in the whole staying-away-from-her plan, but damn if it didn’t feel so good to have her in his arms. To his delight she reached up and wound her arms around his neck and when he slanted his mouth and deepened the kiss her fingers slid up into his hair. When their tongues met, dipped, played, a jolt of pure heat shot south. Deep longing unfurled in his gut, more intense than he could remember in such a long time. It made him feel alive, wanted, desired.
And he loved it.
Tony cupped her ass and pushed her closer so she could feel how much he wanted her . . . what she was doing to him. Her breath hitched and she moved seductively against him.
If this had been part of a plan to push her away, it backfired big-time.
She was driving him nuts.
The distant sound of Digger scratching at the door brought Tony out of his lust-induced fog. He pulled his mouth from hers slowly, but his heart raced as if he’d just run five miles uphill. She bent her head and leaned her forehead against his chest. Was she pissed? Embarrassed? Or God help him if she wanted more. . . .
“What was that all about?” she finally whispered. Her hands were still locked around his neck, and he understood. His legs were a little bit wobbly too.
Tony inhaled a deep breath, trying to slow his heartbeat. “The grand plan was to keep my distance from you. Apparently, I suck at grand plans.”
“Or maybe the plan wasn’t so grand,” she suggested with a light breathless laugh. “Perhaps you should switch it up.”
“Are you going to elaborate?”
Trish unlocked her fingers and then let her hands slide down his chest, lingering as if it might be the last time she did it. “Oh boy . . .” She took a step backward but kept her focus on the floor.
“Trish?”
She swallowed, shoved her hair from her eyes, and then raised her gaze to look him in the eye. “I’ll give it to you straight. I haven’t felt like . . . like that in a very long time. And it scared the hell out of me. So I’m going to walk out the door and keep away from you.” She took a deep breath. “So in a roundabout way your plan actually worked.”
“I’m thinking maybe you’re right and it was a dumb-ass plan to begin with. Maybe . . .” Tony trailed off, not knowing what to say. He tried to tell himself that the timing was all off and that he didn’t want love in his life again, but he wasn’t buying his own bullshit. He already cared about Trish. I
t was too late.
She shook her head.
“Is there anything I can do to stop you?”
“Oh yeah. Kiss me like that again. And trust me, I’d be powerless to stop you. But please. Don’t.”
Tony shoved his fingers through his hair. “Well, doesn’t this just suck?”
“Yeah, it was much better when I just ogled you and thought you were an ass.”
“Better?”
“Easier.”
Tony wanted to gather her in his arms. He understood completely. “This is scary shit, isn’t it?”
Trish nodded. “Yeah, I’m not ready. I may never be ready.”
“Me neither.” Or was he?
“Okay, then . . .”
She nodded and when she brushed at a tear, it was almost his undoing. He more than cared about her. He liked her. And he just knew they would burn up the sheets with some superhot sex. “So now what?”
“I walk out the door and go back to not liking you.”
“And just how does that work?”
“It’s simple. I’ll pretend. I’m pretty good at pretending. Or at least I used to be.”
Tony watched her open the door but then pause to reach down and scratch Digger behind the ears. He gave her a sad, “Why are you leaving?” whine that Tony completely understood. He felt the same damned way.
• • •
After Trish left, Tony felt alone. A sense of acute loss washed over him, draining him of energy and joy, leaving only emptiness. Digger looked up at him as if asking why he didn’t go after her. “Damned if I know, Digger. I know I’m being a dumb-ass, but I’m just such damaged goods. She’s amazing. Deserves much better than my brokenhearted ass.”
He looked at the chili but suddenly lacked an appetite, cursing Gloria for doing this to him and then cursing himself for allowing it. Tony scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed, wondering if he could ever heal enough to try again.
But Trish had awakened in him something that he thought had died with Gloria’s betrayal. Maybe, just maybe, it was a beginning.