An Offer He Can't Refuse

by Christie Ridgway

  “And don’t call me that either, or maybe I’ll have something to say to Cosimo after all.”

  “Say you’ll go to the party.” His hands were balled into fists inside his pockets.

  “Over my dead body.”

  “Don’t be so flip,” he retorted. “There’s unrest in the families. Your grandfather doesn’t want to see you hurt. It’s another reason he wants you close.”

  Though that thought had her heart pounding, she couldn’t let a bully like Nino think he’d gotten to her. She tried to sneer. “So he’s willing to scare me into it? Tell him that won’t work either.”

  He stared her down for a long minute, then shook his head in disgust. “I’m out of here.”

  Not soon enough for her. “Nobody’s stopping you.”

  But Nino was already turning back, a predator’s smile on his dark-angel face. She should have known he wouldn’t let her have the last word. “By the way, sweet cheeks, tell your sister Eve I’ll be keeping my eye on her, too.”

  Téa held her hand over her stomach as he walked off, then she downed half her glass of wine in one quick gulp. God, Nino gave her the creeps. But he was gone. Thank goodness he was gone. And any minute Johnny would be here.

  Johnny, her temporary sex buddy. The appearance of Nino made it even more obvious there was nothing else it could ever be between them. At some point, involvement with the progeny of a notorious crime family and all that it entailed would turn too intrusive or just plain too ugly for Johnny to deal with.

  No man ever stayed.

  Even before her confrontation with Nino she’d known this. That’s why, aware the end had to be rushing upon them, she’d suggested meeting Johnny at the spa today instead of somewhere more private. Privacy equaled intimacy and it was smarter for her to keep their relationship less personal than that. It was also why she’d made up her mind not to go to bed with him that night…for the first time in more than a week. She shouldn’t be getting quite so cozy with a temporary sex buddy.

  Because the sex…oh, the sex was personal. And intimate. She continued to insist on the darkness and knew he thought she was being unnecessarily prudish. But in the dark she managed to hold her responses back. In the dark she felt some measure of protection from him. Some measure of control. A voice broke into her thoughts.

  “Well, if it isn’t the little Puritan.”

  Great. Another unwelcome visitor.

  Téa reluctantly raised her head. Melissa Banyon stood in front of her, decked out in one of the spa’s white robes and a ridiculous pair of marabou-trimmed sandals. A stretchy white turban covered her hair. Beside her, Raphael Fremont projected more of that brooding sensuality that had so captivated Téa in his starring role in The Foreign Legion. But with his dusty uniform replaced by a satiny robe that matched his fiancée’s, his smoldering stare seemed something between overdone and overwrought.

  Téa let out an inward groan. Her mother hadn’t mentioned that Melissa Banyon and pouting boyfriend were in residence, but then her mother never did mention the names in her registration book. Complete discretion was one of the prime attractions the Kona Kai offered. Guests, particularly celebrity guests, were able to be as private as they liked, and most would gnaw off their right arms before striking up conversation with near strangers—

  “Where’s your handsome friend?”

  —unless they had a gorgeous, sexy provocation like Johnny Magee.

  Fiancé Raphael shot Melissa Banyon a sharp look and his smolder jumped several more degrees. Téa stifled another groan. All she didn’t need was dealing with this couple’s troubles too.

  “Téa’s friend is right here.” Johnny emerged from the French doors leading to the bar, carrying a glass of wine in one hand and a martini in the other.

  She swiveled to watch him cross the patio. In a blue silk shirt, open at the neck, tan slacks, and distressed-leather loafers, he looked like Palm Springs had been made for him. His sleeves were rolled up, and as he set the glasses on the table beside her, the waning rays of sunlight glinted off the golden hair at his wrists.

  He bent to catch her mouth with his. “Contessa,” he murmured against it, “I missed you.”

  That one kiss had her forgetting everything. He stretched toward the potted gardenia and picked a perfect bloom, then leaned close again to tuck the flower behind Téa’s ear. Tingles burst from curve to lobe and goose bumps sprinted down her neck.

  A “distraction” wasn’t supposed to make her forget! A “distraction” wasn’t supposed to make her feel so desired and so…enjoyed, she thought with a sense of panic. This was just another reason why she had to cool things between them—starting tonight.

  And Melissa Banyon appeared ready to help, Téa could see, as the other woman fiddled with the lapels of her robe so that the inner curves of her sili-cones were exposed. “So good to see you again,” she said to Johnny in her annoying, little-girl voice. “Would you mind if we joined you?”

  Raphael looked from his fiancée to Johnny, and though Téa would have sworn the desert air couldn’t get any drier, it crackled. Then the actor’s eyes flicked to Téa’s face, and lingered there.

  “Oui,” he said slowly, his body shifting in her direction. “I see. Yes. It could be fun to join with you.”

  Téa couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Or she couldn’t believe the double meaning she was reading into what she’d just heard. Was the actor really suggesting a ménage-a-quatre?

  Johnny’s hand stroked the top of her hair. She looked up.

  One of his eyebrows rose and she caught a hint of that wicked dimple in his cheek. It’s up to you, Contessa.

  Heat rushed up her face and she stared into her glass of wine. “We—” Her voice squeaked, and she had to clear her mind and then her throat before starting again. “We’d rather be alone, if you don’t mind.”

  She didn’t look back up until she heard Melissa and Raphael move off and Johnny’s chair legs scrape against the patio. Through her lashes, she tried to gauge his expression.

  “I see you peeking at me,” he said, grinning. “I’m disappointed in you, Téa. I thought for a minute you were going to agree.”

  “I was not even tempted.”

  “Liar,” Johnny said softly.

  She laughed. Amazing. Even after her chat with Nino, even after an almost-foursome with a famous Hollywood couple, she was laughing. Johnny made it so frighteningly easy to feel happy. “If I said I was tempted, then I’d have to admit you’re not keeping me satisfied, now, wouldn’t I?”

  His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. “Is that the way it is?” He found her bare skin beneath the hem of her straight skirt and cupped his hand along her inner thigh. “Go in the bathroom, take off your panties, and I’ll satisfy you right here, right now.”

  The lightning that had been in the air a few minutes earlier flashed over Téa’s skin. Talk about being tempted…

  But no, no! She was supposed to be pulling back from him. Starting tonight. Starting now.

  Remember Nino and the Loanshark book and how quickly happiness could die. Remember why she hadn’t wanted to meet in private with him. She couldn’t afford to get too intimate.

  Taking a breath, she opened her mouth to make clear they were having this drink together, and that was it. “Johnny—”

  “Téa.” Rachele rushed through the French doors and onto the patio. “Téa, I hoped I’d find you here.”

  Maybe they would have been better off in private after all, Téa thought in resignation. Then she looked into her assistant’s face and jumped to her feet, alarmed by the girl’s expression. “What is it, Rach? What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve just run away from home.” Rachele burst into tears, her thick mascara causing black tracks to course down her cheeks.

  At that, wouldn’t most men have made themselves scarce? Téa had expected that Johnny would and been glad of it. She’d been in desperate need of a reason to keep her panties on and their relationship less persona
l.

  But as she put an arm around Rachele and tried to understand her choked-out explanation about an argument with her father, Johnny had a word with a roving cocktail waitress. Within minutes, Téa’s mother was on the scene with a steaming mug of tea and keys to one of the private suites on the spa property.

  He was still around half an hour later when Eve and Joey arrived in the cottage. By this time Rachele’s face was clean and she was wrapped in a spa robe and propped in the corner of one couch. Johnny had appointed himself mini-bartender and hailed the newcomers with mixed drinks and fifteen-dollar bags of mixed nuts.

  Téa’s sisters accepted with polite smiles for him and raised eyebrows for Téa. She could only shrug.

  They all waved off Bianca, who murmured she had a previous engagement she couldn’t break but who kissed Rachele’s forehead and assured her she could stay as long as she liked.

  Once the door had shut behind her, the rest of the group turned their gaze on the young woman. Gone was Rachele’s usual cheeky confidence. Instead, she looked sad and lost and about twelve years old.

  Téa remembered exactly how that felt—and suspected Rachele had always been hiding a fragile heart behind her goth-girl mask.

  Johnny handed her an icy glass of what looked to be ginger ale. “Would you like me to call Cal for you?” he asked.

  Rachele’s head jerked up. “No. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

  “He cares about you. If you’re hurting, he’d want to be here.”

  “No,” she repeated.

  Téa understood the need to protect her vulnerability from the man in her life and sat down beside her. “We’ll take care of Rachele.”

  Joey and Eve took their places in matching easy chairs. “That’s right,” they said together.

  Perhaps he saw it as a challenge to his manliness, because despite those assertions he still stuck around. After a time and a few more mini-bar beverages, the other three seemed to forget he was in the room.

  Téa didn’t forget, because he’d moved a straight chair behind her spot on the sofa and was amusing himself by playing with her hair. The gentle swish of his fingers made it nearly impossible to concentrate on the conversation between her sisters and Rachele. It was nothing kind of talk, actually, because Rachele seemed to want it that way.

  Joey suddenly turned toward Johnny. “So why are you still here?” she asked, in her usual impatient manner.

  Eve rolled her eyes. “My God. It’s as if you’re six instead of twenty-six. Let me show you how this is done, little sister.” She put on her angel-singing smile. “Johnny, how are you enjoying Palm Springs?”

  You could hear the returning smile in his voice. “What’s not to enjoy?” He plucked the gardenia from behind Téa’s ear and stroked the petals against her cheek.

  She tensed her muscles so as not to show her shiver.

  Eve continued to use her party-circuit voice. “And how’s the design of your house going?”

  “Your sister’s a cross between a miracle worker and a slave driver. Demolishers are demolishing. Painters are painting. More furniture arrives every day.”

  Pride warmed her from the inside out to meet the tingles that his touch started on her skin.

  “Then you’ve learned one of her secrets,” Joey said.

  “What’s that?”

  “She’s bossy.” Joey grinned. “Not to mention overly worried about what she looks like and what other people think.”

  Téa sent the younger woman an “I’m killing you later” look. Tonight she was supposed to get less personal with Johnny, not more.

  “I think I’m glad I don’t have sisters,” he murmured, bending closer to her ear.

  But Joey heard it. “No sisters? Brothers then?”

  “One brother. We’re not that close.”

  “Ah,” Joey said, nodding. “But we’re Italian, which means we call ’em like we see ’em. We don’t play the nicey-nice WASP game.”

  “Well maybe we could try,” Téa protested.

  “Hey, I’m no WASP,” Johnny said. “I’ll have you know I spent my formative years in catechism at St. Charles parish church,” Johnny said.

  Every Italian eye in the room focused on his face.

  “You’re Catholic?” Rachele replied. “No way.”

  Johnny shrugged. “I can still remember the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit that were awakened at my confirmation.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Wisdom, understanding, right judgment, courage, knowledge, reverence, and fear of Our Lord.”

  “Give the man a St. Christopher’s medal,” Eve said. “He knows more than I remember after thirteen years of parochial school.”

  Téa’s neck prickled. Catholic? She didn’t care if he was Buddhist or Baptist, but somehow, finding out he was Catholic made her wonder what other things he’d been keeping from her.

  “This is the worst day of my life,” Rachele suddenly whispered, squeezing shut her eyes.

  Téa reached over to rub her arm. Had the mention of parochial school made Rachele remember “Honor thy father?” Téa had experienced problems with that one herself, after Salvatore had disappeared and left them to face the FBI alone.

  Maybe the minds of her sisters had gone in that direction too. Eve looked off into the distance. Joey scowled.

  “Those FBI SOBs gave me the worst day of my life,” she said.

  “No, Joey,” Téa whispered. Not now. Not more secrets tonight. Not with Johnny so close to her.

  Johnny’s hand stroked down the length of her hair. She wanted to move up, move away, but she couldn’t let him guess how tense she was.

  Eve frowned. “The FBI are showing up at your Starbucks again?”

  “No.” Joey’s eyes were gazing at a place in the distance. In the distant past. “Remember that day they burst into the house? I was hiding under my bed.”

  Johnny’s hand stilled in her hair, midstroke.

  Eve sounded offhand. “Of course I remember. We all remember, Joe.”

  Téa let out the little breath she’d been holding and felt Johnny’s hand resume its soothing stroke.

  But then Eve spoke again, her voice lower. “They pulled you out by your ankles. I’m sorry, Joe. I should have stopped them. I hate that I’m such a coward.”

  Damn it, Téa thought. This wasn’t the time or the place or the people she wanted to discuss this around. But she hated hearing the guilt in her sister’s voice. Anger started rattling its cage inside her again as images shuffled in Téa’s mind. Memories. “You were in the closet, Eve. You didn’t know they were dragging her out by her feet.”

  Rachele made a muffled noise. Johnny’s hand moved to rest on Téa’s shoulder.

  The touch renewed Téa’s resolve. “But let’s not talk about this tonight,” she said, mustering all her big-sister bossiness. Maybe at some point they should have talked about the events that changed their lives, but their mother had started the silence they all still kept.

  Except for Joey, who now couldn’t seem to keep her mouth still. “They didn’t care about us or our feelings,” she said. “They only wanted to find the stashes of cash they were sure we were hiding, no matter who they had to grab by the ankle or pull by the hair.”

  “Damn,” Johnny muttered near her ear, apparently repulsed.

  But the sisters kept on talking. “And the Loanshark book,” Eve added. “They wanted that too, but they only found the cash and left us with nothing.”

  “God. Damn. It.” Johnny spit the words out. His hand pulled away from Téa’s shoulder. She could feel his disgust.

  And almost, almost, could laugh about it. She’d wanted to cool things between herself and Johnny. She’d wanted to put him off before she got hurt. The funny thing was, it only took getting more personal, more intimate with him to find the way to make that happen.

  Now that he knew more of her secrets, her heart was safe.

  Not surprisingly, the subject of the FBI raid put the final damper on an already depressing e
vening. Rachele, who looked exhausted, assured all of them that she’d be fine alone. Certain that their mother would check in on the younger woman later, Eve left, then Joey, then finally Téa and Johnny.

  It was a silent walk to the parking lot.

  He hadn’t said a word since his muttered, “God. Damn. It,” and she hoped he’d leave it that way.

  She had no need of platitudes. He didn’t need to say, “Hey, maybe we’d better take a break from this distraction thing,” for her to read the writing on the wall. FBI, stashes of cash, the Loanshark book. A man wouldn’t want to be mixed up in ugliness like that.

  She didn’t expect him to understand what it was like to have a father like hers. Who would? Thinking she could be anyone’s “distraction” or anything more than that was just a silly dream. Her father, her family, her past would always bubble up and give any good man sensible, second thoughts.

  So, letting her relationship with Johnny die this quick, sudden death was all right with her.

  Her hand was in her purse, scrambling around for her keys when he spoke, his voice rough and abrupt. “Where were you hiding?”

  “Huh?”

  “If Eve was in the closet and Joey under the bed, then where the hell were you?”

  She swallowed, the memories coming alive again, a slide show of anger and fear. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

  A white Cadillac cruised past them, its headlamps bathing their legs in light. It turned into a spot farther down the lot. The night air carried the sound of the Caddy’s doors opening and a couple’s conversation as they walked closer.

  “Yes, I do.” Johnny turned to the Jag and unlocked the passenger door. Holding it open, he nodded toward her and then the seat. “Get in. Get in and tell me.”

  Bristling, she glared up at him in the darkness, angry at his insistence and angrier still at the memories that had been poked alive by Joey and Eve, and now by him. She didn’t like remembering them.

  “Damn it. Get in and tell me.”

  Fine. He thought he wanted to know? Téa marched toward the car and ducked into the seat. Then she would tell him. Maybe he needed the words in order to feel less guilty about breaking things off. Certainly what she had to say could only tarnish the “pure pleasure” he claimed he wanted with her.