Walk on the Wild Side

by Donna Kauffman

  She was as quickly spun around by Nick to face him, but he immediately dropped his hand from her arm. “Wait a minute.”

  “Am I fired?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then I’m out of here until tomorrow.”

  “Sunny, will you wait a damn minute? I’m trying to apologize.”

  She stopped. “For that, I have a minute. Possibly two.” She eyed him. “Go ahead.”

  He grinned. Grinned!

  “Wait!” He lifted a hand when she scowled and moved to leave again. “I can’t help it. You’re probably going to hate this, but you’re cute when you’re mad.”

  “Oh, okay, that was low. If I’m not fired, I should just quit.”

  “Don’t.” He exhaled heavily on a frustrated sigh and shoved his fingers through his hair, drawing her attention yet again to his luxuriant tousled locks. She weakened. Just slightly, but that dip in her knees was most definitely there. Damn him and her itchy fingertips.

  “I don’t know why I got so worked up at the idea of you being with my sisters,” he said. “Actually, I do. My sisters have a history of making my life as miserable as possible. I thought they’d be too caught up in their own daily dramas to find time to make my life hell, but now that they’ve discovered you…Well, you’ll have to forgive my little panic attack, but trust me when I say it was well deserved.”

  Sunny found the remainder of her anger fleeing, replaced by honest curiosity. “What could your sisters possibly do with me that would threaten you in any way?”

  His gaze narrowed. “They’re married. All four of them. And as of one month ago, they all four have children. It’s some kind of contagious disease, and they think everyone should share it with them. I didn’t want them spreading the germ to you.”

  “I’m not sure, but I think I’m insulted.”

  Nick’s lips quirked slightly. “No insult intended. I’m just not the marrying kind. I’m married to my job. Perhaps I should have just warned you right off and left it at that.”

  “Who says I’m the marrying kind? And if I was, why do you assume I would find you appropriate?” She’d been aiming to make a dent in his inflated ego. Apparently she needed bigger ammo than a mere snub. All she had gotten was an amused smile. But at a momentary flash of something…predatory in his eyes, she backed off and cleared her throat. “I’m just saying that I’m not interested in anyone right now, either. I merely enjoyed your sisters’ company and thought it sounded like a way to get to know my new neighborhood and neighbors a bit better.”

  “You’re still on probation here, you know.”

  “I know. But I like living here and, job at D’Angelos or not, I plan to stick around for a while.” He looked concerned. She smiled at the minor victory. “So I guess you’d better get used to the idea.”

  NICK FOUND HIMSELF looking up for the umpteenth time that afternoon, his gaze falling unerringly on one Sunny Chandler. She’d charmed the clerical collar off Father Sartori within minutes of meeting him, explaining that she wasn’t Catholic but admiring the artistry of the stained glass and statuary in such a way as to give the father plenty of time to show off his beloved domain. Mr. Fabricio had fallen victim next when she’d tried out her newly learned Italian with the old-world shoe repairman.

  Nick scowled. Pale and blond, with her willowy body and finely boned face, she stuck out like a cool diamond dropped into a collection of vibrant costume jewelry. And yet somehow, amazingly, she’d begun to find her way in.

  Not that everyone had welcomed her with open arms. Mrs. Trotta was a bit miffed. But then, Mrs. Trotta had been trying, unsuccessfully, to marry all three of her daughters off to Nick. Actually—he glanced around—there were more than a few mamas unamused with the new arrival. He enjoyed that for a moment, but found his gaze straying once again to Sunny. She was supposed to be a temporary employee. She was not supposed to insinuate herself into his life. Personal or public.

  He thought about what she’d said, that she’d only wanted to get to know her neighbors. That this had nothing to do with him. Well, she didn’t understand small neighborhoods. She would have everything to do with him, whether she wanted to or not. Because, for every one unamused mama out there, there were other mamas who’d love nothing more than to see him married. To anyone. Maybe especially an outsider. Then they could appease their wounded egos that he hadn’t chosen their daughters because he thought he was too good for them and see, they’d been right all along!

  Which couldn’t be further from the truth. Yes, he tended to date women from outside the neighborhood. But that wasn’t because he didn’t love Italian women. Not that he felt he had to date someone with a shared heritage—especially as he wasn’t planning to marry any of them—but he was naturally attracted to women who just happened to fit the profile. Voluptuous, dark-haired, sloe-eyed women who knew how to enjoy their own bodies…and his.

  He only dated outside the neighborhood so he could keep some modicum of his private life private. Those mamas looking to see him married would have a long wait…and would have to look a whole lot farther than one Sunny Chandler. She was the most uptight, overconfident, prim-lipped…blonde he’d ever met. Not to mention she failed sorely in the voluptuous department.

  Nope. She wasn’t even a candidate for the Nick D’Angelo dating pool.

  He tore his gaze away from her as she laughed at something Andrea said, but not before her eyes met his for a split second. Her smile faltered, and he found himself glancing back. But she was once again engaged by some story Andrea was telling. His gaze lingered as he tried to puzzle out his preoccupation with her.

  “You finished here?”

  He looked up to find Mr. Fabricio’s grandson Tony standing next to him. He glanced at the list of supplies he’d been making and shook his head. Mostly in self-disgust. He really had to get his mind back on work.

  “Father Sartori can’t decide how many tables we should have this year.”

  Nick nodded. “I’m coming.” He purposely didn’t look at Sunny as he stood and shoved the half-formed list in his back pocket. But he wanted to.

  Tony ran ahead, leaving Nick to follow at a slower pace as he forced himself to think only about tables. Last year there had been too many, and it had inhibited dancing. But the year before that, it had been hot and they’d run out of places for the older people to sit early on. It was supposed to be a hot summer, so this would take some planning.

  Hot summer. A hot summer with a cool blonde.

  He swore under his breath and pushed into the shadowy interior of the church. His skin cooled off, but even the spiritual surroundings did little to cool the steady emergence of his libido.

  When Sunny’s probation was up, she’d have to go, he abruptly decided. It was the only solution. He wasn’t getting his work done, at least not as smoothly as he usually did. And she was no small wrinkle.

  Father Sartori and two other men were arguing at the back of the church. Mrs. Delatorre looked up from the pew she was occupying and sent him a knowing smile. He sighed. He had enough wrinkles. Sunny had to go. It was either that or he’d end up in bed with her.

  He hadn’t let himself even think that, but now that he had, he realized the idea had been lurking in his subconscious all along. Mrs. Delatorre scooted her ample body from the end of the pew, knelt and made the sign of the cross, then smiled at him again before leaving.

  Nick felt his skin heat, as if she’d known his thoughts had strayed to the less than pure. But now that they were there, he decided to give them a shot. Why not? Nothing else had worked. He smiled. What if they did go to bed? Would she run home to Grandfather? Probably. He’d get this sudden weird fixation with her out of his system and get her out of his life as well.

  The more he thought about it, the more the idea took root. It was certainly more enjoyable—for both of them—than simply firing her. Which, as it stood, he had no basis for. But she wouldn’t stay around after they’d gone to bed together. She was too high-society for an
affair with him, and he was too neighborhood for the likes of her.

  He didn’t feel dishonorable about the whole thing, either. They were both adults, and it wasn’t like he was planning on forcing her into anything. Sure, she worked for him, but she didn’t depend on her paycheck, and therefore him, for her survival. No, she had a reason for being here, but it wasn’t because she needed her job. She certainly wasn’t worried about keeping it, considering how she’d spoken to him earlier. At the very least, they were on equal footing from a man-woman standpoint. If she wanted to say no and keep working for him, she would.

  But after some of the looks he’d intercepted this past week, he didn’t think she’d say no. It might take a while to melt the ice, but he realized that while he usually had little patience for that sort of thing, with Sunny it could prove…well, exciting.

  All he had to do was get her to take a little walk on the wild side with him. They would both have a good time…and then get on with their lives.

  6

  NICK LEFT his office and trudged toward the kitchen. It had been a rough week, and it was about to get even rougher. He was not looking forward to his imminent confrontation with Carlo. He had enough problems. The truckers were striking, and a nasty flu bug had wiped out half the serving staff for almost a week, putting a major damper on his plans to seduce Sunny. He remembered now why he never had relationships that lasted very long. The restaurant business was a very demanding mistress. For the first time, he found himself resenting that a bit.

  Which made no sense at all. His planned fling with Sunny would certainly be no more important than any other fling he’d ever had, which was to say not important at all. Besides, with things the way they were, he needed Sunny in the kitchen more than he needed her in his bed. Giving her any reason to leave would not be a wise business move.

  The huge neighborhood wedding D’Angelos was catering, as well as the influx of summer patrons in the restaurant, had added to the chaos. They’d put in long hours of overtime, but there hadn’t been even a minute of personal time alone with her.

  At least the kids were out of school for the summer. That meant his meddling sisters couldn’t come in and help him out. Much as he needed the extra hands, he didn’t need the extra mouths. Not their mouths, anyway. Mama Bennie enjoyed keeping him informed, in the guise of family news, of course. But he’d seen the look in her eyes and had had serious second thoughts about his take-Sunny-to-bed plans. If Mama Bennie or his sisters got one whiff of a liaison between them, no matter how brief, their matchmaking plans would go into warp drive.

  It had been ridiculous to think he could plan a date, much less a major seduction, especially now.

  He pushed into the kitchen to give Carlo the news that the produce would be late—a surefire way to start everyone’s day off with a very loud bang—and ran headlong, or body long, into Sunny.

  “Ooh!” She backed up immediately and turned sideways to allow him to pass. “Sorry, didn’t see the door move until it was too late.”

  “That’s okay.” But it wasn’t. That innocent brush against the damp, stained apron she had tied around her too-skinny frame had his body all in an uproar.

  This was a sign. He should stay the hell away from her. She didn’t belong here. He knew that, and he was positive she knew it, as well.

  “I’ve got to talk to Carlo,” he said firmly. No nonsense, pure business. That was the way to handle any encounters with her. “The produce won’t be here on time.”

  The look of horror on her face mirrored his feelings exactly.

  “You might want to take a break,” he added, bending a little. Okay, a lot. Damn, but she was pretty with her cheeks all flushed like that. She looked more touchable, more approachable. He put another few inches between them. “Why don’t you go outside. Where you won’t hear the screaming.”

  “I could go down to Mr. Fabricio’s and not be far enough away for that.” She lifted one eyebrow in that way she had that totally intrigued him. Very…regal looking. Which should put him a mile off, but instead made him fight to keep his distance.

  “What is it about Italians and swearing anyway?” she asked, sounding serious.

  “It’s an art form we take delight in elevating to new heights.”

  She folded her arms, and he struggled not to look at how the act emphasized the shape of her small breasts pressing against the heavy cotton apron. What, had he regressed to high school here? All leering looks and drooling fantasies?

  The simple, sad answer was yes, apparently he had. He tried to ignore it.

  “So I’ve observed,” she said.

  He wondered idly if she realized how she sounded. If she realized how badly he wanted to shake up that poise of hers, hear her get a bit throaty, a bit rough, demanding—He stopped right there.

  “At least you’re getting exposure to another culture,” he responded steadily. “Consider it educational.”

  Her prim little mouth curved ever so slightly at the corners. He’d never wanted to taste anything so badly in his life.

  “While I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to learn another language,” she said, “the fact that eighty percent of what I’ve learned can’t be repeated in mixed company—or any company, for that matter—has diminished my sense of accomplishment somewhat.”

  Nick caved in and grinned. It was that or grab her and yank her into his arms. She stood there, tendrils of hair plastered to her flushed cheeks, sauce stains on her chin, hands reddened from all the time spent in dishwater…sounding every bit like a dissatisfied country-club matron at a luncheon. “Well, you can use them all you want in my kitchen.”

  She favored him with a smile in return. “How enchanting.” She sidled by him, careful not to brush against him.

  The door swung behind her, and he struggled against the impulse to follow her. He told himself it was because he’d do anything to avoid dealing with Carlo. It was not because he wanted to see the midday breeze cool the heat from her cheeks. It was only when his fingers began to cramp that he realized he’d curled them into his palms to fight the urge to brush away the damp strands of hair that had escaped her hair net.

  He squared his shoulders and turned resolutely to the kitchen where Carlo awaited him. Perhaps dealing with his head chef was the safer bet, after all.

  SUNNY PAUSED outside the kitchen doors and found herself glancing inside as they swung closed. Nick stood where he’d been, body rigid, hands clenched, looking lost in thought.

  Probably trying to figure out how to tell Carlo about the produce in a way that would cause the fewest dish replacement orders, she thought. She admitted she’d found herself staring at him far too often, bringing down the wrath of Carlo every time she’d gotten caught with head in the clouds instead of hot, soapy dishwater.

  She’d wondered often that first week why Nick kept such a temperamental chef. Then she’d tasted Carlo’s Veal Parmesan and knew. Nick had assured her that Carlo was fairly typical of his breed—genius chef. Besides, he was a second cousin. Family came first.

  Still, she was amazed at the number of people who claimed the same D’Angelo heritage. She’d been invited to visit his sisters twice this week. Both times she’d left feeling like a shell-shocked war veteran. Dazed, with her ears ringing from the constant noise.

  Yet she’d go back again. With enthusiasm.

  Nick had never said another word about her budding friendship with his family. Actually, until five minutes ago, Nick hadn’t said two words to her that weren’t directly work-related. She realized she’d felt a bit miffed about that. She wasn’t used to being background material.

  She gave a self-deprecating laugh as she rubbed her back and moved down the hall toward the bathrooms. “What a self-centered little socialite you are, after all, Miss Chandler,” she muttered dryly. She hated to admit it, but her grandfather had been at least partially right about how far removed she was from the real day-to-day grind.

  Well, she was a stranger to it no more. The past
week had tested her commitment to her new life in ways her first seven days of servitude hadn’t. But all the times she felt overworked and underappreciated had been balanced by the fact that Nick was certainly more of both. The man slaved right along with the rest of them, and more often then not, when she dragged herself upstairs at one in the morning, his office light was still on.

  For all that she felt pride in sticking it out, she knew she didn’t have half the drive Nick did. And that was because his business, his family, meant something to him. They claimed a part of his soul. They were his passion. How was she going to make it at Chandler Enterprises if she didn’t have that inside her?

  Despite her fatigue, she’d spent the past several nights lying awake until close to dawn, trying to decide what to do if he kept her on after her month was up. The kitchen of D’Angelos was not her future. Yet, while the boiling environs—both in temperature and temperament—of the restaurant business didn’t speak to her soul, neither did the cold environs of Chandler Enterprises.

  Which left her precisely where?

  She liked the neighborhood—the shops, the people who ran them. The noise, the smells, the warmth. It was so different from anything she’d known, and yet a part of her had cleaved to that warmth immediately and fully. Her former life felt more sterile now that she had this to compare it to. And for all Marina’s talk that Sunny’s background would make her an outsider here, Sunny really hadn’t felt that at all.

  She pushed into the bathroom, dampened a paper towel and held it to her flushed cheeks. Nick had been right about them, though. No matter what she told his sisters to the contrary, everyone from his nieces and nephews to the corner baker had her and Nick matched up.