Come Away With Me

by Kristen Proby

  Not that I’ll admit that to these two.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Natalie asks.

  “Who says I’m going to do anything?”

  Jules punches me in the arm again.

  “Do that again, sorellina, and I’ll take you over my knee.”

  “Don’t think you can charm me with your fancy Italian words,” Jules replies, clearly not afraid of me.

  “But what did you say?” Nat asks, leaning toward me. It makes me laugh that whenever I use Italian words they want to know what they mean.

  “I said little sister.”

  “Aww,” Nat says. “I love that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s sweet,” Jules says impatiently. “But what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to pay for lunch and go home.”

  “We’ve failed you,” Jules says, and her lip quivers as if she’s going to cry.

  She’s not fooling me.

  I laugh as the waitress delivers our sandwiches and Jules wipes imaginary tears off her perfectly dry cheeks.

  “Do the other brothers fall for that?”

  “They did when we were kids,” she replies and grins as she pops a French fry in her mouth. “I used to produce real tears too.”

  “We just want you to be happy,” Natalie says. “Honestly, we do. We love you.”

  “And we love Alecia. We see how you look at each other.” Jules, perfectly serious now, cups my face in her hand. “Give it some thought. Alecia isn’t the kind of girl you can just ask out for dinner while she’s working a baby shower.”

  Natalie slides a card across the table at me with a small smile. “Just in case you need her phone number and address.” She winks and exchanges a look with Jules.

  “She puts her address on her business cards?” I scowl down at the card. If so, she and I are going to have a talk.

  “No, I wrote it on the back,” Nat replies.

  “So, do you like the Mariners?” Jules asks.

  “Changing the subject now, are we?”

  They both grin while chewing their food.

  “Yes, I like the Mariners.”

  “Good. We’re all going to a game in a few weeks.”

  “We are?”

  “Yep,” Jules replies. “Adult night out. No kids.”

  “You should invite Alecia.” Natalie suggests. “How do I say big brother in Italian?”

  Dio, they make me smile.

  “Grande fratello.”

  She smiles and repeats it back, butchering it, but I don’t care.

  Nothing ever sounded so sweet.

  ***

  I drove all the way home and paced around my office for an hour before leaving again, plugging Alecia’s address into the GPS and heading toward her place, making a stop on the way. With the horrendous Friday traffic, it takes me two hours to reach Ruston Way, the street she lives on. She lives on the water with an incredible view of the Puget Sound and Mount Rainer, with miles and miles of walking paths that meander past restaurants and piers leading to her building.

  I park and sit for a moment, second-guessing this decision. But I can’t shake the look in her eyes right before she left Blake’s office today, or the knowledge that she had a shitty day.

  She had a headache.

  It may not be welcome, but I’d like to help her feel better.

  When I reach her door, I ring her doorbell and wait. Just when I’m beginning to think she’s not home yet, her door opens and she frowns up at me, confusion filling her amazing brown eyes.

  “Dominic?”

  “Natalie gave me your address,” I reply softly. She shed her suit jacket and heels, but she’s still in her skirt. Her white blouse is tucked into it, molded around her full breasts and showing off her small waist and round hips.

  My cock stirs in my trousers, but I take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, I’m fine—” she begins, but she winces and presses two fingers to her temple. The headache is still hurting her. “I have a bitch of a headache,” she admits.

  “I have provisions.” I hold up the bag in my hand and offer her a smile.

  “Why?”

  Good question.

  “Because I didn’t like seeing you in pain earlier today, and I have a feeling I was a part of that.”

  She smirks and backs away from the doorjamb, allowing me inside. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  She shrugs and leads me past a small, clean kitchen into her living area. Her unit faces the water, and the view is breathtaking.

  “Have you taken anything for it?”

  She sits on the couch and closes her eyes. “I forgot that I’m out of Advil, and I just didn’t have it in me to go out and buy some.”

  Poor bambino.

  “Where is your linen closet?”

  She points to the hallway and I go in search of a washcloth. When I find one, I return to the kitchen and soak it in cold water, fill a glass, shake out the Advil I brought with me, just in case, and return to her. Her eyes are still closed. Her hair is still up.

  My fingers have been itching to mess her hair up for months.

  Instead, I sit next to her.

  “Here, take these.”

  “Do you have to yell at me?” she asks with a scowl.

  “I’m whispering, cara.” I offer her a smile and the Advil, along with the water.

  “Why are you holding leaves?”

  “They’re lilac leaves.” I line the folded cloth with the leaves and take the glass from her. “Lean your head back on the cushion and close your eyes, please.”

  “Why do you have lilac leaves?”

  “It’s going to help. It’s an old Italian remedy for headaches.”

  She does as I ask, leaning back against the soft cushions of her sofa and closes her eyes. I lay the cold cloth, leaves against her skin, over her forehead and eyes and press firmly.

  “Ohhh,” she breathes. I can’t resist touching her, so I brush my knuckles down her cheek and murmur to her.

  “This will help, cara.”

  “My name isn’t Cara,” she whispers, making me chuckle.

  “Cara is Italian for dear or darling,” I reply with a smile.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” she says. “We have an appointment on Monday, right?”

  “Yes. But don’t think about work right now. Just relax.”

  We sit in silence for a long while as I continue to press the cloth against her head and skim my fingers along the skin of her face, her neck, tucking strands of hair that have dared to come loose behind her ear. She relaxes, the tension leaving her body visibly. When the cloth warms from her body heat, I return to the kitchen to run it under the cold water again and then sit with her once again, pressing it to her head.

  “How do you feel?” I whisper. She shivers. “Are you cold?”

  “No,” she replies softly. “I think the headache is going away.”

  “There are more fresh leaves on the kitchen counter, along with more Advil and soup.”

  “Soup?”

  “You have to eat, Alecia.”

  Her lips tip up into a smile as she raises her hand and covers mine, pulling it and the cloth away from her head. “Thank you.”

  “Prego,” I reply. “You’re welcome.”

  She glances over at the kitchen counter and then returns her gaze to mine.

  “Pink tulips?”

  “I think you like pink.”

  She blinks quickly and before she can back away, I skim my knuckles down her cheek one last time, push a strand of hair behind her hair, and lean in to kiss her cheek.

  Merda, she smells like lilacs and her soap and simply amazing.

  “Eat the soup, cara. Use the leaves if you need them.” I stand to leave and she moves to follow me. “Stay there, I can see my way out.”

  “Dom?”

  I stop and look back at her, one brow raised.


  “I do like pink. Very much.”

  I grin and nod and leave while I still can.

  Because every instinct in me is screaming for me to scoop her up and find her bedroom and stay there with her for the rest of the weekend.

  Chapter Three

  ~Alecia~

  He made me feel better.

  And he brought me flowers. Pink tulips. Not the stereotypical red roses or whatever was available in the grocery store.

  Tulips are out of season. He had to find them.

  The sun is out this morning, but it’s not hot yet here on the Tacoma waterfront near my condo. I’m walking briskly—okay, I’m sauntering—just fast enough to feel my heart move.

  Or maybe those are thoughts of Dominic Salvatore doing that to me.

  And isn’t that just ridiculous? So, he was nice. I can’t believe that I let my Advil supply run dry, both at home and my emergency kit that I carry with me everywhere.

  That’ll be the first order of business today after my walk: replenish the pain killer supply.

  As I adjust my earbuds in my ears and switch to a Plain White T’s song, a bald eagle soars majestically over the quiet water of the sound. The tide is out, revealing all kinds of delicacies for the wildlife, and sure enough, within moments the eagle dives down and picks something up in its talons. Probably a crab.

  The eagle flies off with his breakfast and my stomach growls as I reach the pier at a restaurant roughly two miles from the condo.

  I turn around and head back and try not to think about Dom.

  Not gonna think about the sexy Italian who can cure headaches and make me ache in other more interesting places instead.

  Nope, not going there.

  Shit. I always seem to go there these days. Even through the pain of a headache rated an eleven on a scale of one to ten, his fingers skimming over my skin and his whispered voice in my ear made my girlie parts sit up and take notice.

  And then he had to go and put his lips on me, and it was all over.

  I haven’t been this physically attracted to a man in…

  Years.

  I don’t remember the last time. Maybe never. And isn’t that just my luck? Because Dominic isn’t the kind of guy you have as a friend with benefits and not fall for him. It’s simply not possible.

  And there’s no way in hell I’m going to fall for him.

  I don’t fall. Love isn’t real. Affection. Lust. Those are real.

  And in my line of business, I see how quickly they fade.

  Fuck, I’ve lived it.

  My neighbor from one floor down—Ray? Ralph? Rob?—drives past and waves out of the top of his flashy convertible. He’s made it perfectly clear that he’d like to give the friends with benefits thing a try. He’s good looking. But he’s not memorable, and it seems to me that if I can’t even remember the man’s name, I wouldn’t be terribly impressed with what he can do in the bedroom either.

  I wave back and breathe a deep sigh of relief when I turn the corner into my complex. I hate exercising. I hate wearing sneakers. I hate sweating.

  And I have the ass and hips to show for it.

  I mentally shrug and press the button for the elevator as Train’s “Hey Soul Sister” beats in my ears.

  Now, this I like. I could dance all day. Since I’m alone in the elevator, I cut a rug of my own and boogie around the inside of the car, then come to a complete stop and school my features just as the door opens, in case someone is standing on the other side waiting to get in.

  My dance moves are best enjoyed in private. I’m no Meredith Summers.

  “There you are!” Emily exclaims and shoves her phone in her handbag. She’s leaning against my door.

  “Why are you at my condo at the ass crack of dawn?” I ask, as I unlock the door and step inside, Emily on my heels.

  “We have two baby showers and an old lady party today.”

  “Red Hat Society party,” I reply, and toe off my sneakers as soon as humanly possible. “How can people wear those?”

  “The sister of the mom-to-be at party number one has already called me three times this morning,” Emily continues. “The MTB is allergic to watermelon.”

  “We’re not serving watermelon.” I roll my eyes and strip out of my yoga pants and Blake’s old Mariners T-shirt and walk past Emily to my shower. “It’s going to be fine. All of the details are in place for all three parties.”

  “I know, I just figured that if I’m getting calls at the butt crack of dawn, I might as well be with you when I get them.”

  “That’s kind of you,” I mutter, and step into the shower.

  “How was Will yesterday?” Emily yells out from my vanity where she’s primping her hair.

  “He was hungry, as usual,” I reply with a laugh.

  “And Dominic?”

  I pause mid-shave on my leg and frown at the foggy shower door. “How did you know I saw Dominic?”

  “Because you’re almost chipper this morning. Blake doesn’t do that to you.”

  “I’m always chipper,” I lie, and return to shaving my legs.

  “No, you’re not. I love this eye shadow! So? Was Dominic sexy or what?”

  Sexy like you wouldn’t even believe.

  “He’s okay, if you like that sort of thing.”

  Emily busts up laughing, and I can’t help but smile with her.

  Who doesn’t like that sort of thing?

  ***

  “Old ladies are better than emotional pregnant women any day of the week,” Emily whispers to me as she passes by, refilling the ladies’ teacups with fresh hot water.

  We are at our third and final event of the day, a late tea with a local Red Hat Society chapter. Eight women are in attendance today, ranging in age from roughly fifty-five to one hundred and five.

  And Wilma, the one-oh-five year old is a spitfire.

  “I pinched his rear!” she crows and cackles with glee, her wide-brimmed hat shading her happy face. The party is under a tent to keep the heat off the women, and the hostess, Miss Kitty, also rented portable air conditioners for the event.

  “Oh, my goodness, Wilma, he’s at least twenty years younger than you!” Betty, Wilma’s younger sister, laughs and sips her tea daintily.

  “You get to be my age, they’re all twenty years younger than me. I’ve gotta get my fun where I can.”

  I smile as I place a fresh plate of scones on the table.

  “These scones are delicious,” Wilma comments and takes my hand in hers, holding on tight. “You’re a doll to bring them for us, Alecia.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” I reply with a smile and rub her delicate shoulder with my free hand. “Are you all having fun, ladies?”

  “Oh, yes!” All of the women, in their pretty red hats and purple dresses nod and smile, and if I’m being honest, this is the kind of party I like the very best.

  “Well, we have surprises for you this month.” I nod at Emily who rolls out a cart full of pretty purple gift bags with red tissue paper as the women all gasp in excitement.

  “Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Leona, a sweet seventy-something woman with mocha skin, perfectly coifed hair, and bright red lipstick smiles like a kid on Christmas morning.

  “I know that, but you are my favorite ladies, so I thought we’d bring you something extra special.”

  “Is it that Fifty Shades book?” Miss Kitty asks eagerly.

  “Uh, no,” I reply, and bite my lip to keep from laughing as Emily and I pass out the bags.

  “I’ve been listening to that on audio,” Miss Kitty informs her guests. “That Christian Grey is something to write home about.”

  “My kids bought me one of those e-readers for Christmas,” a lady named Beth adds. “I love it. This way I can read all of those naughty books and no one is any the wiser.” She nods conspiratorially with Miss Kitty, then all the ladies turn their attention to their bags.

  “Go ahead and open them.”

  The women dig in and come out with beautifu
l, hand-dyed red and purple silk scarves.

  “I know it’s summer, so you probably won’t get to wear them for a little while, but I just couldn’t resist.”

  “Oh honey, they’re gorgeous!” Wilma exclaims, immediately wrapping hers around her neck. “I’m always cold. I have poor circulation.” She winks at me and then gestures for me to lean in and give her a hug.

  “I have a date tonight!” Leona announces. “I’ll wear my lovely new scarf.”

  “Who’s the lucky guy?” Emily asks.

  “Ed Brenner,” she replies. “He volunteers at the historical society with me, and after making him wait for a while, I finally said yes to dinner.”

  “Good for you,” I tell her happily.

  “How about you, honey?” Wilma asks. “Do you have a date tonight?”

  I turn wide eyes on Emily, who just smiles and waits for me to answer with the others.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I have a very handsome grandson,” Wilma replies. “He’s sixty, though, so that might be a bit too old for you.”

  “Just a bit,” I reply with a laugh.

  “My grandson is thirty,” Miss Kitty says with a thoughtful look on her face. “He’s going through a messy divorce and has three kids, but I think you two would get along wonderfully.”

  Not even if it were Armageddon and he was the last man on Earth.

  “Oh, no thank you.”

  “So, you’re just going to go home alone tonight?” Wilma asks with a sad face.

  “Well, no, I’ll be spending the evening with Ben and Jerry,” I reply.

  “She reads the naughty books too,” Miss Kitty says behind her hand to her sister, not bothering to be quiet.

  If only my sex life were really that interesting.

  ***

  He’s going to be late.

  I check the time on my phone for the fifteenth time in the past twenty minutes and scowl.

  I hate late.

  The front door of the Starbucks near my condo swings open and I glance up. My jaw drops and my mouth goes dry at the sight of Dominic as he pulls his sunglasses off his face and scans the small coffee shop for me, his blue eyes heating when they rest on me.