by Tami Lund
“Come on,” Marco said to Hillary. “Let’s get to work.”
Jo had left a to-do list on the desk in the office, tasks for the servers to do when they arrived this evening. He handed the list to Hillary. The servers would be thrilled with whatever she managed to complete for them.
He took her to the front of the house and showed her the servers’ station, where the salt and pepper and napkins, flatware, and the other basic tools to set a table were stored. This restaurant used linen napkins and tablecloths, and each table was set with wine and water glasses every day before opening. A bud vase with a single, fresh white, yellow, or pink rose adorned each table, along with real candles.
His grandparents had started these traditions, and his parents had carried them on. Those little touches and the amazing Italian food had helped maintain the restaurant’s reputation as one of the best eateries in suburban Detroit for going on three generations.
“Have you always intended to take over the restaurant?” Hillary asked him as she began filling salt and pepper shakers.
There was no doubt plenty of paperwork in the office that needed his attention, but he stayed where he was, next to her, and began wrapping flatware.
“Yeah, pretty much. I mean, my parents never pressured me overtly, but there was a definite assumption that either I or Julia would take it over someday.”
“Do you want to take it over?”
He shrugged. “I guess I always knew it was something to fall back on. When I left the navy, it was easy to come back here and work in the kitchen. Comfortable. The only part I don’t know well is the business side of it, doing payroll and stuff. But Jo is really good, so I have an excellent trainer.”
“You are definitely an amazing cook.”
He chuckled. “I come by it honestly.”
“Why did you leave the service?”
He thought about some of the shit he’d experienced in those third world countries he’d been sent to as a Navy SEAL. Children getting shot or blown up by a bomb because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Other kids who were far too young, carrying semi-automatic weapons, shooting at American soldiers because someone taught them to do it and they knew no different. They couldn’t say why their country was at war, and far too many—hell, one was too many—of them died for a cause they didn’t understand.
And then he thought about all the shit he’d had to deal with since returning to civilian life. Was it really any better? “I was getting burned out. Losing myself, I guess. It’s hard to explain. I just knew I couldn’t do it anymore.”
If he’d stayed in, maybe his parents wouldn’t have died. But if he’d stayed in, would Luca and Nina have been safe? Would Shannon have survived Davit’s wrath? If he could go back in time, what would he choose?
There wasn’t a good answer.
Hillary didn’t question him further, which he appreciated. Had he been forced to travel any deeper into that rabbit hole, he would be reaching for the bottle of Jamison behind the bar. At nine in the morning.
They worked their way through the tasks on Jo’s list while discussing what he thought his schedule would be like now that he was ready to start managing the restaurant. Hillary offered to be responsible for getting Julia to school on those morning so that he could sleep in after working to closing. Marco told her where to find the keys to his parents’ vehicle, in case they ever had to be in two places at once.
Although he wasn’t keen on that idea, either. Not that Hillary would be on anyone’s radar, but he didn’t want to take unnecessary chances by leaving her alone.
Or maybe he liked being around her and that was just an excuse.
They had begun to place wineglasses on the tables when the door to the kitchen swung open and Jo stepped through. She was in her early thirties and, like him, had grown up in the restaurant industry. Her mom was a career waitress, and her dad was a bartender. His parents hired her about three years ago, shortly after he came home from the navy for good.
“Marco,” she called out as she strode toward him, “I thought I saw your truck in the parking lot.” Her brown eyes warmed while her face split with a smile as she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
Hillary’s brows bounced up on her forehead.
“What are you doing here?” Marco asked. “I thought you were off today.”
She flipped her long braids over her shoulder. “I am, but when I saw you were here, I figured I’d pop in to say hi, see if you need anything.” Glancing over her shoulder, she gave Hillary a swift once-over. “Did you hire a new server?”
“No, this is Hillary. She’s…” Shit. It was one thing to lie to complete strangers, but it felt weird to do it to his friends and co-workers.
“A friend?” Jo suggested, placing a hand on her hip and arching her perfectly shaped brows.
“Yeah,” he said lamely. “Something like that.”
Hillary weaved her way through the tables to introduce herself.
“Josephine Collins,” Jo replied, shaking her hand. There was a coolness to her tone that Marco noticed only when she was talking to suppliers who she believed had cheated the restaurant in some way.
“How come you’re putting your friend to work?” Jo asked him. “She earning her keep?”
If Jo only knew. “Not even close.” He had trusted this woman to manage the restaurant entirely on her own, with no owner oversight, for the last two weeks; surely, he could trust her with the truth. “She’s—”
“His fiancée,” Hillary supplied with a toothy smile.
That sure did roll more easily off her tongue than it did his, didn’t it?
Chapter Ten
“Excuse me?” Josephine Collins said, adding a shoulder roll for emphasis.
Uh-oh.
Josephine turned to Marco. “Did she just say she’s your fiancée?”
He grimaced.
What was that about? Why was he suddenly shy about their charade?
Josephine was beautiful, with long braids, dark skin, an hourglass figure wrapped in a tight wrap-shirt and leggings. Maybe Marco had a thing for her; maybe that was why he was suddenly so uncomfortable about this ruse that oh by the way, had been his idea.
But no, Hillary didn’t buy that. Not after the way he kissed her earlier. Hell, he’d practically branded her. She was positive she would never be able to kiss another man for the rest of her life without thinking of him.
“When did this happen? Because last time I checked, you were swinging single,” Josephine said.
Hillary wanted to ask when was the last time she checked, and why was she even checking in the first place? She obviously worked here, which meant Marco was her boss. She shouldn’t be looking into his love life at all.
“It’s, uh, complicated,” Marco muttered.
Hillary cleared her throat. “It was just like his parents,” she said, recalling Luigi’s story.
Josephine swung around to look down her nose at Hillary. “You knew his parents?” And then she narrowed her eyes. “You were at the funeral.”
“Oh, were you there too?”
“I was. With the rest of the restaurant staff. None of whom mentioned knowing you.”
Josephine didn’t believe them. Crap. This wasn’t good. If someone who worked so closely with Marco didn’t believe they were in love, how were they supposed to convince one of his relatives?
Josephine pursed her lips. “I have some things I need you to see, in the office,” she said, speaking to Marco without taking her gaze off Hillary. “Alone.”
She stalked back to the kitchen without glancing over her shoulder to see if Marco would follow.
“If you want, you can finish setting the tables,” Marco said. “I’m going to go see what she needs.”
Hillary grabbed his arm, gave it a squeeze. “Stay in character,” she whispered furtively.
He glanced over his shoulder at the office and then shook her off. “It’s fine.” And then he walked
away.
Feeling as if she’d done something wrong, Hillary finished setting the tables, including placing a fresh rose in the center of each one, and then she cleaned up all the supplies she hadn’t used and crossed off everything she’d accomplished on the list.
It had been nice, doing this busy work while getting to know Marco better. She’d never worked at a restaurant before, and she found it fascinating all the tiny details that went into ensuring the customer experience was top notch. And that was all before serving the food and drinks.
Finally, there was nothing left for her to do, and her stomach was grumbling. Lunchtime was fast approaching, and still Marco hadn’t reappeared. She gave up trying to give him space and headed into the kitchen.
Luigi stood in front of the stove, stirring what smelled like pasta sauce. The office was in the far corner, the door open. She could see Marco sitting at the desk, facing the entrance, with Josephine leaning over him, repeatedly stabbing her finger at a pile of papers, like she was lecturing him or maybe trying to convince him to believe something she’d just said. Had he told her the truth about their charade?
Luigi glanced over his shoulder and called out over the sounds of “Darlin’ Nikki” playing through a Bluetooth speaker set up on a shelf next to the stovetop. “Come over here and try this.” He dipped a spoon into the sauce and offered it to her, holding a hand underneath to catch any drips.
She accepted the offering and licked her lips. “Good.”
“Like, the best you’ve ever had good or just good?”
She chuckled. “Somewhere in between. Remember, I’ve had Marco’s cooking.”
“Fair enough. Although don’t tell him that I said his dad’s sauce is better than his.”
“I promise to keep your secret.”
“And I promise that you have nothing to worry about with Jo in there. She’s been crushing on the boss for years, but he’s never once glanced her way.”
She has? Great, as if worrying about her figuring out their relationship was a lie wasn’t enough.
Hillary peeked over her shoulder. Josephine and Marco were still involved in a fairly heated conversation, at least until Marco glanced up—at Hillary. He smiled, said something to Josephine, and then stood and stepped into the kitchen.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “I finished the dining room. Is there anything else you want me to do?”
His eyes flared for a moment before he shook his head and smiled. “If you do any more today, I’m going to have to put you on the payroll.”
She almost suggested he do exactly that. It would certainly keep her from being bored, while Julia was at school.
Instead, she forced a chuckle and said nothing at all.
“You ready to get out of here?” he asked. “We can grab a late lunch, and then it’ll be time to pick up Julia.”
“Yeah, that sounds great.” Mostly because it would separate him and Josephine, who was standing in the office doorway throwing daggers at Hillary with her eyes.
The moment he pulled the truck out of the parking lot, Hillary blurted, “Josephine doesn’t buy our story.”
“Josephine? Oh, Jo.” He chuckled. “Nobody calls her Josephine.”
“Well, she introduced herself as Josephine, so what else would I call her?”
“Why do you sound so damn testy?”
“Because that woman could blow this whole thing up in our faces.”
He shook his head. “She isn’t going to do that.”
“So you told her the truth?”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “No, I didn’t. Jesus, Hillary, calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. News flash, I’m doing all of this for you. All this worrying. Helping take care of the restaurant—”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“I didn’t say you did,” she snapped, fully aware of how irrational she sounded, yet unable to derail the crazy train. “In fact, I actually enjoyed it. But that’s entirely beside the fact.”
“You need to ch—”
“Don’t you dare say it.”
He snapped his mouth shut and drove back to the house in silence. She was glad he’d chosen to do that instead of go somewhere public to eat, because she really didn’t want to have to pretend to be friendly with him, at least not until she’d had a moment to cool down.
Marco stalked straight to the fridge and started rummaging around, presumably looking for something to make for lunch. Suddenly, he slammed it shut and turned to face her.
“What do you want from me?”
She blinked rapidly. “What do you mean?”
“Do you want to know what I want?” he asked, instead of answering her question.
“Um, sure?”
“You. I want you. I want to pick you up and sit you on this counter and peel off those pants. I want to lick my way from your toes to your pussy, and then I want to bury my face there until you scream my name. And then I want to shove my jeans down and slam into you over and over and fucking over again until you come so hard you practically black out from the pleasure.”
“I…I…” She licked her lips and tried to catch her breath. “What about you?”
“What do you mean, what about me?”
Clearing her throat, she said, “What do you get out of all that?”
He barked out a laugh. “Oh, honey, trust me—your pleasure spikes my own. Neither one of us would be able to walk afterward if I had my way.”
She let out a shuddering breath. “That sounds…delightful.”
“Delightful?” He arched a brow.
She nodded.
“Wait. Are you telling me…?”
“That I want you to do all that to me? Oh God, yes. But maybe not here, literally, since there aren’t any curtains and it’s the middle of the day.” She glanced at the counter. “Although that really does sound seriously hot, and I’ve never had sex in a kitchen before.”
“Holy shit.”
They stood there staring at each other for long moments. She could hear her own heart beating in her ears, and she suspected his was just as erratic.
Abruptly, he bent forward, wrapped his arm around her legs, and lifted her over his shoulder. She let out a yelp and grabbed at his shirt to keep her balance as he strode through the house and up the stairs. He continued down the hall to the next set of stairs and her bedroom.
Without pausing, he deposited her on her back on the bed, then pulled her forward so that her legs hung over the edge. Dropping down until his palms pressed into the comforter on either side of her shoulders, he stared into her eyes.
“Are you serious about this?”
She nodded without breaking eye contact.
“Don’t move. I need to find a condom.”
He bolted out of the room, his feet pounding on the stairs a moment later. In surprisingly short order, he was back again, tossing a pile of small, foil squares onto the bed.
Caging her with his arms again, he kissed her, pressing his lips to hers and teasing open her mouth with far less aggression than he’d displayed in the school parking lot.
It wasn’t any less hot.
While he made love to her mouth, his hands were busy, stroking her belly under her shirt and then pushing the hem higher and higher, until he broke the kiss to pull it over her head. He massaged her boobs through the bra for a few seconds and then tugged the cups down until her nipples sprang free.
He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and dropped to pay homage to her breasts, and Lord above, the man had the most magnificent tongue. The way he laved and nibbled at her sensitive areolas…she was more than halfway to an orgasm already.
His kisses moved lower, down her belly, until his tongue teased at the waistband of her yoga pants. Hooking his thumbs under the elastic, he pulled them down her legs, leaving her with her bra shoving her boobs high on her chest and her panties damp.
She squirmed under his scrutiny. A small p
art of her was reeling over the fact that they were here, in this moment. That she was practically naked, spread out before Marco Romano, a man who, three years ago, she would have said she couldn’t stand.
Entirely different words floated through her brain now. More along the lines of “whatever you do, don’t stop.”
He grasped the flimsy lace and satin and pulled it down her legs too.
“Please don’t say something about the drapes and curtains.”
He grinned. “I’m crass, but not that crass.”
She shook her head. “You aren’t crass.”
His grin turned into a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure you actually called me crass the first time we met.”
She probably had, and he’d probably deserved it. But now…now she didn’t want to think about the people they were back then. She wanted to focus on what was happening between them in this bedroom, on this bed.
Either he felt the same way or he could sense what she wanted, because he shed his shirt and jeans, leaving him in only a pair of dark blue boxer briefs that reminded her of him in Mexico in nothing but a pair of gray sweats. Or this morning, when he climbed off the couch and stretched, again in nothing but gray sweats.
Sweet Jesus, the man had a drool-worthy body.
He lifted her legs onto the bed and then crawled up between them, dragging her with him until she was lying with her head cushioned by pillows, Marco kneeling between her knees. He picked up her right leg and kissed the arch of her foot. Her giggle morphed into a gasp and then a moan as he nibbled his way up her leg until he lay on his stomach and dove into the neverlands.
No, no, the word was Nirvana. At least, that’s what it felt like when he dragged his tongue through her folds and thrust into her, mimicking sex.
Oh, he was good at that.
She squirmed and twisted her body when the sensations became almost unbearable. He pressed on her hip, holding her in place while he sucked on her clit and pumped two fingers into her, curling them and stroking until she climbed so high she very well might have blacked out for a moment there.
When her brain started semi-functioning again, she blinked open her eyes to find him hovering over her, grinning.
