by Zoë Archer
Let me not be understood as saying that there are no bad laws, nor that grievances may not arise for the redress of which no legal provisions have been made. I mean to say no such thing. But I do mean to say that although bad laws, if they exist, should be repealed as soon as possible, still, while they continue in force, for the sake of example they should be religiously observed.
Abraham Lincoln
No Law Against Love 2
A Romance Anthology
~~~
Highland Press Publishing
Florida
No Law Against Love 2
An Original Publication of Highland Press Publishing ©2008
Buon Anno ©2008 Zoe Archer
Purrfect Companion ©2008 Amber Dawn Bell
Ice Capade ©2008 Candace Gold
Street Manners ©2008 Patty Howell
That’s a Croc ©2008 Kimberly Ivey
Something Wild ©2008 Gerri Bowen
The Lawyer and the Amazon ©2008 Lee Roland
Cover Copyright © 2012 Amber Wentworth
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Print ISBN: 978-0-9818550-0-4
Highland Press Publishing
A Wee Dram Book
Table of Contents
Buon Anno
Zoe Archer
Purrfect Companion
Amber Dawn Bell
Ice Capade
Candace Gold
Street Manners
Patty Howel
That’s a Croc
Kimberly Ivey
Something Wild
Gerri Bowen
The Lawyer and the Amazon
Lee Roland
Buon Anno!
Zoe Archer
“It’s not a rattlesnake, it’s just a tube of lipstick.” Bianca Pasquale held the lipstick out to her friend Jenny, who recoiled from it as if it really were a dangerous reptile. “Come on—it’s Kiss Me In Paris, not even a color I like.”
“But will the car like wearing it?” Jenny shot back.
Bianca glanced over her shoulder at the car in question, a lovingly-restored white, 1962 Volvo P1800 that shone under the streetlights like a champion. Even in the San Francisco fog, the car glowed. Yes, it was a gorgeous car, but since it belonged to Jenny’s cheating chum-bucket of a boyfriend, it needed a little detailing.
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” Bianca said, turning back to her friend. All around the city, the sounds of merrymaking could already be heard—laughter, music, the clink of glasses—even hours ahead of midnight. “Which means that a brand new year starts tomorrow. A brand new you. Tonight’s the night you make a change. Including letting Snot—”
“Scott,” Jenny corrected.
“Including letting him know he can’t treat you like garbage anymore. So get to it.” When Jenny made no move to take the lipstick from Bianca’s hand, Bianca tried not to sigh. She loved her friend, but damn, the girl needed to grow a backbone. “I don’t think it’s coincidence we just happened to be walking down this street and found Snot’s car. It’s fate.”
“I don’t know,” Jenny dithered.
Lead by example, Bianca thought, turning back to the Volvo. Though she wasn’t exactly prime role model material herself. Yes, she was a chef at one of San Francisco’s most popular Italian restaurants, with starred reviews in glossy magazines to prove it, but somehow the sound judgment and good taste she exercised in her work didn’t extend to her love life. Seemed like every guy she dated was some kind of Sopranos wannabe—taking money from her purse, running betting parlors out of their living rooms, sneaking off to chop shops in the middle of the night. And they had all seemed to be good guys. At first. Then the weird late night cell phone calls. The back-patting and favors from shifty men. Flat broke one day, flush with cash the next.
Bianca had her own New Year’s resolution. Stop falling for shady guys. But her resolution could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, she was helping her friend move on. She took the top off the lipstick and started to write in big red letters across the hood of the car, Jenny squealing with a combination of terror and delight behind her.
Ask me about my two-inch di—
“What the hell are you doing to my car?”
Busted. Spinning on the spiked heels of her boots, Bianca faced the angry man striding toward her. She felt her face go hot while her hands froze. She’d never met Scott before, but, holy handbag, the man was beyond gorgeous. His dark hair was cut short, emphasizing the strong lines of his face, his hard jaw, and the silver gray of his eyes. With his lean, muscled body in a beautifully-fitted black corduroy blazer, a gray v-neck sweater, blue jeans and boots, he could have stepped straight from the runways of Milan and right onto the soccer field. No wonder Jenny kept giving this guy more chances—any woman would cheerfully murder her sainted granny to have a man like him in her bed.
Focus, Pasquale, she told herself. “A little custom paint job,” she answered smartly. She had three older brothers and could kick any guy’s ass if she had to, even steaming mad Señor Hottie.
“You want to tell me why?”
Bianca looked at Jenny pointedly, who had gone totally white.
“Uh, Bianca,” Jenny squeaked. “That’s not Scott.”
~~~
Marius Lake didn’t know Italian, but cursing was cursing, no matter what language it was in. Even when it came out of the luscious mouth of the woman defacing his car. With her long, straight honey-colored hair, wicked brown eyes and dangerous curves poured into a short sequined cocktail dress, Marius had never seen a sexier vandal. She even wore a beat-up leather motorcycle jacket and tall, slim boots that emphasized her long, toned legs; the perfect femme fatale. He debated whether he should drag her down to the police station or beg her to be the mother of his children. Probably a little of both.
He looked at the lipstick scrawled on his car. “I don’t know who Scott is, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t want you advertising his shortcomings.”
“He’s my boyfriend,” the other woman peeped.
“Ex boyfriend,” said the curvaceous criminal. Whoever she was, she had the manners to look embarrassed. “Look, buddy—”
“Marius,” he corrected her, stepping closer.
She didn’t move away, but nervously licked her lips, which definitely classified as a spectator sport. “Mario,” she said, her voice slightly gravelly, “this is all a big misunderstanding. I mean, you don’t see a lot of Volvo P1800s on the street. Easy to make a mistake. I don’t make a habit of giving cars makeovers. No hard feelings, okay? I’ll be happy to pay for a car wash.” She started to reach into the tiny evening bag she carried.
Marius looked back and forth between his car, which he had carefully restored as patiently as an archeologist, and the woman, who was easily the hottest woman he’d met in a long, long time. He was supposed to be angry, but he saw real remorse in her eyes, and it was tough hanging onto righteous indignation when presented with a babe in sequins. Suddenly, what had been another dreaded New Year’s Eve looked a hell of a lot more promising.
His hand on her wrist caused her to look up with startled cat eyes.
“It’s Marius, not Mario. And I have another form of repayment in mind.” He smiled.
~~~
Looking around the elegant Pacific Heights home, filled with equally elegant guests, drinking ele
gant champagne and chatting elegantly to one another, Bianca felt as out of place as a Ding-Dong on the dessert cart. Wealthy guests were always coming into the restaurant, but Bianca’s place was in the kitchen, cooking and joking in Spanish with the rest of the crew. Trying to find a familiar and comforting face in this carpeted, refined estate, she cast a quick look at Marius, standing next to her. Yep, there went her heart rate, regular as Sunday dinner. He was everything that was not familiar and comforting, and all wrapped up in an edible package. Bianca saw more than a few pairs of female, and male, eyes follow Marius appreciatively around the party. There was something a little rough and dark about him that drew people’s attention, but in a good way, as if a partially-tamed panther was padding around the party and you absolutely had to touch its silky fur, even if it cost you your hand.
On the way to the party, Bianca and Jenny had related the whole of the Sad Ballad of Scott and Jenny, including telling Marius about the time Scott cheated on Jenny with a dental assistant after Jenny had her wisdom teeth removed. “While the Novocain was still wearing off!” They had cabbed it over, since Marius had said he was late and didn’t have time to clean off Bianca’s impromptu paint job from his car. Just thinking about what she’d done—defacing a gorgeous stranger’s pristine vintage car—made Bianca want to crawl into the bottom of her champagne flute and not come out until the next millennium. At least she’d had a good reason. Snot should be inducted to the Terrible Boyfriends’ Hall of Fame. But Marius had wound up paying the price, not Jenny’s ex.
“Most guys would have settled for a little extortion,” she now said quietly over the edge of her glass. “Maybe racy photos on the internet. That kind of thing. Not dragging a woman to a swanky party in Pacific Heights.”
“I’m not most guys,” Marius answered.
Hello! He didn’t have to tell her that twice. That lickable little smile appeared in the corner of his mouth.
Bianca made herself look around the room and not at his lips. “I don’t get how taking me and my friend to this party is supposed to make up for the car.”
When he threaded his fingers through hers, easy and confident, she tried to make her hammering pulse slow to a dull roar. He started to stroll through the party, Bianca keeping pace and strangely unwilling to tug her hand free. She knew that if she really wanted to she could leave, taking Jenny with her, but for some reason, what she wanted was to stay with Marius and see how this strange evening would play out.
“Because,” he said, reaching out to a passing waiter and exchanging Bianca’s empty glass with a full one, “I promised I’d come to this party. But every time I come here, the host tries to fix me up.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
Marius stopped by the window, which showed the glittering hills of San Francisco in all their celebratory splendor. It was an incredible view, one that, even with her decent paycheck from the restaurant, Bianca could never afford. She wondered what Marius did that enabled him to be friends with people who had this kind of income. Instead of admiring the view, however, she and Marius turned to face the room full of guests. She watched Marius as he looked about the room, how his eyes took in every detail, seemed to measure and assess with sharp intelligence in a way that was almost predatory.
Not wanting to be caught staring at him, Bianca turned her attention to the room. Not only was it a masterpiece of interior decorating, but the people inside it were also expertly arranged, buffed and polished within an inch of their lives. Couture gowns. Diamonds. Custom-tailored suits and a smattering of tuxedoes.
“Better Snobs and Gardens,” Bianca murmured under her breath.
Marius’ low, husky chuckle ran like grappa down her back, heating her. “Yep. If I have to fend off another manicured Cow Hollow princess, I’m going to go God of War and bring down some serious mythical vengeance.”
She wondered if he were talking about the ultra-violent video game or had something else in mind. “Including human sacrifices?”
She was shocked—shocked and delighted—when Marius raised her hand in his and turned it over, then gently bit down on the inside of her wrist. “There’s just one maiden here who’s caught my eye.” Her cheeks warmed and something low in her belly quivered to attention, hearing the way his voice deepened, seeing the silver gleam in his eye that was 100% bona-fide male.
It would be too, too easy to fall hard and fast for this guy. Needing to preserve some measure of self-control, Bianca slipped her hand from his. She missed his touch almost immediately, and saw a puzzled frown dance between his dark eyebrows, as if he, too, were struggling with the instant, potent attraction between them.
“I’m going to find Jenny,” Bianca said, breathless. Before he could say anything, she hurried away into another room. She heard Jenny’s laughter and headed toward the source. Nicely settled on a leather sofa, Jenny was surrounded by three young guys in perfect suits, all of whom were hanging on every word and giggle that tumbled from her mouth. Clearly, a woman who designed body piercings for a living was a bit of a novelty for this crowd.
“So much for poor old Snot,” Bianca smiled to herself. Since it was obvious her friend was doing fine, Bianca decided her nervous system had gotten itself back in order and she could face Marius again without turning into a quivering heap of estrogen.
She found him cornered by the grand piano, a quartet of ‘Cow Hollow princesses’ encircling him like defensive linemen looking to sack the quarterback.
She heard one of them coo, “You never talk about yourself, Marius. Don’t you want to let us in on the mystery?”
“Mystery is good,” he answered. “Keeps people guessing.”
“Let’s play Twenty Questions About Marius,” another giggled. “I can think of a prize.”
“No games tonight,” he said.
A weird, pungent stab of jealousy hit Bianca straight in the chest. But then she saw how, despite the fact that Marius was smiling and chatting politely, there was a coolness, a distance, in the way he interacted with the women. It looked, and felt, far different from the way he behaved with her.
Remembering why Marius had brought her to this party in the first place, Bianca couldn’t keep a ferocious grin from spreading across her face. She strode majestically across the floor and shouldered her way past the princesses, not missing the relief and pleasure in Marius’ silver eyes when he spotted her.
“Marius, tesoro,” she crooned, throwing her arms around him. He felt solid with muscle and absolutely perfect. With a heavy Italian accent, she continued, “You fly me all the way from Roma to be with you on il Anno Nuovo, and beg me to make the love all night, but first we must come to this festa. But when, Marius? When are we going to make the love like you promise?” Channeling her inner Sophia Loren, Bianca gave him a sultry pout and murmured to him in Italian, telling him exactly what she planned on doing with him and her satin-lined wrist cuffs.
“Soon, cara mia,” he murmured, slipping his arms around her. Her body immediately trilled with pleasure at the feel of his warm hand at her waist. Marius gave the hovering princesses an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, ladies, but I did promise the Contessa.”
She and Marius headed toward the door, both fighting to keep from laughing. “I thought you didn’t know Italian,” she said.
“I watched enough episodes of The Addams Family to pick up a few foreign terms of endearment.” At her questioning look, he answered with a grin, “Morticia was hot.”
Damn, she didn’t just find him attractive, but she really liked him, too. As he helped her on with her jacket, he whispered in her ear, “But first thing tomorrow, I’m getting an Italian-English dictionary. I don’t know what you said to me back there, but I definitely want to try it.”
That idea had merit. But before Marius opened the front door to let them out, they were approached by an older, barrel-chested man in a silk suit. The man reached out and shook Marius’ hand, his own adorned with a few glittering rings.
“Lake,” the man
said, and his Russian accent was so thick, Bianca expected him to ask about Moose and Squirrel. “I just wanted to thank you for the—” and here he started speaking in a thick soup of Russian. Marius nodded as if he understood what the man was saying, and suddenly Bianca wished there were subtitles.
“You really saved my skin last week with that shipment,” the man finished in English.
“It’s no problem, Yuri,” Marius answered. “I’m glad I was able to set everything up.”
“Anytime you need a favor,”— Yuri slapped Marius on the shoulder—“you call.”
As Yuri wandered off, Bianca stared at Marius. “What is it that you do for a living?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “Import/export.”
“Can you be more specific?”
He looked at her, his eyes frosting over. “You don’t seem like the kind of woman who cares about a guy’s net worth,” he answered, his words cool as he took a step back.
“I’m not,” Bianca said. “It’s just that I…” Was being paranoid? Had been suckered by one too many charming lowlifes? Marius was nothing like those guys. She felt it, knew it. “I thought maybe you knew my Uncle Franco,” she improvised. “He imports food from Italy. Olives. Tuna fish. That kind of stuff.”
The chill was gone in an instant, and Marius smiled at her. She realized that he smiled often, and easily, which made her like him all the more. “Different kind of importing,” he said, opening the door for her. “Should we get Jenny?”
Bianca shook her head. “She’s holding court. Three investment bankers.”
“Poor Snot,” Marius said sadly.
~~~
The loft party in the Mission District was only a few miles in distance from Pacific Heights, but a world away. As Bianca led Marius inside, her hand slim and warm inside his own, they were met by a wall of sound. There was a DJ spinning house and old school hip-hop for a crowd of writhing dancers. These guests wore punk and secondhand clothes that exploded with attitude. Marius stopped trying to keep track of nose rings and brightly-dyed hair. Salvaged neon signs from now-defunct strip clubs were mounted into the walls, competing with spinning colored lights.
