by Liz Talley
“Hell, no,” he said, leaning forward. “We kiss on it.”
He kissed her, tasting the saltiness of the prosciutto mixed with the sweet grapefruit of the wine. Then he slid off the brushed metal stool parked at the stand-up counter table they’d claimed in the busy restaurant. The white marble and gold art deco surroundings paired with the contemporary metal and large, round lampshade chandeliers made a statement . . . almost as strong as the one Rosemary had made when she had invited him back to her cousin’s place. “Let’s go.”
“What about dessert?” she asked, a twinkle in those gray eyes.
“We’ll grab some chocolates at the pastry bar to have with the wine.” He glanced over to where decadent chocolates and other confections could be purchased.
Rosemary stood and drained the wine left in her glass. “Sounds perfect.”
Fifteen minutes after sampling hazelnut candies and debating wines, they headed to SoHo, snagging the subway since they were now in a hurry. Seeing the metro through her wide eyes was actually cool. When people moved through the car, she studied them, her body language betraying her anxiety.
“Do you think someone’s going to mug you or something?” he leaned over and whispered in her ear.
She gave a nervous laugh. “You cannot imagine how many guidelines my mother sent me on safety in New York City. She even clipped articles and taped them to the fridge.”
“Seriously?”
“She has issues,” Rosemary said, leaning against him but keeping her arm hooked through her shopping bag. He inhaled the scent of her hair. It smelled like something he couldn’t place, but he’d be happy to be buried in. “It’s not really her fault, though.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Remember I told you how my brother is special needs? Well, there were complications during birth that caused developmental issues.” Rosemary quieted, her fingers knotting together. “And a few years later my sister, Sage, circumnavigated the childproof lock on the back door and ended up in the swimming pool. She drowned. Both were accidents that my parents had no control over and happened before I came along, but those tragedies molded them into super overprotective parents.” Those words given so matter-of-factly, as if she’d said them a hundred times, but the fingers she twisted, the slight edge in her voice, told him her childhood had not been easy.
“Whoa, that’s really heavy,” he said, hating that the mood had shifted to something serious but now understanding Rosemary’s situation better. “I’m so sorry about your sister.”
“Thank you, and I wouldn’t bring it up other than I’ve spent my whole life being the thing my mother had to control so nothing bad would happen to me. Just some context. Not trying to ruin the mood.”
Sal shook his head at the pain Rosemary’s parents had endured. Now he understood why Rosemary seemed cautious and hyperaware of situations. The woman had been smothered her entire life.
And like the proverbial penny dropped from the top of the Empire State Building, something struck him.
Was Rosemary a virgin?
He couldn’t imagine a woman in this day and age being . . .
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-seven. I’ll turn twenty-eight in November. How old are you?”
“Thirty.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“March ninth.”
“I’m not a virgin,” she said.
He jerked his gaze back to hers. “I didn’t—”
“But you were thinking it. I could totally see it in your whole demeanor,” Rosemary said, her hand stroking his thigh in a nonsexual way. But it still revved him, reminding him how much he still wanted to get her naked.
“That talk about your mother’s apron strings made me a little nervous. I imagined you locked in your room or something.”
Rosemary smiled. “She’s not that bad. Well, she can be. She’s like a bull terrier, latching on and shaking until you go limp. But I manage to pry those teeth apart sometimes. Like now.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Mama was against me going away to college, against me moving in with a male roommate even though it was totally platonic, and she was emphatically against me coming to New York City alone. Her tight grip on me has been the biggest obstacle in our relationship since I went through puberty.” Rosemary brushed her hair back and sighed. “I love my mother, but sometimes I need to be away from her. And that’s why I’m here.”
He pulled her to him, dropping a kiss on her temple. “Odd that both of us are running from our families.”
Rosemary turned, her eyes questioning. “You, too?”
Might as well be honest about what he had been facing for the last six months. “My pop’s pushing me to run the deli he’s opening in the theater district, and my ma’s breathing down my neck about getting married. Parading good Italian girls in front of me.”
“Married? Like she wants to pick out your wife?”
“Natalie Genovese is an Italian mother who gives the Jewish ones a run for their money. She wants all of us paired up and popping out babies for her to feed pan di Spagna to. My family seems to think they know what is best for me.”
Rosemary picked up his hand and stroked it. “Is that why your sister acted the way she did? She thinks I’m a road bump or something.”
He curled his hand around hers and tugged her up. Their stop approached and he didn’t want to talk about the reality they were avoiding. Their families didn’t matter. At least not at that moment. “You’re the sexiest damn road bump I’ve ever seen.”
“Never been called a sexy road bump before, but I’ll take it,” she said, leaning up to brush a kiss across his jaw.
The doors swooshed open and they spilled from the car, hurrying up the steps into the warm June night. They held hands like two teenagers in love, years falling away the way they do when something feels so good, so right . . . so perfectly designed in the stars.
“Which way?” she asked, her breath coming faster from her jog up the stairs.
“What street again?”
“Spring.”
“You realize Spring runs through lots of neighborhoods?” he said, spinning her around and pulling her into a kiss. The bag she held bumped his leg making the wine clink against the side of the building he pressed her to. He kissed her until they were both breathless.
“Uh, what were we talking about?” she asked, her eyes hazy, her breathing ragged.
“I don’t remember,” he said, kissing her again before grabbing her hand and walking toward the intersection. “I think it’s something to do with getting back to your place before we start leaving our clothes all over SoHo.”
She gave him the address.
“How did you manage to get to Little Italy the other day? Your cousin’s place is eight blocks away,” he asked.
“I asked a man who didn’t speak English very well for directions.”
Sal couldn’t help it. He started laughing.
“What? My town has only six thousand people living in it. We know where everything is.”
He looked over at her as they jogged to make the light. Her hair bounced on her shoulders, a bit frizzy from the humidity rolling in with the night air. Her light makeup had long since worn off, making her look even younger. He thought about her embroidered pillows and the way she only drank sweet wine . . . oh, and tea. She made him ache for her. “You’re killing me, Rosemary.”
“Why? ’Cause I’m a goober?” she laughed.
“Because you’re freakin’ incredible. Because you make me feel like I’m a teenager again. It’s crazy.”
She stopped walking, suddenly sober. “It is. Totally crazy, but I’ve never wanted to do crazy more.” Her eyes glittered beneath the streetlights.
Sal paused beside her. Nothing like refreshing honesty. It’s what had attracted him in the first place. It’s what made him more determined than ever to take the moments he had with her. “I know the verbal agreeme
nt back there sounded good, but can we handle this?” Not you, but we. Because moments ago he’d stopped sliding toward complacency and embraced something that could be dangerous, something that dragged his heart along for the ride.
He gave himself a mental shake. No, he wouldn’t risk his heart again. That was why they needed the agreement. At the end of two weeks, Rosemary would go back to her world and he’d be stuck in his.
This woman, a beauty who’d wholly captured him, turned, her features softened by the darkness. “If we walk away from each other right now, we might miss two weeks of something wonderful. I don’t want to give that up because I’m scared of . . . you know.”
He knew. The big L word.
“But we know this going in, right?” he asked, begging his mind to take a memo, because he tilted dangerously close to going in that direction. He’d been there. Knew all the signs. The euphoria, the horniness, the invincibility.
Treacherous waters to tread.
He didn’t want to believe his sister was right—that he had a type—but he couldn’t deny he’d gone as eagerly to Hillary. And that crash and burn had rendered him heartbroken for a good couple of months. His ego had been pancaked, his confidence shaken. So if Rosemary said it was only a two-week love affair, he would guard his heart.
“Right. That’s why I brought it up earlier,” she said, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “I don’t want to do the safe thing, Sal. I’ve spent my whole life going the speed limit, wearing my seat belt, sticking to the safest route. I need these two weeks to be . . . off-road. I need thrilling daredevilry and adventure. I promised someone I loved that I would live big because she couldn’t. Help me live big.”
He looked deep into those pretty eyes and saw the need there. Slowly she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him.
It wasn’t sweet the way he’d expected from her.
No, her kiss mimicked her words. Open, hot, and determined.
And when the tip of her tongue traced his bottom lip and then she nipped it with her teeth, his mind felt officially blown.
“Oh, Rosemary,” he breathed.
“That’s right,” she said with a smile. Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the next block, which housed her cousin’s place. She wasn’t taking no for an answer.
They didn’t talk as they walked, hands joined, convicted in conducting their own affair to remember. Perhaps it was selfish, reckless, and stupid, but Sal didn’t care. Not when gratification was so close.
Rosemary dug a key from the small bag she’d looped over her shoulder and unlocked the door. When they stepped inside the apartment building foyer, she pulled the door shut, making sure it clicked. Then she double-checked it . . . which made him smile. No doubt another bit of paranoia given her by her mother. The neighbors would definitely appreciate such conscientiousness.
“Hate to tell you, but it’s on the top floor,” she said, looking up the stairwell.
“Then we’ll have to reward ourselves after each flight.”
She smiled wickedly. “What did you have in mind?”
He kissed her, sliding a hand up the back of her thigh. “You’ll find out on the second floor.” Then he turned and jogged up the first set of stairs before ducking his head under the floor and grinning at her.
He heard the slap of her sandals fast behind him.
Rosemary had never had more fun going up stairs before in her life. Sal decided an article of clothing had to come off on each landing.
“I’m not taking my sandals off. The floor doesn’t look clean,” she said after he announced the kinky little game.
“As if I were interested in the sandals coming off,” he said, leering at her.
“But I’m not wearing anything else but my dress, undies, and bra. That’s only three things, and if you think I’m getting totally naked on the fourth floor, you’re nuts. I’ve seen the guy who lives in 4C. He probably doesn’t need much encouragement to join in.”
Sal kissed her and then started unbuttoning his shirt. “We’ll take turns. I’ll go first.”
“Okay.” She ran a hand over the undershirt that appeared when shrugged off the white oxford button-down. She could feel how flat his stomach was and there were small ridges that screamed I work out. And then there was the tattoo on his left shoulder—a cross and some other things she didn’t have time to contemplate. Sweet niblets, he was going to burn her corneas when he pulled that undershirt off.
“Third floor,” he called out, tossing the shirt over his arm as he jogged up the next flight.
Rosemary squeaked and followed him, reveling in the euphoric feeling of being young, crazy, and . . . well, not in love. But she felt something she’d not felt since she’d drunk too much jungle juice and participated in wet T-shirt contest on Panama Beach her freshman year of college.
He caught her as she came off the last step, wrapping her in his arms, nibbling a path up her neck. His breath was hot and her stomach flopped over as his hands slid up the back of her thighs again. “Your turn.”
Rosemary stepped back and stuck her purse in the bag she carried. Through her dress, she unhooked her bra. Quick as a cat, she wriggled and pulled her arm through the sleeve the way she’d done changing into her dance costumes as a girl. The bra dropped on one side and then she pulled it out of her corresponding sleeve like it was a magic trick. “Ta-da!”
Sal frowned. “Wait a minute. I didn’t get to see anything.”
“Fourth floor,” she said, slapping him lightly with her lacy bra and jogging up the next flight. She tucked the bra inside the shopping bag, glad she’d gone to Victoria’s Secret before coming to NYC. Her old bras weren’t nearly as pretty or as polka-dotted.
“Vixen,” he called, making her smile.
Her breath came faster now. Not from jogging stairs, but from being completely turned on. She was a vixen, a naughty seductress ready to toss out good sense for a shot at the sort of man she would never forget. Ever.
She turned and waited. Of course she didn’t have to wait long. Like last time, he swept her into his arms, his hand cupping her breast through the material. “If I can’t see, I’ll touch.”
“Oh,” she said, her mouth falling open. Sal took advantage, giving her a punishing kiss. Her blood sang, her body hungered, and she felt daring. Oh, so daring.
Pulling back, she plucked at the hem of his undershirt. “Off.”
Sal gave a throaty laugh. “Demanding, aren’t you?”
Her hands move to his waistband, sliding underneath the undershirt, stroking his firm belly. His stomach contracted and he ground his pelvis against hers, letting her know how much he wanted her. The hardness against her softness ratcheted the desire level up a notch. “Yes, now I need this off you. Play fair.”
Sal grabbed the hem and wrenched it overheard to reveal a drool-worthy set of abs and span of chest. Dark hair gathered between his pecs, trailing deliciously downward. He made his pecs dance. “You likey?”
Rosemary gave a light laugh and then ran a hand across his chest, then trailed her finger down to the clasp of his black pants. He had a tattoo of an eagle covering part of his chest; a ribbon with some words curled down his biceps and forearm. The bird looked as fierce as she felt. “I would say that’s a yes.”
He kissed her hard, then swooped down, snagging his shirts and tossing them over his bared shoulder. He had another tattoo on his back. She’d never thought tattoos were all that sexy. She’d been so wrong. “Follow me to the finish line.”
And he ran up the last set of stairs.
Rosemary followed, pausing five steps from the top. She waited for him to notice she wasn’t right behind him, then she set her shopping bag on the step next to her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his gaze devilish.
Rosemary hiked her dress to the top of her thighs and reached under to snag the waistband of her thong panties. “Getting more comfortable.”
“You haven’t made it to the top yet,” he said, his gaze sliding down, watch
ing as she shimmied the turquoise lace down her thighs.
“You complaining?” she asked, stepping out of them.
“Only about the fact you’re out of reach right now,” he said with a laugh.
He looked so damn fine standing atop those steps, shirts thrown over his broad shoulders, bare skin beckoning for her touch, his smile an encouragement.
She stood and twirled her panties around her finger. She was outrageous at that moment. She hadn’t won second prize in that wet T-shirt contest for nothing.
“Such a tease,” he said.
Rosemary made a slingshot out of her panties and launched them toward him. He reached up to grab them but missed. They hit the door to the loft and fell harmlessly to the floor. She laughed and jogged up the remaining steps to his waiting arms.
Sal pulled her to him, kissing her along her jaw, peppering her face with silly kisses as his hands started at her thighs and moved up. “Let’s see what you unwrapped for me,” he teased.
She wriggled away, slapping at his hands. “Now wait just a minute, mister. We’re out here in the hallway and I’m not the kind of girl who lets a man put his hands just anywhere on her body.”
“So you’re saying there are places I can touch and places I can’t touch?”
She didn’t know what had gotten into her. Wasn’t the wine. She’d had only one and a half glasses. Like that tattoo, she was bold, free, doing what she damned well pleased in this city teeming with so many people she didn’t have to worry about anyone knowing just how naughty Rosemary Marie Reynolds was. “You seem to like games. Maybe we’ll play—”
“No,” he interrupted. “I’m going to touch every inch of your delectable body.”
She tilted her head and pretended to think about it. “Hmm. Every inch?”
He nodded, his dark eyes intense.
Rosemary smiled. “Well, okay.”
Then she launched herself at him again, wrapping her arms about his neck, not even caring her new panties lay on the scuffed tile outside her cousin’s door. She had better things to do.
