Seduced in the City

by Jo Leigh

  It was exciting, taking the lead like that. She had no problem being assertive in every other area of her life, but with men, it hadn’t worked that way. This felt liberating. Sexy as hell.

  She started to pull her legs up on the mattress, but realized she’d rather have the linens pulled down, especially the comforter. He’d already stood to sheathe himself, so she hurried around to the other side of the bed.

  Together, they got the bedding managed, and then she laid herself out, her heart beating like a rabbit’s and her insides all aflutter.

  “What’s that smile for?” he asked, dipping the mattress with his knees.

  “Nothing.”

  He leaned over and took a kiss that chased away any possible shred of doubt. “I want you,” he said, his lips so close they almost brushed hers. “You, Sarafina Moretti. From the inside out and all around.”

  She had no idea what that meant. And with her heart pummeling her chest, she couldn’t possibly care less.

  He shifted, slipping his right knee between her thighs, pushing them gently apart. “I was prepared to wait as long as I had to.”

  She opened herself to him until he was resting on his hands, looking down into her eyes. “I think we’ve both waited long enough,” she whispered.

  Keeping his gaze on her, he moved his right hand down and slipped two fingers just inside her, stroking her slowly, pausing at her sensitive clit.

  She trembled, fighting to keep her eyes open. When she lifted her hips, Dom swore. His curse made her grin, and she ran a hand down his back, the other up the arm that held him so steady. God, she was so turned on by his muscles, his strength. He was steel beneath hot flesh.

  Her touch spurred him on, his thumb at her clit now, circling, circling. Her own moans sounded distant as the pressure inside soared, the blood rushing past her ears in the prelude to an orgasm.

  So fast. She’d never gotten there so quickly, not with help, not by herself. But the foreplay truly had started even before they’d stepped into the elevator. The moment she’d seen his fury over his ex-coach.

  “Come on,” he whispered, his quiet ferocity ratcheting up the tension in her body.

  When she reached between them, she could only touch the end of his cock. He froze, trembling.

  “Should I stop?”

  He nodded, a drop of sweat falling to the pillow. “I want to see you,” he said, barely moving his jaw. With his thumb hitting her exactly at the right place, with the perfect pressure, she couldn’t help pushing up as the climax turned from promise to unstoppable.

  “Yes,” she said, gripping his arm, scrabbling at the sheet next to her hip. “Yes, yes.” Then it hit. A jerk and release that spread from her toes all the way up until she was somewhere else. Not floating, but flying.

  The next thing she felt, outside of her own pleasure, was the sensation of him entering her. Thrusting in carefully until she pushed back hard.

  That unleashed the floodgate and, with both hands holding him steady now, he was all strength and need, every muscle in his body straining as he took what he wanted, what she wanted him to have.

  Shudders swept through her, as if every nerve was on full alert, the sensations sharp, wonderful, electric.

  “Sara,” he said, his voice breaking. “Oh—” His eyes widened as if struck by complete surprise, then his head reared back as he stilled, pulsing inside, quivering and gritting his teeth to hold back a cry.

  Another aftershock jerked them both.

  When he started breathing again, he stayed where he was, pushed inside her to the brink, studying her face as if she’d become someone new. “You,” he said, right before he kissed her.

  Not the smoothest kiss she’d ever had—they were both too breathless—but maybe the best.

  “Yeah,” she said, when they broke apart. “You.”

  He grinned, then flopped to her side, his head next to hers, his chest rising and falling even more quickly than her own.

  She stared at the ceiling, her thoughts a jumble.

  Then his hand found hers and he threaded their fingers until they were perfectly entwined.

  12

  DOM SQUEEZED SARA’S HAND, still overwhelmed by what had just happened. Somehow, it had gotten late. Really late, and they were still naked, and he needed to get cleaned up, and they could both use a drink, but he didn’t want to move. Not because he was lazy...

  Because he was so content.

  He turned his head to ask Sara if she was chilly, looked straight into her soft hazel eyes and said, “So what are we doing?”

  Sara’s little gasp came as a surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you and Ellie aren’t speaking, your folks must know you left with me, but I’m pretty sure they’re not thrilled that you haven’t gone home yet. In fact, a lot of people who saw us leave together probably kept a close eye to see if we showed up back at the hall, and I don’t want you to regret any of this.”

  “Do you?”

  “Me? Hell, no.” He let go of her hand, but only to turn on his side so he could watch her more easily. The room was dark, but he could see her by the light of the streetlamps coming in through the linen sheers. “I want to go out with you again. But I know your family and this neighborhood. Since college I haven’t dated all that much, but I’ve heard my bachelor days have been greatly exaggerated, and that doesn’t seem to matter to anyone but me.”

  “Oh, tell me. I haven’t heard any of the juicy stuff yet.”

  Not at all sure if she was kidding, he studied her in the dim light, trying to find the answer in her normally expressive face. Then he saw her lips start to curve. “Keep it up and I’ll lock you in here for a week.”

  Sara burst out laughing. “If you’re trying to discourage me, it’s not working.”

  He loved her laugh, her smile and the sound of her voice, even when she lost her temper. “Discourage you from what?” he asked, touching her petal-soft cheek, rubbing it lightly with his thumb.

  “Yes, I want to see you again, and no, I don’t care what people think.” She turned her head so she could stare at the ceiling. Or perhaps so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “So, we’re sex buddies.” She paused and slanted him a quick glance. “Right? Which is fine. I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything.” Something on the ceiling sure fascinated her. “I mean, you know I’m only planning to be here until my thesis is finished, and you, well, you’re interviewing and moving on with your life.”

  His gaze moved down her body as she turned to face him again. So beautiful. Naked in the murky light, she seemed more like a dream than the very real woman he knew her to be. “Sex buddies,” he murmured.

  “You know, friends with benefits,” she said, her tone casual, although he didn’t miss the way she bit down on her lower lip.

  Sex buddies.

  Friends with benefits.

  Jesus. He wasn’t saying that at all. “In Little Italy?”

  “I’m not suggesting we broadcast it. No one would know, not even our parents. Or Ellie.”

  “And that arrangement would be all right with you?”

  “Well...” She lifted a shoulder. “Yes.”

  Dom didn’t understand why it pissed him off. He should be thrilled. What wasn’t to like about an arrangement like that? Actually, it was right up his alley.

  “I’m just saying I don’t expect you to treat it like we’re dating or anything.”

  “Well, too damn bad, because that’s not all right with me,” he said, and she stared at him, eyes wide, her confusion obvious even in the dim light. In many ways she was so observant, but he guessed he’d have to spell it out for her. “Dammit, Sara Moretti, will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  She blinked and her face changed. Her smile broadened into something
real. “Depends,” she said. “Where?”

  Giving a casual shrug, he thought about it for a second. “I thought we could go for a slice at Lombardi’s.”

  She slugged him in the shoulder.

  “Ow. That hurt.”

  “You deserved it. Never say that name in the presence of a Moretti. Ever.”

  “So when I pick you up tomorrow evening, I shouldn’t mention it to your father?”

  She blew out a breath. “Oh, boy. You’re really going to do that? You know, pick me up?”

  “Why? Are you ashamed to go out with me?”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the last man in all of Manhattan that should be fishing for compliments.”

  “That’s not—Okay, I see this conversation is going downhill.” He gave her a quick kiss and then rolled off the bed. “Think about where you’d like to go while I excuse myself. You want water? Wine? Beer? Soda?”

  “Water, thanks. And you know more about what’s good around here than me. Seven years, remember?”

  Damned if he wasn’t getting hard again from just watching her. “I’ll use the other bathroom and leave this one for you. There are robes in the closet, if you’re cold. Also, we still need to discuss the Ellie situation.”

  “Which reminds me... I’d better find my purse because I have a feeling I’ve got a few voice mails waiting.”

  “I’m pretty sure you left it in the elevator.”

  “Oh. Shit.”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll still be there.” He stole another kiss, then went to take care of business. After a bathroom stop, he got a couple of bottles of water to take back to the bedroom. He didn’t know about Sara, but he was chilly and couldn’t wait to snuggle under the covers with her.

  When he got to the bedroom, though, she’d turned on the lamp and she had her dress on. “You’re not staying?”

  “I would like to. Only, it’s really late. And my mother’s probably freaking out. I bet she’s left two voice mails already. I don’t want to not be there when they get up.”

  “I wonder if all mothers worry like that for the entirety of their kids’ lives, or if it’s just Italian mothers.”

  “I know for a fact that Italian mothers worry just as much long-distance as they do across the city. In college, God forbid I was two minutes late with our weekly calls.”

  He opened her bottle, and after handing it to her, he pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

  “Why are you getting dressed?”

  “You think I’m going to just go to sleep while you head off by yourself?”

  “You’re worse than my mother,” she said. “I know how to get home, Dom.”

  “Yeah? Remember how that turned out last time?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to walk from here. I’ll catch a cab.”

  “And I’ll accompany you until you’re safely inside said cab. Or else you’ll be getting more voice mails from me freaking out than you did from your mother.”

  Sara laughed. “You look kind of serious,” she said, running her fingers over the light stubble on his jaw.

  “I am serious.”

  “Wow, if you ever have kids you’re going to be a real pain in their ass, aren’t you?”

  He thought about it for a second. “Probably,” he said, cracking a smile and uncapping his own water. “You know I’ve lived here all my life, and I swear, it’s like being on a separate planet from the rest of the world. You probably had a lot of adjusting to do in DC.”

  “That’s true. But, you’re a sophisticated man,” she said, leaning over to bump his shoulder. “You know your way around more of Manhattan than most people from this whole community.”

  “I suppose so. And yet look what I found right here in my backyard.”

  Sara stooped down to look under the bed before he could see her face. “Do you see my sandals anywhere?”

  He glanced around. “Could they be in the elevator, too?”

  She straightened, blushing. “Here’s the left one.”

  Dom wondered what that was about. He knew for a fact she hadn’t found another woman’s shoe under there. “Is there something weird under my bed?”

  “What? No.”

  “Okay,” he said, and scooped his slacks up from the floor. No sandal was hiding underneath. “So, Ellie.”

  Sara looked at him, a little smile on her lips along with a couple of worry lines on her forehead. “I’ve been thinking about what we said earlier, and well, you shouldn’t pick me up tomorrow. You know, at my parents’ place. It’s better we meet somewhere.”

  “Because of Ellie?”

  Sara sighed. “Yes. God knows I don’t want to hurt her, even though I hate the thought of sneaking around. We’re both too old for that and too busy, but really there are other good reasons.”

  “Such as?” He spotted her other sandal, half under his dresser.

  “Our moms?”

  Dom frowned.

  “You don’t think they’d call Father Michael and choose my bridesmaids the minute they found out about us?”

  “Excellent point,” he said, and picked up her shoe. “However, I’d have no problem telling them to chill. Nicely, of course. But firmly.”

  “Thanks,” she said, as she sat on the bed to put on her sandals.

  “What else?”

  “Um, the neighborhood in general. The way Ellie’s friends all drool over you, they’d probably boycott the pizza parlor in protest.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, they’re just kids.”

  “Remember the teacher you had the hots for? Who was she, anyway?”

  He shook his head, flashing back to sophomore year and the many times he’d gotten off picturing Mrs. Walker naked. “Don’t even joke about Ellie and her friends anymore. Seriously.”

  Sara buckled the last strap and looked up, grinning. He caught her hands and pulled her to her feet. Her arms went around his neck and he held her tight. She lifted her lips for a kiss and he was happy to oblige.

  He kept it brief, though. He was already semihard and tempted to strip off her dress. “What else?” he said, pulling back so he could meet her gaze.

  “Oh, crap. I forgot. Tomorrow I work until eight and then I’ve scheduled an interview. Can we postpone things for a couple of days?”

  He grinned at how concerned she looked. “Of course.”

  She blinked. “Anyway, not even counting the gossipmongers, those are pretty heavy-duty reasons.” He waited, as she stared back at him, worrying her lip. “I mean, I doubt we’ll be able to hide things for very long. But, you know...” She shrugged and snuggled against him. When she turned her head and pressed her cheek against his chest, he knew that was the end of the conversation.

  Putting aside his disappointment at delaying their date, Dom knew she was right. There were some very good reasons to keep things low-key between them.

  But it was the one he was certain she’d left out that he was interested in.

  13

  SARA WAS SEATED across from Armanda Jacometti and her husband, Gaspare, in the living room of what used to be a notorious tenement in the heart of the old Little Italy. It had once been three apartments, but Paladino & Sons had remodeled the building, and made it a comfortable home for them and their four children, all of whom had moved out of the city.

  The room itself was a tapestry of their family history, from the Victorian flocked wallpaper behind the plastic-covered couch that would have been at home in the 1930s, to the yellowed photographs in frames and on the walls. While there were some new things like a flat-screen TV and leather recliner, the overall feeling was of the past.

  Sara had learned all of this before she’d asked her first question. But the wine was
excellent, and Armanda Jacometti was turning out to be fascinating. A very good thing since Sara was having the worst time keeping her mind off Dom.

  “Regina never really listened when Bisnonno, my great-grandfather, told his stories. She was too busy with boys. Obsessed with them. Day and night and day and night. But I listened. That’s how I know what kind of life it was in the early days. He would tell us how, when he was a boy, they had no heat in winter, no air in summer. His parents worked all the time, and they barely could feed the family. He dropped out of school, which wasn’t even a real school, when he was ten, and started selling papers on a street corner. Then he says nothing happened until he got married at seventeen, but I know a lot happened.”

  She glanced over at Mr. Jacometti, but his chin had hit his sizable chest and his eyes were at half-mast. So she probably wouldn’t get to ask much about his family. Turning back to Armanda, she remembered something Regina had said. “I thought your great-grandfather worked for a newspaper.”

  “Worked? He made next to nothing. He had eight brothers and sisters, and they all lived in three rooms, and there wasn’t even a toilet inside. But how he made some money that actually helped was doing work for la Mano Nera.”

  “The Black Hand. I read about them, but I thought they were only in Naples in the eighteenth century.”

  “They came here, too.”

  A movement caught Sara’s eyes, but it was just Mr. Jacometti waking up a bit. Probably not for long.

  “No one likes to talk about the Black Hand, let me tell you. You ask most of the people in church, and they’ll say they never heard of it, but I know better. I found a letter once. Nonna caught me with it and burned it in the sink. Told me to forget what I’d read.”

  “Do you remember the letter?”

  Armanda glanced at her husband, who hadn’t said one word yet, but he was awake, eyes narrowed.

  When Armanda looked at Sara again, it was with a sense of excitement. “It had a big picture on it. A knife dripping blood. It was from the leader of the gang, but he never said his name. Just that if Bisnonno, who was maybe twelve, thirteen, ever told anyone he was running for them, he would end up in a graveyard.”