by Jo Leigh
“Good question.” His hand skimmed under her hair until he’d cupped her nape, and then he pulled her into a kiss that quieted the whole of New York. At least, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart.
By the time they drew apart, his eyes were dark with wanting.
“Come on.” He took her hand. “Let’s get going. We’ve got a lot to do.”
“Where?”
“Patience. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
After a few seconds of her scurrying to keep up, Dom slowed down to her pace. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, keeping his voice just loud enough for her to hear over the city street. “Would it do any good for me to talk to Ellie?”
“And say what? That you were never going to go out with her, so suck it up?”
“I thought we might be able to come up with something a little nicer than that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, sort of even meaning it. “I know you’d never be insensitive. But the situation has escalated way beyond reason. I honestly don’t understand it. She has to know that nothing was ever going to happen between you two.”
“I just hope I didn’t do anything to encourage her.” His thumb swept over the back of her hand, soothing her in all kinds of ways. “I used to tease her about the boys in school. I never considered it flirting.”
“Of course not.”
“I feel like an idiot not realizing she had a crush on me. It’s just that she’s so young. I like Ellie. She’s always been a great kid, and I hate the idea of her being so upset.”
“Me, too. Really. I do, and I appreciate you offering to step in. But can we not talk about it tonight? I need to give my brain a vacation.”
“We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to,” he said, then stopped just past the Basics Plus store, where there lived a bar with a black awning with white lettering. Bar 13.
Dom held open the door, and she entered a moody red-lit space with a tricked-out bar, a DJ playing loud music and an assortment of people dancing in a way that made them look cool.
Thankfully, since she’d never looked cool on a dance floor in her life, he led her to a staircase and past the second floor—where the hip-hop mixes weren’t quite as loud—to a surprisingly quiet rooftop deck. This level was meant for talking, meeting, hooking up. Potted palms hid some of the less attractive neighboring buildings, and tall round tables, each with a big number thirteen drawn on the black base as well as the clean white top, didn’t let people forget this was Bar 13. Dom swept her away to one of the very few empty regular-sized tables arranged around the perimeter. He held a chair for her before sitting himself, and that was when she saw the Reserved sign.
“You really had this planned out, didn’t you?”
He grinned as a waitress came over holding two menus. One was for food, and the other—about three times the size—was their cocktail and wine list, opened to the Irish whiskey page.
“What is this?” Sara asked, taking the only menu that mattered.
“Part one of our own private whiskey walk,” he said. “We missed the official one in March. We won’t be going to all eight of the bars they recommended, but I know you have a fondness for the Irish stuff, so...”
“There are whiskey walks in the city now?”
“Every year.”
“Wow. You remembered what I liked from the night when you got punched.”
“I prefer to think of it as the night of our first kiss.”
She couldn’t believe it. In a million years, Robert wouldn’t have done anything nearly as thoughtful. None of the men she’d gone out with would have. Yet another reason every woman who’d ever met Dom Paladino fell madly in love with him. He’d even remembered to make sure she wasn’t working in the morning.
“I thought we’d get a couple of starters,” he said. “And you can recommend the drinks.”
Not that she was in love with him. Madly or otherwise. With the way he was looking at her, she had to rerun what he’d said before her thoughts had come to a grinding halt.
The starters. Right.
She cleared her throat and gave him a medium-watt smile. “Whatever you choose will be fine with me,” she said, then she focused on the whiskeys. Some she’d tried before, others she’d never heard of. The name that popped was the Tullamore DEW. She’d never tried it but had heard good things, and it wouldn’t break the bank.
Wisely, Dom asked for the hors d’oeuvres first, after making sure they wouldn’t clash with their libation.
Once they were alone again, and she’d finally relinquished her menu, he put his hand over hers. “I’m glad you came out with me.”
“Me, too.” She almost admitted she’d missed him, but that would only send the wrong signal. “Even with Dad back, I’ve been incredibly busy. Getting good stuff for my thesis, though.”
“Such as?”
“Have you ever heard of the Black Hand?”
“Is that a restaurant?”
“Then that would be a no. I interviewed Armanda Jacometti and her husband the other night, and she mentioned an extortion ring. They were around at the end of the nineteenth century up until about the 1930s. According to her they did some pretty nasty things. I haven’t been able to find out much, only a few references on Wiki, but that’s too unreliable a source for my needs. Guess I’ll hit the public library and go through their old papers.”
“You ask anyone else about it?”
“Not yet. And maybe it was my imagination but it sure seemed like it wasn’t a subject Mr. Jacometti wanted to talk about. In fact, he gave Armanda a sign to shut it.”
Dom grinned. “Which makes you all the more determined to dig.”
“Well, of course, silly man.”
“Now that sounds more like the reporter I used to know.”
She stilled for a minute, remembering that “reporter” he used to know, and what trouble she’d caused Dom. But the sting wasn’t so bad now that she’d apologized and he’d been gracious about it. She’d still like to punch that damn coach’s lights out, but she and Dom were just fine. “You’re right. I’ve missed it.”
“What? Going for the jugular?”
Sara gasped, then tried to cover it up with a cough.
“No,” Dom said. “That’s not what I meant.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back. “I like seeing the fire in your eyes, that’s all.”
“I know.” She shrugged, still feeling the imprint of his warm lips on her skin. “I don’t know why I reacted.”
“Tell me more about the Black Hand.”
She smiled. “I might be completely wrong, but it sounds like it could really be something. Armanda’s sister didn’t mention a word about blackmail or murder. Her tales were all about love and sacrifice and the kind of struggle where the good guys always prevailed. It’ll be fascinating to find out which depiction is truer.”
“Knowing what you told me about Five Points and Collect Pass Park, I’m betting on extortion.”
She turned her hand until she could squeeze his. “I know, right? I’m really hoping it’s true, because that will be the making of my thesis. Even I was bored with the nice, happy tales. I want both. Personal histories are like a giant game of telephone, told over decades. The more I can find about the facts and compare them to our parents’ generation’s idea of the truth is the heart of the project. And now, it’s looking like it’s going to be juicy as hell.”
His laughter rose above the piped-in music, and it made her feel as if they’d truly taken a break from real life. The palm trees, this amazing whiskey walk, knowing that later she would be in his bed.
* * *
THANK GOD DOM had been going through several months’ worth of New York Adventures magazines. He’d never heard of a whiskey walk until yes
terday afternoon. The plan had come to him immediately, and even before he’d called Sara, he’d found out from Carlo that she wasn’t scheduled to work that night.
He’d been to Bar 13 before for a private party held by one of his college friends. It had been easy to put the pieces together there, and at three other bars. It was entirely possible that Sara could have gone the whole eight, but he was a lightweight when it came to hard liquor. Now, a good red wine walk? That he could handle.
But this was turning out better than he’d even imagined. “I can ask my folks if they’ve heard anything about the Black Hand.”
“Great. I really do hope there’s something to the story. For all I know, it was just Mrs. Jacometti exaggerating to outdo her sister.”
Dom laughed. “Yeah, what a neighborhood we live in, huh?” And yet he wasn’t all fired up about trading it for Winona Donovan’s world, though he should have been. “I’ll mention it to my parents. I’m sure they’ll tell you whatever they can. You speak Italian. Maybe Nonna remembers some things.”
Sara’s smile was brighter than the tall lamps dotting the rooftop. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how unenthusiastic I was to do this research until I heard about this mysterious Black Hand. If it turns out to be nothing, I’ll just move right into the gang wars. I know those were real and they weren’t just Irish gangs.”
The starters arrived, along with glasses of water, and shortly after came the whiskey. The waitress asked if they had any questions about Tullamore DEW, but since Sara had none, he didn’t care.
She poured a tiny bit of water into her glass, swirled it around, then, with closed eyes, she took a sip. Dom watched her face, trying not to get distracted by the shape of her lips and how much he wanted to kiss her. When she smiled, he released his breath. “Good?”
“Very. I think you might like to add a little water to yours. Whiskey neat is something you have to grow into.”
He took her advice, didn’t close his eyes, had his sip, which burned on his tongue and down his throat. It wasn’t terrible, but not something he’d order. He preferred icy cold vodka or mixed drinks that hid most of the alcohol taste. The pita and hummus they’d ordered would work. He dived in, right along with Sara.
“Tell me what’s been going on with you,” she said between bites. “We’ve barely spoken about anything but Ellie lately.”
“I had an interesting interview.”
“Oh?”
He didn’t want to get into too much detail. Not this early in the process. He’d been doing a lot of thinking about the job on offer, and he kept getting stuck at being the “face.” “New York Adventures magazine,” he said. “They’re looking to get into event productions, which would include being a sort of spokesman.”
“Have you done that before?”
“Nope. But since I know marketing and promotion, I have certain talents they’re interested in. It’s all very preliminary.”
“They’re so well-known, though. We carry it on our magazine rack at the restaurant. They’re showing up on every street corner. It might be exciting to work there.”
“I don’t know about exciting, but it may be a good way to make contacts for the future.”
Sara put down her drink. “What kind of future?”
Dom hadn’t been prepared for the question, although now it seemed an obvious one. In an attempt to draw out the moment, he took his second drink. Too much, it turned out, and while he coughed and Sara pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh, he stopped worrying about his answer.
After some water calmed down his esophagus, he dipped some pita, but didn’t bring it to his mouth. “I’m interested in marketing, primarily,” he said. “And promotion. But working from the inside. I’ve never wanted to be anywhere in the public eye.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you kidding? I can’t think of anyone more perfect. Plus you give great speeches.”
“I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense.” He shrugged, not sorry he’d mentioned it, but the idea of discussing his reasons didn’t appeal. “Wait. When have you seen me give a speech?”
“Let’s not get sidetracked,” she said, blushing. “Tell me what you meant. I’d like to understand.”
He’d get it out of her later. “I’m not sure I can explain it, even to myself. I never had to work at it. Public speaking. It wasn’t something I had to practice or learn. I memorized things, but that’s not the same. It’s like taking credit for having brown eyes.”
Her head tilted, and just that little move made him want to forget about the rest of their tastings and steal her away to his place. “I can see that,” she said, “but I don’t know that I agree with it. It’s not as if there’s anything wrong with capitalizing on a natural gift. Imagine if Adele stopped singing because she was born having a great voice.”
“I never claimed to be rational.”
“No. You never did. But then, that’s probably why I like you.”
He grinned and slipped his hand over hers. “Not that I’m in any big rush,” he said, “but we’ve got three more whiskeys to try before we can...”
“If you’re trying to ask me if I want to go back to your apartment, the answer’s yes.”
He lifted his glass. “Then for God’s sake, drink up,” he said, even though he barely wet his lips with Tullamore DEW.
15
“WAIT.” SHE PULLED back from the kiss just as the elevator doors were about to open. “Don’t let me forget my purse.”
“Got it.” Dom tightened his arms around her and tried to get back to the business of kissing her senseless.
“Where?”
He sighed and lifted the yellow cross-body bag that was still attached to her.
“Oh,” she said, giggling.
“Couldn’t you feel it?”
“I thought it was—” she deliberately bit her lip “—something else.”
“This tiny thing?”
Sara burst out laughing.
“It isn’t funny,” Dom said, leading her out of the elevator.
“I disagree.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Hey.” She tugged on his hand. “If it were the truth, then it wouldn’t be funny.”
“Okay, I can live with that.” Dom stopped, lifted her purse from her and dropped it on the living room couch.
“And guess what?” she said. “Tonight was the best date I’ve ever had.”
He put his arms around her and pulled her close. “But we haven’t gotten to the best part yet.”
Sara kissed him lightly, floating in a perfect buzz. She’d only had the equivalent of three drinks after she’d insisted they continue on. And the perfect amount of delicious food to balance things out. The whiskeys had been unique, each bar had offered an entirely different atmosphere and the kicker was that Dom had planned the whole thing just for her.
“I want to get naked.” She ran her fingers lightly up the back of his neck as she teased his lips with the tip of her tongue. “I want you to get naked.”
He started walking backward, never letting them get more than an inch apart. “I was going to grab us some water.”
“No time,” she said. “The situation has become critical.”
“Really?” he said, looking terribly concerned.
She nodded, stumbling a little after stepping on his foot. “I can’t even walk straight.”
“Well, we have just had a lot of whiskey.”
“Not that much. Anyway, it has nothing to do with booze,” she whispered, her mouth close to his ear. Her whole body close enough, in fact, to feel his arousal pressing against her tummy.
Instead of the kiss she expected, he spun her as if they’d been dancing, held her around her middle and hustled them into his dark bedroom. After turning on the muted
light of the wall sconces above the bed, he smoothed his fingers into her hair at her temples, his gaze fixed on her own. “Wow, did I not expect you.”
“What do you mean?”
His fingers massaged her scalp in a way that made it impossible not to close her eyes. “I keep thinking about you.”
“All good pure thoughts, I assume?”
“Not even close.” He crushed her lips beneath his hot, wet mouth, his tongue hard and probing.
Sara trembled as he moved his hands over her back and cupped her buttocks, pulling her against his erection. A moment later, still holding her tight, he found the top of her zipper, and only struggled a second before he bared her back. Her lacy white bra was unfastened in the blink of an eye.
She tugged his shirt out of his pants, at least in the back, matching him move for move as he skimmed his fingertips down her spine before spreading his hands to rub as much of her as he could reach.
When she moaned, he stepped back, pulling her dress and bra down in one fluid motion, letting them pool at her feet. With a groan of his own, he cupped one of her bared breasts, squeezing gently, caressing the sensitive nipple that had beaded into a hard nub.
All the while, he kissed her, moaning as he probed and explored her mouth, their noses rubbing as he switched sides. She captured his lower lip between her teeth, pulling it gently before letting him go so he could take her mouth once more.
When her hand met with his belt and pants, she shifted so she could do something more than just touch now that they weren’t sandwiched together. It didn’t take much time to undo his belt, find and release the button on his pants and pull down his zipper. When she cupped his cock, so thick and firm beneath his silky boxer briefs, he groaned so deeply he lost the kiss, his forehead dropping to her right shoulder as he stilled.
“Take me to bed,” she whispered as she attempted to divest him of his underwear.
Not quickly enough, evidently.
He took another step away, stripped his briefs down, pushed his shoes and socks off with his toes, then finally removed his shirt. When he looked back at her, it was as if he simply couldn’t comprehend that she wasn’t nude yet.
