So Irresistible

by Lisa Plumley

  But Shane had risked it. In accordance with his mission for the night, he’d been spontaneous and open and unstinting in his feelings for her. Astonishingly, his risks had paid off.

  At least they had until now. Because as Shane looked down at the varied foodstuffs Gabby had insisted on ordering, only at this particular food cart in this particular cart pod, he experienced his first real doubts of the night. Yes, it had been his idea to come here. He’d thought that doing so might excise his persistent urge for whatever savory treats he’d been smelling during his smile-filled, homeless-person-befriending walks through Bridgetown. But this was beyond his experience.

  He peered at the food. “What is this again?”

  “Poutine.” Happily seated across from him, wearing her rumpled black cocktail dress and heels, wrapped in one of his suit jackets that was a million sizes too big for her—and thus looked outrageously sexy on her—Gabby started in on her food.

  “Right. That doesn’t help me know what I’m eating.”

  “Do you really have to know?” Looking carefree, she dug up a forkful. It sort of … stretched from the container to the fork.

  “I’d think you’d have to know what you’re eating,” Shane said, “given your penchant for orderliness and … stuff.”

  “Stuff?” She made a teasing face. “That’s precise.”

  “I can’t describe it more accurately. I don’t ‘do’ rules or orderliness. I never have. School detention was my playground.” He stopped abruptly, then decided to throw caution to the wind. Why not? “It was more peaceful there than at home. At least it was when my parents were around—which wasn’t often.”

  Gabby’s commiserating look and empathetic touch made him realize, too late, how much he’d revealed about himself.

  “That sounds tough.” Caringly, she squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry they weren’t there for you. That must have been lonely.”

  It had been. Shane didn’t know why he’d told her any of it.

  “Hey, you’re the tough one,” he said as a means of distraction, however glaringly obvious. “You’re the one who wanted to obey the NO PARKING signs posted around here.”

  “They’re there for a reason,” she told him primly, generously taking the bait. “There is no parking there.”

  “It’s two in the morning! Those signs are suggestions.”

  Gabby laughed, then took another bite. “Do you enjoy breaking all rules or just the ones you deem unworthy?”

  “Unworthy describes all rules. Rules never helped anyone.”

  “Flouting them definitely hurt me,” Gabby informed him cryptically. She nudged his cardboard box of food. “Eat up. I want to know you’re up for anything when we get back. You’ll need fortification for what I have in mind.” She winked at him.

  His body responded with predictable enthusiasm. There was just something about Gabby that got to him. She was so … cool.

  In the interest of sexual stamina, Shane took a bite.

  “Good, right?” Gabby nodded encouragingly, chewing again.

  Shane was surprised to find it was good. He nodded.

  “Poutine is a specialty around here. French fries covered with brown gravy and topped with cheese curds. They squeak!”

  Biting down, Gabby demonstrated. Sure enough, a barely perceptible squeaking sound emerged. On her, that gross gesture actually seemed sort of adorable. Hell. Shane was so far gone….

  “Tell me about your parents,” Gabby caught him off guard by saying. “You grew up with them, then went into foster care?”

  He should have refused to elaborate. Shane knew that. He wasn’t a confiding kind of man. He never had been. But with her …

  “They had substance-abuse problems. They did the best they could, but”—their best wasn’t good enough—“their best wasn’t good enough.” Screw it. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Eventually, I went into court-ordered foster care, bounced around a while, made some friends, made some enemies. I got by.”

  “Judging by your apartment, you did more than get by.”

  Gabby’s tone was still surprisingly sympathetic. Shane didn’t know what he’d expected her to do. Or say. He’d never revealed so much to anyone. Not even Lizzy. The only person who really knew what he’d been through was his friend Casey Jackson—and that was only because Casey had been there with him, another “hard-to-place” teenager in an overwhelmed system.

  He missed Casey. They were both fixers. But unlike Shane, Casey hadn’t found a home. Casey hadn’t gone over to the dark side, either—and he didn’t much like the fact that Shane had.

  “I’d say you thrived,” Gabby was saying. “I admire that.”

  For whatever reason, Shane didn’t want to crush her admiration. It felt too rare. Too precious. Too limited.

  “Well, if I did, it wasn’t by following the rules,” he hedged, forking up more poutine. It tasted salty and greasy and cheesy, and if this was what he’d been missing by avoiding Bridgetown’s food carts … well, he was sorry he only had tonight to cut loose from his usual ways. Tomorrow, he was back to being hard-core. Ruthless “fixers” didn’t frequent struggling start-up businesses housed in renovated trailers and parked higgledy-piggledy on lots full of other struggling start-up businesses.

  Shane tossed Gabby a serious look. “What’s with your mania for coloring inside the lines, anyway? You seem so … free.”

  “It’s a new theory I’ve got. Rules don’t hem you in. They give you space.” Gabby pointed with her plastic fork, elucidating for him. “Once you know what the boundaries are, you’re free to do what you want inside them. No distractions. No wasted time. No regrets.”

  No regrets. Shane wondered what that would be like.

  “Okay. Now I know you’re crazy.” He peered at her nearly demolished paper container of late-night junk food. “I think they might have put something funny in your poutine. Because—”

  “My poutine’s fine. And so is my outlook on life,” Gabby informed him unhesitatingly. “It’s just that other people don’t always see it that way. They see bossiness, I see passion. They see stubbornness, I see dedication. They see toughness—”

  “I see sweetness.” Across the table, Shane clasped her hand in his. Above them, white Christmas lights shined, strung—in overt defiance of the non-holiday season—across the awning that shielded food-cart customers from the Pacific Northwest’s sometimes rainy weather. They were tacky, sure. But their glow made Gabby look even more gorgeous to him. “I’m glad I met you tonight,” he told her. “I’ll never be the same after this.”

  For a breath, she seemed touched by that. Then … “Don’t change too much. I like you the way you are.” Blithely, Gabby added, “Supersize cock and all. That’s pretty nice, too.”

  “Pretty nice?”

  She shrugged, almost pulling off an air of indifference.

  “Your come-hither look is spoiling your nonchalance,” Shane informed her, squeezing her hand. “Are you done eating?”

  She studied her leftover poutine. “Got a better option?”

  Shane offered one. Explicitly. It involved him, her, his still unexplored oversize bed … and a whole lot of passion.

  In response, Gabby blushed. “That would probably take us until dawn to accomplish.” She eyed him. “Sounds great.”

  And just like that, Shane was on his way back to his temporary apartment with his temporary girl … wishing beyond all reason that Gabby, at least, could stay in his life forever.

  Chapter Six

  Late to work for the first time since forever, Gabriella parked her bike in the alleyway behind Campania, locked it to a drainage pipe, then squinted up at the vivid sunshine overhead.

  Geez. Somebody had turned up that sun way too high today.

  With her head fuzzy and her inner thighs achy from last night’s sexcapades, Gabriella unlocked the pizzeria’s back door. She hustled inside. Her sneakers squeaked against the linoleum floor, which had been in place “since 1959!” (just like the rest
of the restaurant) and was in dire need of refurbishment. It was only one of several things that had pushed Gabriella into her falling out with her dad. Seeing its worn surface still bugged her now. On the brighter side, the aromas of yeasty pizza dough, garlic, and fresh oregano still lingered in the air, underlaid with a faint hot-metal smell. Even after the industrial double-decker ovens were turned off, they made their presence known.

  Here, everything was as it should be. But in her heart …

  Well, that was another story, Gabriella acknowledged to herself as she reached the employee break room and wrenched open her locker. Bleary-eyed, she surveyed its contents. Yesterday’s civvies still lay neatly on her shelf, right where she’d left them after changing into her black dress and heels. Diligently, Gabriella stuffed yesterday’s jeans and T-shirt into her tote bag, then slung the whole thing back into her locker.

  She wished she’d had more time with Shane.

  That was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? That was what came of not being a one-night-stand woman … and then indulging in a superhot, ultraerotic, onetime-only encounter anyway. She couldn’t just switch off her feelings now that the A.M. was here.

  Too late, Gabriella had realized that she wanted more.

  But who was she kidding? She’d wanted more when she’d awakened from a drowsy, afterglow-filled doze in Shane’s arms, sometime around dawn this morning. She’d wanted to go for another round. She’d wanted to learn more about his past, about his childhood, about his hopes and dreams for the future.

  She’d wanted to incorporate him into her life, right where it truly felt he belonged … even though that sounded crazy.

  Instead, Gabriella had slipped out of his comfy bed, sneaked on her clothes, and tiptoed past Shane’s artwork and books and fancy furniture. She’d savored one final glimpse of the Portland skyline from Shane’s floor-to-ceiling windows, done some tidying up, then let herself out. She’d expected a few hours’ sleep to rejuvenate herself. Instead, she’d dreamed of Shane.

  She’d dreamed of them together. She’d dreamed of telling him who she really was, what she was up against, and how scared she was that she’d fail. She dreamed of having a future with him. She woke up smiling like a Powerball winner who’d forgotten to buy a lottery ticket but had somehow won big anyway.

  Remembering those dreams now, Gabriella wished twice as hard that she hadn’t had to leave Shane’s top-floor apartment. But she knew beyond a doubt it was the right thing to do. She had a lot on her plate. She couldn’t afford to add more.

  Besides, part of the magic of last night had been because it was fleeting. Right? Part of the magic had been illusory, stoked by a porter-fueled sense of camaraderie and freedom.

  There was no way they could have sustained that.

  No matter how much Gabriella liked Shane’s take-charge attitude, talented hands, and winning smiles, she needed to keep her eye on the prize: saving Campania and the other pizzerias.

  With that thought in mind, she made herself reach into the nearby cubbies full of laundered chef’s coats and baggy chef’s pants. She pulled out some gear and clambered in.

  But even as she did, her gaze wandered to her cell phone, waiting there on the employees’ changing bench. She frowned.

  Her phone was conspicuously silent. “Gabby Vivaldi” hadn’t even earned a morning-after phone call. That proved she’d been right to leave Shane behind. It proved she was being smart.

  Too bad Gabriella didn’t feel smart as she put on an apron, tucked in the bib, then wrapped the strings around her waist twice. With a decisive tug, she knotted them, then inhaled.

  It was time to go back to her daily grind—and all the pressures and tension that awaited her there. Summoning up the bravest, boldest smile she could, Gabriella headed off. To win.

  The first thing Shane noticed was the silence.

  Without Gabby’s laughter in it, his apartment felt twice as silent, twice as cold, and twice as austere. He didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed before exactly how Spartan his life was.

  Lizzy had done her best to lend his temporary digs a sense of hominess and personality. But as Shane woke up, found himself unwantedly alone, and padded barefoot and naked through the place, he realized for the first time how fake it all was.

  His artwork had been chosen for its worth and significance, not its beauty. His furnishings had been selected for their ability to relax and disarm any visitors who might require manipulation. His books had been placed for their connotations with the person Shane needed to be to accomplish his latest fix. His view of the city had been designed to distract and impress.

  Like all those things, Shane felt empty. His luxurious surroundings meant nothing. His wardrobe of suits, wallet full of cash, cache of credit cards, and houses all over the world could not compensate for the soul-sucking job he excelled at.

  I’m counting on you, Shane, he remembered his dad saying on the phone. I need your skills for this one. I need you.

  Then there was that. For more than half his life, Shane had been striving, unsuccessfully, to show his adopted father that he meant something. He’d been striving to show his dad that he deserved respect and admiration and (okay, fine) love from him. Shane had been striving to prove that he was more than just an overgrown delinquent with a bad attitude and an “I got lucky” trust fund. But no matter what Shane did, it hadn’t worked.

  At least it hadn’t yet. This time, he knew he could make it happen. Bringing in this job would be a big win for him. Nailing it could mean the difference between the status quo and the brass ring. Shane Maresca wasn’t a quitter. If he was doing all this for a good cause—for his own well-being and whatever came close to happiness for him—then wasn’t “fixing” things okay?

  Shane sure as hell hoped it was. Because he had no other options. He wasn’t good at anything else. No one had ever expected him to succeed. He’d never deserved to. This time …

  This time would be business as usual. No matter how distracted Shane felt by memories of a pixie-haired girl with laughing eyes, bossy ways, and a filthy, kissable mouth. He’d gotten all that sappiness out of his system last night.

  He couldn’t possibly have squeezed any more feeling out of a single stretch of time than he had over the past hours. He would have gotten even more out of them, too, except Gabby had felt so good snuggled up beside him after their third acrobatic round of lovemaking that Shane hadn’t been able to resist her. Feeling warm and safe and unfamiliarly happy, he’d dozed off.

  That had been his first mistake. His second had been hearing Gabby tiptoe around the place at dawn and not getting up to stop her. Shane had known damn well what she was up to. He hadn’t gotten good at his work by being unobservant or unaware of how people operated. He knew Gabby wasn’t the kind of woman who typically went home with men like him—he knew she probably would have liked some reassurance and kindness—but he also knew he had to snap back into “fixer” mode at dawn, like a mean macho Cinderella. So he hadn’t stopped her. But he’d regretted it.

  Last night, with Gabby, Shane had felt … everything, though. Just as he’d set out to do. It had been more remarkable and more affecting than he’d counted on, but it had also been temporary.

  It had to be temporary. It couldn’t be any other way.

  Even if he’d wanted to risk it, Shane didn’t think he had the right stuff for a real relationship. Not if he was honest. He was too guarded, too damaged, too certain (with reason) that the people he trusted would abandon him in the end. Even Lizzy knew that. She accepted it. But Lizzy was his platonic assistant, and he paid her to deal with him. Gabby was …

  More than that. Much more. Gabby was vivacious and straightforward and sexy as hell. She liked risks (like him), didn’t mind taking charge (like him), and wanted to win (like him). In so many ways, they were ideal for one another.

  Except Gabby was in Portland to live her life, by the rules, and Shane was in Portland to get a job done. The sooner he did that, the better. Then he
could get out of here. Then he could quit remembering how adorable Gabby had looked when she’d smiled, how wacky she’d sounded when she’d goofily squeaked those poutine cheese curds between her teeth … and how she’d cleaned and disinfected his dining room table?

  Gawking at the cleaning cloth and disinfectant spray sitting conspicuously on the end of his enormous, glossy table, Shane sighed. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories of him and Gabby, together at that table, getting crazy and getting naked and being close. It was no use. He couldn’t do it.

  His gaze dropped to the rug. More memories washed over him, engulfing him like a Technicolor filmstrip of kisses and quaking and coming together, skin on skin, with all the panting and moaning they’d done included on its Dolby-enhanced soundtrack.

  Damn it. They should have gone to her place last night. But his place had been so close, and Shane hadn’t wanted to wait.

  Now he’d have to ask Lizzy to replace that memory-kindling dining table, burn that incriminating freaking rug—and, while she was at it, scrub out his brain somehow, too. Because as much as Shane had wallowed in spontaneity and sentimentality last night, he still didn’t feel as though he’d forced out all of it.

  Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been picking up that cleaning cloth, gathering up that disinfectant, and smiling at both of those objects like a deranged person, just because they reminded him of Gabby. Only she would have tidied up before leaving him.

  She was so amazing. Kind and funny and unpredictable.

  And out of his life. For good, just like his parents were. Just like his innocence was. Just like his hope was.

  Well, actually, his hope was alive and well. Now. But that only made things worse. So did the fact that Shane was still stupidly cradling those cleaning supplies, being thrust back into a memory of cleaning up after his addicted parents, trying to make everything right while they slept off whatever binge they’d been on, hoping that this time he’d discover the secret formula for making them see him. Care for him. Love him.