by Lisa Plumley
“I haven’t heard from you.” Gregory Waltham’s clipped, autocratic tone carried cleanly over the phone. His impatience practically pushed its way through the wires along with it. “It’s been more than a week. Where are your results?”
Holding his phone, sweating, Shane looked skyward. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Not when he’d been doing his damnedest to forget why he was in Portland.
Usually a hard run cleared his head. Today, his efforts along the waterfront had been doing an excellent job of accomplishing that. But then his dad’s ringtone had sounded.
“It’s too soon,” Shane told his father tersely. “I’m not a human wrecking ball. Fixing things takes time. Finesse.”
Gregory Waltham scoffed. “Finesse? You’re a thug, Shane. Don’t try to pretend otherwise. You’ve always been proud of that until now.” A long pause. Office sounds filtered over the line. “Or are you trying to bilk me for more money? Is that it?”
“I’m not in this for the money.”
I’m in this for the respect. From you.
“Because if you are, it won’t work,” his father barreled on, not listening. “I won’t be strong-armed, even by you.”
“Hey. Less hostility would be nice.” Shane gripped the phone. His suddenly elevated heart rate had nothing to do with his run. “I’m not one of your goons for hire. I’m your son.”
If simply saying that could work magic, his father would have relented right there. He would have apologized. He would have said something encouraging about Shane’s efforts so far.
Shane could almost taste the approval he’d been yearning for. But he’d forgotten how exacting Gregory Waltham could be.
“If you hadn’t come so highly recommended by Lizzy Trent, I wouldn’t have hired you in the first place,” his father informed him, oblivious to the heart he stepped on. “I don’t care how much your track record might impress everyone else—I don’t do nepotism. You, more than anyone, should be aware of that.”
“You know Lizzy?” Dumbfounded, Shane stared. The trees and high-rises surrounding him blocked his view of his apartment, but he knew his assistant was there, living right next door to him.
“Miss Trent vouched for you. Or I’d have gone another way.”
Lizzy had vouched for him. She’d gotten him this job.
What else didn’t Shane know about Lizzy, besides her new predilection for horn-rimmed glasses and vintage clothes?
“Do you have results yet or not?” his father pressed.
Trapped by his demanding tone, Shane shook his head. Ordinarily, he’d have had something to deliver. But this time …
“I have evidence there’s another fixer on this job,” he said instead, steeling his voice. “What the fuck, Dad? Are you trying to double-cross me, or what? I told you, I work alone.”
“Watch your mouth.” Sternly, Gregory Waltham barked out that command, reanimating two decades’ worth of similar admonishments. It was almost funny, that a man who thought nothing of forced takeovers and leveraged buyouts was such a stickler for proper language. “I fired the other fixer.”
“He didn’t get the memo, then,” Shane insisted. “He gave me bad intel, too. You should have seen the dossier. It was—”
“Enough. You must have made a mistake.”
“I don’t make mistakes.” Except when it comes to Gabby.
Shane had made a mistake when he’d gotten vulnerable with her. He’d made a mistake when he’d brought her home—and into his heart. He’d made a mistake when he’d fallen for her.
As though he’d conjured her up with those thoughts, Gabby appeared at the top of the Hawthorne Bridge, just to his right. She waved to him, looking gorgeous and sweaty and lovable.
Hell. She couldn’t be here. Not now. Not for this.
Deliberately, Shane turned away, pretending not to see her.
“You must have made a mistake,” his dad was saying, “because you’re the only fixer I authorized for this job. I trusted you with this, Shane.” Gregory Waltham’s voice lowered. “Don’t make me regret it. If you don’t bring in those pizzerias, I’ll look like a fool. Everyone already knows what a screwup you are. How many schools you left. How many scandals you caused. A little of that is acceptable. It’s gritty. Streetwise. Like you. But you’re a grown man now. So act like one. Quit making excuses and start delivering some results.”
As his dad went on haranguing him, Shane clenched his jaw. He’d heard this a million times. He wanted it behind him.
“… I know you have more in you, Shane,” his dad was saying now, his tone becoming as persuasive as any salesman’s. “I know you have untapped potential. You have greatness in you.”
Shane closed his eyes, wanting to buy that pitch. Needing to buy that pitch. That was, after all, the secret of successful con artistry. This talk, from his dad, was what kept him hoping.
“So quit dicking around and get that deal done!” Gregory Waltham finished, sounding exactly as demanding as the CEO he was. “I’m not paying you to hang out in coffeehouses, help the homeless, and eat junk food in the middle of the night.”
His dad had an informant. Even if he didn’t have another fixer on this job—although Shane still believed he did—Gregory Waltham somehow knew what Shane had been up to. In detail.
Was that because of Lizzy? Or someone else?
Jesus. He’d have trusted Lizzy with his life.
Shane inhaled deeply. “Who the hell is telling you—”
Click. The line went dead before he could finish.
At the same moment, someone tapped him on the shoulder.
Resolutely, Shane turned while pocketing his phone.
Gabby stood there, looking expectant. When she caught a glimpse of his expression, though, she reeled. She put her hand on her heart. Her eyes were big, and her mouth was unusually sad.
“That must have been some phone call.” She came closer, bringing with her an air of concern. “Want to talk about it?”
Shane shook his head. He’d rather pitch his phone in the river. Talking about his messed-up relationship with his father would only lead to trouble. Vulnerability. Worry. Bigger lies.
Like he’d already decided … it would lead to trouble.
“Want to cry about it?” Gabby asked. “I have an emergency tissue stuffed in my shoe. It might not be too filthy and gross.”
At her wry tone, Shane laughed. “Sounds tempting. But no.”
“Well, then.” Examining him with her hands on her delectable shorts-wearing hips, Gabby nodded. She looked really cute in running gear. “You don’t want to talk. You don’t want to cry. We can’t work off our troubles, because Campania is closed today. That only leaves us with one choice, doesn’t it?”
“I hope that choice involves nudity.” He could use the distraction. Besides, the way Gabby looked at him when they made love … her eyes contained all the welcome and approval he needed.
With her, Shane felt as if he was at home. Already.
Too bad he was a verifiable home wrecker. Always had been.
“There might be nudity later,” Gabby volunteered as she grabbed his hand. She squeezed. With her grasp, she managed to convey acceptance, caring, and belief in him, all at once. “But where we’re going now, nudity would be a distraction. Come on.”
“I’d love to,” Shane replied, digging his heels in the waterfront sidewalk. Beyond them, joggers passed by. A boat chugged past. A woman walking a leashed beagle stared at them curiously, then bent to pet her dog. “But we’re both plastered in sweat. The only place we’re going is home for a shower.”
He was right, Gabriella knew. She’d gotten caught up in taking care of him. She’d lost track of practicality.
It was just that Shane had looked so … defeated a moment ago, while he’d been standing there clutching his phone. She’d heard a few snatches of his conversation when she’d arrived, but not enough to know what he’d been talking about—only enough to know it had been difficult for h
im. Even now, Shane looked upset.
He also looked fairly scrumptious, with his hair tousled and his muscles gleaming with sweat and a delicious aura of competence and strength pouring off him. Gabriella could have happily grabbed a blanket, lain them both down on it, and gone to town for some alfresco A.M. delight … if they’d been alone.
She might have accidentally acted like an exhibitionist at the pizzeria the other day, but she didn’t usually behave that way. Something about Shane brought out the wildness in her.
Maybe that was because he constantly questioned her rules—and made Gabriella question them, too. Maybe that was because he sometimes had good points to make—about her unhelpful adherence to the chain of command, for instance. Her unbending insistence on being in charge had almost cost her the respect of her crew.
It had almost cost her their friendship, too. But now, thanks in part to Shane, things at Campania were almost as close-knit and cozy as they’d always been. Bowser, Pinkie, Emeril, Scooter, and Frosty all trusted her … because she’d trusted them.
She’d trusted them to come through for her, to accept her thanks, to behave like professionals even when she wasn’t cracking the whip over them. She hadn’t been able to do that during the oven fiasco. She’d been too panicked to behave like The Boss. Despite that, she and her crew had persevered.
Together, they’d gotten through some tough days lately.
Tough days caused by the saboteur who was messing with her pizzeria, Gabriella remembered, and frowned to herself. She shouldn’t have been surprised, she guessed. Her father had described similar tactics being used during the takeover attempt he’d fought. It was just that Gabriella had thought that was over with. She’d thought she didn’t have to fight someone—she only had to rebuild. Now, the job in front of her looked extra difficult.
Almost as difficult as resisting the image of Shane in the soapy hot shower he was suggesting. He’d be all wet and strong and hard. She’d be all slippery and demanding and passionate….
“My apartment isn’t far.” Shane broke into her thoughts, unknowingly ramping up her libido by using her favorite husky tone. Maybe he wanted her, too. “We could run there together.”
Together. Just like in Gabriella’s fantasy scenario.
She smiled. “I’d like that. But I don’t have clothes at your place. It won’t do me much good to shower and then change back into my sweaty workout clothes.”
Shane gave her a suggestive look. “Stay naked, then.”
That was so tantalizing. But the more Gabriella looked at Shane, the more she realized a few things. Starting with the fact that she knew his musculature better than his past. She knew his eye color better than she knew his hopes and dreams. She understood more about Shane’s favorite sexual positions than she did about what made him tick. If she was ever changing that …
“Naked?” she protested. “Then we’d never leave your bed.”
“And that’s a problem … why, exactly?”
“Because I want you for more than your body, dummy.”
“You want me for my enormous bank account?” Shane guessed, teasing her right back in the affectionate way they shared. There was a hint of concern in his eyes, though. “For my connections?”
“Nah. Although you do seem to have wads of cash,” Gabriella mused. “A struggling pizza slinger like me could use a cash infusion.”
Shane’s mouth tightened.
“And you did volunteer to help me the other day,” she recalled, remembering the unusual look of disquiet on his face at the time. “Which reminds me … what did you mean by that?”
His mouth only tightened further. He turned away. But why?
Swiftly—but too late—Gabriella realized the reason.
“I’m sorry.” She grabbed his arm to turn Shane back to face her. “You think I’m dunning you for an investment in the pizzeria, don’t you? I’m not, I swear. I was only kidding.”
He gazed into her eyes, his expression austere. For the first time, Gabriella wondered what kind of man Shane was. Because right now, he seemed hard. Not in the good way, either.
Then his face eased. He smiled. “No, I’m sorry.” He waved off her apology. “That phone call … wasn’t good news. It bugged me more than I knew. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
Somberly, Gabriella studied him. “Do you want to run another few miles to clear your head?”
A head shake.
She persisted. “Do you want to eat some poutine?”
“After working out? I think I’d hurl.”
Gabriella considered that. “Do you want to be tickled?”
Another head shake. Then … “Huh? What’s that again?”
“I’m going to tickle you,” Gabriella announced gleefully. She rubbed her hands together. “So get ready.”
Shane scoffed, looking big and tough and unticklish. “No, you’re not. I’m not ticklish, for one thing. For another—”
Gabriella cut off his protest with a lunge. Working with the element of surprise on her side, she managed to wedge her fingers in Shane’s armpit. She tickled him with all her might.
Stonily, he looked down at her. “Is that all you’ve got?”
No. “Hmm.” Pretending to be despondent, Gabriella looked down at her sneakered feet. “I thought that would help. It’s impossible to feel glum when you’re being tickled, you know.”
“No.” But he seemed intrigued. “I don’t know.”
“Really? You don’t?” Brightening, Gabriella glanced up at him. Geez, she loved being with him. Even when he was morose, like now, Shane tugged at her heart. That’s how she knew she had to get tough with him. To help him. “That’s a shame.”
“No. I don’t think it is,” he returned unsuspectingly.
That was Gabriella’s opening. Lunging again, she hooked her foot around Shane’s calf. At the same time, she applied all her weight to the same side of his chest. With a rallying war cry, she pushed as hard as she could … then started blindly tickling.
They landed together on the grass, boat horns honking in the distance and dogs barking along the riverfront. But all Gabriella could truly pay attention to was the sound of Shane.
Laughing. Laughing his ass off, in fact, in a way she’d never heard him do before. Triumphantly, she straddled him. She worked her way down his armpit, down his ribs, to his hip.
Tickle. Tickle. Tickle.
Hoarsely, Shane’s laughter rang out. He tried to grab at her, tried to stop her, but it was no use. Gabriella felt determined to save him. As someone who usually got her way …
She did. “There,” she announced. “You’re all fixed.”
Beneath her, Shane gasped for air, his face alight with all the laughing he’d done. His beautiful golden brown eyes streamed with tears. His cheeks trembled with more incipient laughter.
He’d never looked more handsome to her. More lovable.
He sighed, his chest heaving with effort. He flung his arms to the sides, signifying all the surrender she wanted.
“You win,” Shane said. “You’ve done what couldn’t be done.”
“That’s what I’m all about,” Gabriella told him. She got up, ignoring the gawking parkgoers surrounding them. She offered her helping hand to Shane. “Doing the undoable.”
“Conquering the unconquerable.”
“Winning the unwinnable.” She thought about Campania, about her struggles with the pizzerias … then just let them all go. For today, it wouldn’t hurt to quit striving. “Surprising—”
“—the unsurprisable,” Shane finished. He clasped her hand. Gabriella tried yanking him up. But Shane yanked harder.
She landed, sprawled atop him, with a breathless oof.
“Because I am constantly surprised by you,” Shane told her, plainly continuing his thoughts from before. His voice lulled her, dark and sweet. “Just when I think I know you, you go and—”
“Ambush tickle you?”
“—make me love you even more.”
<
br /> Love her? Struck by that, Gabriella widened her eyes.
“You are the only truly good person I’ve ever known,” Shane told her, cradling her face in his hands. “You’re special.”
Wearing a love-struck look, Shane pulled her down. Offering her a provocative grin, he brought his mouth to hers for a kiss.
The whole waterfront park fell away, lost to her senses.
Her traitorous senses preferred the experience of Shane to any ordinary outdoor ambiance anyway. Gabriella’s nerve endings loved his embrace, his kiss, his stubbled jaw against her cheek. Her ears preferred his heady moan, his rumbled words, and his whispered promises. Her eyes preferred his familiar, beloved face and body; her nose wanted more of Shane’s musky, manly, soap-infused smell.
With all her heart, Gabriella kissed him back, knowing that this was a moment she’d cherish. A moment she’d always remember.
A moment she might someday wish she could forget.
Because this was the moment that Shane had told her he loved her—and, against all reason, it was the moment she believed him.
Unfortunately, it was also the moment that Gabriella realized she wasn’t the good person Shane thought she was. She wasn’t special—not for any of the reasons he believed, at least.
Because as Shane kissed her again, it occurred to Gabriella that, of all the people she’d spent time with since returning home to Portland, Shane was the one person she’d confided in most. Shane was the one person she’d trusted overall.
He was also the most likely saboteur of her pizzeria. Because, after all, didn’t Shane Maresca have the wealth, the know-how, and the charisma to orchestrate a takeover?
He did. He’d all but admitted it to her the other day.
I know how to do things, he’d said. I have skills.
Technically, he’d been offering to help her, Gabriella remembered. But maybe Shane’s idea of “help” required surrender.
Maybe Shane’s idea of “help” meant relinquishing Campania.
Full of confusion, Gabriella kissed Shane back. She heard his words echo in her ears and urgently wanted to believe them.
Just when I think I know you, you go and make me love you more.
