All a Man Can Be

by Virginia Kantra

  He agreed with her. Sort of.

  Except she had ideas. Good ideas, some of them. She had hope. And being around her was beginning to make him feel that hope was rare enough and important enough not to be crushed.

  “What about your strong work ethic and your business degree and all those other things you were telling me about?”

  “What about them? What good are they without experience?”

  Hadn’t he said the very same thing the day they met? So why did it bother him to hear those words from her now?

  “You can gain experience,” he argued. “But you’ll never know what you could have had if you don’t try.”

  Nicole blinked. “That’s very wise.”

  He thrust his hands in his pockets. Her regard made him uncomfortable. She made him uncomfortable, all fine-boned and blue-eyed and delicate, with that amazing rear end and her uncanny ability to get under his skin and into his head.

  Maybe it was all those books she read.

  “Not wise,” he said. “I barely scraped through high school.”

  She moved closer. Her perfume, light and expensive, affected him like a finger drawn very slowly down the center of his chest. His stomach clenched and his nostrils dilated.

  “I think you’re very smart,” she insisted. “And very sweet.”

  She took another step forward.

  He balled his hands in his pockets. “What are you doing?”

  She tipped her head sideways, like she was giving his question serious consideration. “I think…I’m gaining experience.”

  She put her hands on his shoulders. Her fingers touched the back of his neck. He sucked in a breath, but that only made things worse because her breasts were almost touching his chest and her perfume went straight to his head. And his groin. His jeans were too tight. He could feel them straining across his knuckles. Across everything.

  “Not with me you’re not,” he said through his teeth. “I am not the kind of guy you want to get experience with.”

  She stood on tiptoe, stretching a little to make a better fit. “How will we know if we don’t even try?”

  She was going to kiss him. And, God forgive him, he was going to let her.

  She kissed like a teenager with her first big crush: gentle, absorbed kisses. Curious, tender kisses. Kisses for the pleasure of kissing and the joy of sharing.

  Sweet enough to make him ache.

  Promising enough to make him hard.

  He stood like a dummy, like a stone, with his heart doing 140 in his chest and his fists clenched in his pockets while Nicole kissed him. Her soft mouth caressed his upper lip and tugged gently at his lower one. Her tongue glided, touched, played with his.

  As long as he kept his hands in his pockets…

  He angled his head and kissed her back, sucked on her soft plump lips and explored her mouth. She tasted like seltzer and lime, tart and sweet and exciting.

  She separated from him by a breath and smiled into his eyes.

  “Well,” she said. “That was nice. Different.”

  Different. He almost groaned. He didn’t need different. He didn’t want nice. Wham-bam, same-old sex was all he’d ever asked for. All he expected. All he could do.

  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “The first time I kissed you I was trying to scare you off.”

  She blinked. “And now?”

  You always keep your distance. Once you get close, once you get involved, then you’re not in control any more. That’s when you get hurt.

  “Now you’re scaring me,” he said.

  “You’re scaring me,” Tess DeLucca said to her brother the following morning. “What is that?”

  Mark dropped an empty pizza box into a black plastic garbage bag, barely sparing a glance for the great northern pike propped against the back of the couch.

  “It’s the fish,” he said. “From the bar.”

  “Petey? What’s he doing here?”

  “I’m redecorating.”

  “I can see that. What I can’t figure out is why.”

  Mark threw out some paper napkins, a handful of receipts, and an advertising flyer from the local gym. “You and me both, babe.”

  Tess grabbed an empty soda can from under the coffee table and held it in front of her mouth like a microphone. “Could it be maturity is coming at last to Mark DeLucca?”

  She offered him the soda can for his commentary. He glared at her. It was like preparing for inspection, only worse. In the marines he hadn’t had his big sister critiquing his every move.

  Tess flopped on the couch, almost bumping heads with the pike. “Okay, not maturity. Hot date?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Must be someone special. I can’t remember you cleaning your apartment for a woman before.”

  He drew a deep breath. Hell. This was it. He had to tell her now.

  “It’s not a woman,” he said.

  Tess laughed. “Well, don’t tell me you’re gay, because I won’t believe it.”

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. At least if he were gay, he wouldn’t be dealing with the sudden intrusion of a six-year-old son in his life.

  Tess sat up. “Mark?”

  “There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m listening.”

  He would have laughed if he hadn’t loved her so much. Or if his news weren’t so spectacularly unfunny.

  “I’ve got a son,” he said. “His name is Daniel, he’s six years old, and he’s coming for his first visit tonight.”

  Tess gaped. “When—how—”

  Mark shrugged. “The usual way.”

  “His mother?”

  Trust a reporter to get the important questions right. Mark cleared another pile from the coffee table, glad to have a reason not to look her in the eye.

  “I heard from his lawyer two weeks ago. His mother is dead. Do you remember Betsy Wainscott?”

  Tess shifted on the couch. “The little blonde who broke your— No, not really. Should I?”

  “We both should. Daniel is hers.”

  “And there’s no one else to take him?”

  “The grandparents want him.” And were prepared to pay to keep him. “But Betsy named me in her will.”

  He would tell his sister about the DNA testing later, he decided. How long until they got the second set of results from the kid? And what had they told him?

  “I can’t believe it,” Tess said.

  “I’m having some trouble with it myself. The lawyer called this morning. She wants to try the home visit thing.”

  “And the grandparents agreed to it?”

  He shrugged. He would have to find out why.

  “Tonight,” Tess said, like she was testing the idea.

  “Yeah. I’m scheduled to work. Joe can cover for me till nine, but I’ve got to close.”

  Tess narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn’t tell me about this just to get a free baby-sitter, did you?”

  He didn’t deny it. “Look, it’s bad enough I have to go in at all. I’m not leaving the kid with a stranger.”

  Tess tapped her red nails on her knee. “Why don’t you ask Mom? She loves to sit.”

  Mark dragged his bulging bag of garbage to the door. When he trusted himself to speak, he said, “I don’t think her maternal instincts are that highly developed.”

  “Oh, Mark. Give her a chance. I bet she was thrilled when you told her.”

  He walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The tiny bulb blinked on above the empty shelves. He had to buy food. Milk. Bread. Eggs.

  “Mark.” Tess followed him. “You did tell her, didn’t you?”

  He closed the refrigerator door and turned to face her. “What did I like to eat when I was six?”

  “Peanut butter,” she answered promptly. “Chicken noodle soup. Spaghetti.”

  “Spaghetti. Right.” He unearthed an envelope from the counter and scribbled it down.

  “Why?”
Tess asked.

  “Grocery list.”

  “No, I meant why won’t you talk to Mom?”

  He eyed her with a mixture of exasperation and affection. She wasn’t going to let it go. She never let things go.

  “How come you know all my favorite foods, Tess?”

  She frowned. “Well, because I cooked them for you.”

  “Exactly. You got me fed, you kept my clothes clean, you made sure I did my homework—” he smiled thinly “—most of the time. Face it, babe. Our parents sucked. It’s a little late for me to be turning to Mom for parental advice.”

  “She’s changed,” Tess said. “She hasn’t had a drink since you went away.”

  “Good for her,” Mark said, and he meant it. “But I have enough trouble right now dealing with something that went down seven years ago. Don’t ask me to fix things that go back even further.”

  “As long as I don’t have to fix things when Mom finds out she’s a grandma,” Tess muttered.

  “Look, I’ve got to worry about getting the kid’s hopes up. I don’t even want to think about Ma’s.”

  “Don’t get mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad,” he said automatically.

  Tess snorted. “Yes, you are. You look exactly the way you used to when Billy Hotchkiss and Tom Dewey ganged up on you after school. Sort of broody and black-eyed and dangerous.”

  He was disgusted. “I am not mad. I do not brood. And the only danger is that if you don’t shut up, I’m going to wring your neck.”

  He slammed another empty cupboard closed. He was so not ready for a kid.

  Tess bit her lip. “So, have you met him yet?”

  Mark had a sudden vision of the kid in his striped shirt and painfully clean sneakers staring at him with wide, dark eyes from the depths of the lawyer’s chair.

  He had to clear his throat. “Yesterday,” he said. “In the lawyer’s office.”

  Tess touched his arm. The DeLuccas were not a physically demonstrative family—well, Paul DeLucca liked to smack them around, but that wasn’t the same thing. Anyway, Mark appreciated the gesture.

  “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “He didn’t scream when he saw me.”

  She squeezed reassuringly. “Not screaming is good.”

  “And he wants to see me again.” The words spilled out before he could catch them. He’d been keeping them close to his chest like dogtags, like a holy medal, ever since Jane Gilbert had called that morning. Who would have guessed? Not Mark. “The lawyer said he couldn’t stop talking about me.”

  Tess’s wide smile lit her face. “Mark, that’s wonderful.”

  “Yeah, I bet the Wainscotts are thrilled.” His hands clenched on the countertop. He loosened them deliberately. “Tess, I don’t know if I’m going to get custody.”

  Hell, he wasn’t sure he wanted custody.

  “Take it one step at a time,” his sister advised. “At least he likes you.”

  Mark shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not like he has a lot of choice. Kids don’t get to reject their parents.”

  “Tell that to Mom,” Tess said.

  His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. “Hey,” he said. “I asked you for a favor, not a lecture.”

  She patted his cheek. “And you got both.”

  “Does that mean you’ll sit for me?”

  “Absolutely. DeLuccas forever, remember?”

  Mark remembered. It was their childhood pledge, their playground battle cry, their pact against the world.

  But as he cleaned his bachelor apartment and stocked his empty kitchen with child-friendly foods, the question played in his head and churned in his gut.

  Was his son a DeLucca? Or a Wainscott?

  Chapter 10

  “I understand our friendly neighborhood painter put the moves on you the other day,” Kathy said as she poured herself coffee.

  Nicole hit the wrong key and watched her figures scramble. She was doing her books on the dinette table because she couldn’t concentrate at the bar and her roommate was supposed to be out all day showing commercial properties to clients. Nicole had been careful not to use Kathy’s desk. But wherever she set up, Kathy had a knack for making her feel in the way.

  She clicked on the screen to restore her work.

  Kathy raised her voice and her eyebrows. “I said, I heard Lars Jensen bought you a drink.”

  Nicole sighed. “He didn’t buy me a drink. I own the bar. But he was there.”

  “And interested?”

  Nicole pretended to check her totals. There was no denying that upstanding, good-looking Lars Jensen had been interested. Or that his mild flirtation had restored some of her confidence.

  “Maybe a little interested,” she said.

  “Well, he’s thick as a plank, but he’s built like a god,” Kathy pronounced. “You should go for it.”

  Nicole shrank inside. Maybe she was looking for love in all the wrong places, but at least she believed it was out there. Somewhere. Kathy had given up hope.

  “Oh, I don’t— He’s not— I’m not interested in him that way,” she said.

  Kathy set down her mug, depositing a coffee ring on a stack of invoices. “Why not? You could do worse. In fact, you have.”

  Ouch.

  “He’s not my type,” Nicole said lightly.

  “That’s exactly my point. The last thing you need is to fall for another tall, dark and emotionally inaccessible male.”

  Nicole felt the betraying heat sweep up her face.

  “Oh, my God,” Kathy said. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve fallen for the bartender.”

  “Mark,” Nicole said. “I think I may have misjudged him.”

  Anyway, she hoped so.

  “No, you didn’t. Unless maybe you mistook him for some nice, responsible, ready-to-settle-down boy next door. Which he is not.”

  “He’s been nice,” Nicole said fairly. Stubbornly. Sometimes he was nice. “And he’s responsible.”

  “Which doesn’t mean he’s about to settle down.”

  “No. But—”

  “What makes you think he would even be interested in you, anyway?”

  It was a good question. A hard question. Mark hadn’t exactly come after her with roses and a box of chocolates. But—

  “He said I scared him,” she offered.

  It gave her hope that he was vulnerable. She liked believing she threatened his badass bad-boy routine.

  Kathy rolled her eyes. “Oh, puh-leeze. Honestly, Nicole, that is the biggest kiss-off line. It’s right up there with ‘You deserve better’ and ‘I want to be your friend.’”

  Mark had said that, too, Nicole remembered. At least, he hadn’t objected too strongly when she claimed she wanted to be friends with him. But—

  “He’s different,” she insisted.

  “How do you know?”

  She didn’t really. Her books had rules and warnings, check lists and assessment tables. She had only the promptings of her heart.

  “Maybe I should have said I’m different. I’m better at knowing what I want now. I’m better at asking for it.”

  “Whatever.” Kathy lifted her hip from a pile of daily register receipts and strolled across the kitchen to dump her cup in the sink. “Ask for it tonight, why don’t you. Because there are a few things I’ve been wanting, and I can’t get them with a roommate around.”

  Nicole blinked. Tonight?

  The prospect made her shiver with nerves and desire. She knew what she wanted. But what if what she wanted was bad for her like champagne cocktails or chocolate? Maybe Mark was only good for her taken in moderation. Did she trust her own judgment and restraint that much? Did she trust him?

  She thought of the way he’d kissed her last night, keeping his need leashed and his hands clenched in his pockets.

  I am not the kind of guy you want to get experience with.

  But he was.

  Tonight she would ask him… Tell him… Show him what she wanted. She’d seduc
e him. If she could.

  How would she? How could she?

  There had to be a book somewhere.

  Oh, no. She wasn’t looking this up. Not with Kathy looking on, mocking her, offering her advice. Sometime since their college days, Kathy had let experience blind her to the way things could be, should be, between a man and a woman. To things like respect and tenderness and possibility.

  Nicole’s heart beat faster. So… No books, she decided. No advice.

  She would do this on her own.

  She would do this from the heart. She would throw herself at his head and into his arms. Whatever it took.

  Tonight.

  Tonight was a real winner.

  Usually Mark enjoyed the action on a Saturday night. But this one had chafed his nerves and strained his patience.

  He didn’t like being in a bar while his kid was home. Never mind that he wasn’t a drunk like his parents, or that he’d made sure the boy had plenty to eat and clean sheets on his bed before he took off. He ought to be home. He knew it. Tess knew it. And from the abandoned look in the kid’s eyes when Mark went into his room to say good-night, Daniel knew it, too.

  No way could Mark close early, either. Nicole had her hands full tonight. The room had an edgy, end-of-week fever. A party of sailors had found their way in from the Great Lakes Naval Base. Some college yahoo turning twenty-one had decided to celebrate his new manhood by sneaking drinks to all his underage buddies and mouthing off to the surrounding tables.

  Mark cut the kid off, but it was too late. The damage was already done. The four swabbies Mr. College had chosen to get smart with were flush with liberty and spoiling for a fight.

  When they swaggered over to the college boys’ table, Mark pulled Nicole behind the bar.

  Her eyes were worried. But her voice was perfectly steady as she asked, “This time can I call the police?”

  He appreciated her calm. And her trust.

  A visit from his future brother-in-law the police chief wouldn’t do anything to save his evening. But it might save Nicole’s bar.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Now would be good.”

  She swallowed and picked up the phone. Good girl, he thought, but at that moment the biggest, youngest swabbie—new recruit, Mark judged, with the shortest haircut and the most to prove—grabbed a fistful of shirt and pulled the college yahoo from his seat. The kid yelled. Chairs scraped back all over the room.