by Gina Ardito
So why did that knowledge make his heartbeat slow? Why did he have an inexplicable urge to stop time? Why did his gut twist at the thought of never again seeing Gianna? Where did the stabbing pain beneath his ribs and between his temples come from?
Heartburn. This sudden sickness had to be heartburn from all the heavy garlicky food he’d consumed in the last few days. Not that he wasn’t grateful for Gianna’s meals. Dining here beat trying to ignore the pangs of hunger biting his belly like a nest of vipers. Still, he couldn’t wait to return to his regular diet and normal routines.
All he had to do was put up with the Bethanys in this place for a little while longer. But deep down he knew Bethany wouldn’t cause him trouble. Gianna was the one who could turn his whole world upside-down.
Well, he’d simply have to remain alert.
****
Kyle avoided any issues with Gianna for almost thirty-six hours. Then she cornered him, and he forgot all about his vow to keep her from getting under his skin. His only excuse was she caught him at the end of another grueling shift, and exhaustion had stolen his willpower. Who knew she could be so devious?
Once the last patrons had exited the restaurant and the doors were locked, she approached him, a porcelain cup of cappuccino and a cannoli in her hands.
“Ah,” he said, eagerly reaching for the treat. “You’ve already learned my weakness. Not good.”
She sat across from him, eyes glistening with what he thought was concern. “How's everything going? Are you comfortable upstairs? Do you need anything?”
In hindsight, he should have realized the interrogation was a set-up. Blissful in his idiocy, he simply bit into the confection, savoring the mini chocolate chips and sweet cream surrounded by a crisp shell. Swallowing, he replied, “Everything's fine. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
As always, the foreign words tripped his tongue, yet she smiled as if he'd presented her with a rope of perfect pearls.
“Do you appreciate me enough to return the favor?”
Caught. By a cannoli.
He took another bite for sustenance. “I suppose. Why? What did you have in mind?”
“You know that wedding Claudio told you about?” She traced curlicues into the tablecloth beside his untouched cappuccino. “It's a week from next Saturday, and I still need a date. Think you might be interested?”
“Maybe.” Last bite. Could he stall until the dessert euphoria passed? “What's the big deal about this shindig?”
“No big deal. Just a wedding.” A hint of anger laced her words, but he let her speak without drawing attention to her mood shift. “I used to work with Frank and Rachel. From what I've heard, this is going to be a big, splashy affair—two hundred guests at a catering hall called The Crystal Palace. Of course, no one needs to know how we met and we work together or anything. We’ll rent you a nice tux—”
“God, no.” Jeez, the idea of a rental tux made his flesh crawl, and the cannoli threatened to do an about-face in his stomach. “What I mean is, I can get my hands on a tux.”
She cocked her head. “Really? Where?”
“From a friend.”
“Wait a minute.” Beneath the stained glass lamp, her eyes narrowed slightly. Only an excellent gambler would have caught the subtle change, the expression used before calling someone’s bluff. Lucky Kyle was an expert gambler. “You know someone who’ll give you a tuxedo for nothing, but this person wouldn’t help when you needed a place to stay?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I need a better caliber of friends.”
“That’s an understatement.”
She propped her chin on her hand. A tendril of black hair fell from its ponytail confines to settle between her eyes, and she blew the hair atop her head. Kyle stared at the small O her lips formed. By God, what he wouldn’t give to feel those lush red beauties on his own lips. They looked as velvety as rose petals, and he’d bet they tasted better than the Napoleon brandy he’d longed for on the night he first met her.
Unaware of where his fantasies led, she leaned to take the plate. Hesitating, she pointed at the coffee cup. “Are you going to drink that?”
Doubtful. Too much heat already infused his insides. “No,” he said. “Thanks, anyway.”
As she drew near, his fingers itched to release her hair, to pull that black cloud free and feel the silky softness against his skin. Then he’d kiss her until the world stopped revolving. Given the chance, he’d begin his onslaught at the nape of her long, delectable neck. He’d plant slow, moist kisses, gentle as morning mist, along her sweet flesh. While easing his way from the bottom of her ear to the curved juncture where her shoulder met her throat, he’d pay particular attention to the pulse throbbing beneath that creamy column—
“Hey, that’s my goddaughter you’re ogling.”
Claudio’s gruff voice jerked him from the sensual vision and tossed him into cerebral reality.
Gianna had already left the dining room. Odd, he’d never noticed. “I wasn’t ogling her, old man.”
His heart wasn’t in the lie, and Claudio obviously knew. The old man’s face creased into thousands of disapproving wrinkles.
“You hurt her,” he warned in a whisper deadlier than a rattler, “you answer to me. Capisci?”
“Yeah, I capisci.”
Kyle shook his head to clear any vestiges of the daydream from his mind. How long since a woman had affected him so deeply? Too long. Even before he’d wound up here, Lana had built a frigid wall of ice between them—a private, personal igloo for two in their bedroom on Central Park West. Which was one of the reasons he’d started this whole mess—to learn the truth. But despite what anyone said, the truth did not set him free. Not in the manner he’d expected.
Damn him for the fool he was! And damn Rory and David for knowing all along how this game would turn out.
Chapter Six
Day Twenty-two. At the end of another exhausting night, Gianna slapped a long white envelope into Kyle’s hands.
“What’s this?” he asked, turning it over to see his name printed along the outside.
“Your paycheck.” Apparently she didn’t realize what a momentous occasion she’d engendered because she returned to the kitchen area without waiting for the grand opening.
“My…?” He ripped the envelope’s flap and pulled out the green strip of paper inside. His eager brain barely registered his name and a dollar amount printed across the top, Gianna’s signature gracing the bottom.
My very first paycheck. Now what? The only vision that came to mind was the doleful expression on good ol’ Rory’s face when the stiff-backed accountant found a photocopy of this little gem in his office mail. And David! David’s Norse looks would turn a new shade of purple.
By God, he’d won a battle! Things might not have gone the way he’d anticipated when he started, but the end result proved more satisfying than he’d ever dreamed. Even better, Rory and David would owe him something in return for this triumph. He stared at Gianna’s pixie princess face as she washed the dozens of dishes piled in the sink. And I know exactly what to ask for.
“Which reminds me,” she said, looking up from the soapy mountain. “How’d you like to go shopping tomorrow morning? You need some decent clothing. You can’t keep wearing my brother’s hand-me-downs. We could go to the mall before work.”
“The mall?” He’d never been to a mall in his life.
“Mmm-hmm. Brookland Mall is only three miles from here.”
If nothing else, the excursion should prove interesting. “Sure, why not?”
“Great. The bank there will cash your check so long as you have ID. You have a driver’s license, don’t you?”
“Of course. I’m homeless, not helpless.”
“Sorry,” she said, the familiar pretty blush creeping into her cheeks. “What a stupid thing to say.”
“No harm done.”
Not yet, anyway...
****
The next morning, Gianna a
pproached the apartment door that had once housed her brother and now sheltered her… What should she call him? When she introduced him at the wedding, what would she say? “I’d like you to meet Kyle, my…”
What? Her employee? God, no! She’d die of embarrassment if Frank found out she’d brought the hired help. Her escort? No. Her friend? Well, she supposed, friend worked better than any of the others. Still, the description wasn’t a perfect fit. Rather like the clothing he wore these days, the word was too small for the individual. Temporarily shrugging off thoughts of how to identify him, she knocked twice on the door and waited.
“Just a sec.” Kyle’s voice filtered through the barrier, sounding deeper and sexier, if that were possible.
Following the noisy click of the double locks, the door opened, and Gianna sucked in her breath. A sculpted chest, like hewn golden oak, filled her view. Kyle wore no shirt, just a pair of faded black jeans. They hugged his hips in a manner suitable for the male models on billboards towering fifty feet high in Times Square.
Water droplets trickled from his neck, nesting inside the tight curls of dark hair upon the broad expanse of flesh. Beneath the bare bulb serving as a light in the foyer, the slighter curls on his head, still wet from his morning shower, glistened.
“Hi.” Amazing she got that one syllable out. Her tongue, dry and woolen as an old ski sweater, had swelled to ten times normal size.
“Good morning,” he greeted her with a lazy grin. “Come on in. I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”
While she watched his back muscles ripple, he quickly strode down the hall toward the bedroom. Lord, he had more hypnotic motion in his upper body than the tide rolling in to shore.
Hugging herself to ward off the shivers, she stepped inside the apartment. A wave of unfamiliarity flooded her veins. Odd, since she knew this place as wholly as she knew her own home. This apartment came with the lease for the restaurant. How many times had she strolled these carpets, stood in this kitchen? Thousands. First, when her grandparents lived here, and then when her brother, Joey, had moved in. She’d hosted slumber parties in this living room as a child. Some of her happiest memories lived and echoed in the air.
Since Kyle’s arrival, however, the same old walls took on an originality she didn’t recognize, as if conforming to their new occupant. Photos of her family still hung where they always had. But now they looked out of place, encroachers on someone else’s private domain.
“Do we have time to stop somewhere with a copy machine?” His voice halted her hand just as she’d reached to straighten a vacation photo hanging slightly askance.
While she’d been studying the atmosphere, he’d reentered the living room. The hunter green shadow-stripe shirt he’d donned enhanced the shade of his eyes and complemented his broad shoulders. God, those shoulders belonged on a superhero. Part of her wanted to play Lois Lane to his Superman, to wrap her arms about his waist and let him carry her away. Somehow, she knew his physique would shelter her from all the troubles in her world. Not just today, but every day of her life.
“Gianna?”
He snapped his fingers near her eyes, and she snapped to reality.
“Oh, right. A copy machine. I suppose we have time. Why?”
He waved the long green check like a banner. “I want to make a copy of this before we cash it.”
Heart filling with compassion for this devilishly handsome man, she smiled. How sweet! The paycheck obviously meant so much he wanted a copy for posterity.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea. There’s a card shop near the bank. We’ll stop there to make your copy, and then cash the check.”
He glanced at the clock. “Are you sure we’ll have time?”
“Mmm-hmm. Claudio and Sal will open today, so we can take a little longer. As long as we’re at Villa Mare by eleven-thirty or so, we should be fine.”
“Great. Then let’s get going.”
He followed her, stopping to lock the apartment door, and then allowed her to lead the way downstairs and outside.
A light mist fell this gray October morning, and she tilted her chin to catch the moisture on her face. Early autumn was her favorite time of year. A sharp chill suffused the crisp air. Red, yellow, and orange leaves scattered over the blacktop parking lot like paints on an artist’s palette.
Gianna reached into her purse and fumbled with her key ring until she found the button to unlock the car’s doors. The moment the click echoed in the empty lot, a firm hand clamped down on her wrist, sending a ribbon of tingles up her arm.
“If you don’t mind,” Kyle said, “I’ll drive.”
She dropped the keys in his outstretched palm. A typical male attitude. Why did all men have an aversion to sitting in the passenger seat while a woman drove? Especially in her car? Maybe the need to drive had something to do with regaining control.
He started the engine with a quick turn of the key, and then fiddled with her radio stations, scanning through bits of noise and talk with rapid-fire flicks of his wrist. Through his machinations, she said nothing. Even when he finally settled on some kind of monotonous chamber music to fill the silence.
No doubt, sitting in the driver’s seat and making simple decisions restored some masculine pride. And Kyle’s pride had taken an awful beating lately. First he’d lost all his money. Then he wound up homeless until he gained employment as a busboy. His humiliation only culminated with the nickname Bethany had bestowed upon him. Jeeves.
Gianna wouldn’t admit the thought aloud, knowing the idea would anger him, but she liked the name. Somehow, Jeeves fit the man who walked with long-legged strides, shoulders thrown back, and head held high. As if he’d been born a prince and only played the role of pauper as a temporary measure.
Yes, she liked the name a lot. Almost as much as she liked the man, she thought as she gently rubbed a circle around her wrist where he’d clutched her a moment ago.
****
Brookland Mall sprawled over an acre of prime real estate at the intersection of two major highways. If the location didn’t impress Kyle, the sheer genius of the interior awed his business acumen. Dozens of stores surrounded him, each selling shoddily made, overpriced versions of high-quality merchandise. Ghastly track lighting beamed down on the wares, lending them an artificial glisten meant to last only long enough to purchase and package the items.
With Halloween just around the corner, holiday-related paraphernalia—costumes, smoking cauldrons, mummies in coffins, eerie music, orange and black streamers—decorated windows and festooned entrances. A few stores even had costumed employees. As he peeked through the windows of one establishment, he spotted King Kong ringing up a lady’s purchase while a vampire folded sweaters on a counter.
And the crowds! Every size, shape, age, and background wandered through the atrium, expressions wearing the same vacant stare. He remembered his cousin, Lucinda, once referred to these shoppers as “mall zombies.” Now, he knew what she meant.
Their first stop this morning, Ha-Cha-Cha Cards and Gifts, sat next to a fast food restaurant. Even at nine a.m., the smell of old grease permeated the air. A kiosk selling mass-produced hot cinnamon buns twenty yards away enhanced the oily aroma with cloying sweetness. The mingled fumes made Kyle’s stomach dip. To keep his breakfast from rising into his throat, he clutched his abdomen.
On the other hand, Gianna appeared unaffected by the nauseating odor when she gestured with a quick head jerk. “Come on. We’ll make a photocopy here.” She led him to the rear of the store where a copy machine hummed.
A sign overhead indicated the management charged ten cents per page and was not responsible for the copier’s quality.
Gianna dropped a dime into the slot, and Kyle placed his paycheck face down on the glass before closing the lid. With a press of the green “Start” button, a flash of light moved from left to right, and then back again beneath the machine’s cover. Swoosh. The photocopy slid onto the shelf on the right side.
He picked up the grain
y facsimile and grinned. A balm of satisfaction soothed his frazzled nerve endings. Rory would squawk like a treed monkey when he opened this little beauty in Monday’s mail.
“Miss Randazzo!” The high-pitched voices provided the only warning before a swarm of youngsters encircled a startled Gianna.
Kyle found himself on the outside of a midget mob.
“Hello, my cherubs!” Arms thrown wide, Gianna knelt to give each of the four pint-sized rabble-rousers a hug. “What are you doing here? Where are your parents?”
“My mom’s in the front with Ashley’s mom.” A gap-toothed little girl jerked her pigtailed head toward the racks of greeting cards. “We’re looking for a card for Miss Donahue. She’s getting married soon.”
A pained look crossed Gianna’s features. By the time Kyle’s gaze traveled from her to the towheads and back again, her furrowed brow had relaxed. She smiled, translating her anxiety into a façade of serenity. “Yes, I know. I’ve been invited to her wedding.”
“You have?” another little girl asked. “Is that why you’re here? Are you looking for a card for Miss Donahue too?”
“No, Ashley. I’m here with a friend.” She glanced at Kyle. “Ladies, this is Mr. Hayden.”
“Hello, Mr. Hayden,” the four singsong voices chorused.
Ashley, the curious one and most likely the leader of the quartet, tilted her head like a quizzical parakeet. “Are you Miss Randazzo’s boyfriend?”
“No,” he told her. “We’re just friends.”
“How old are you?” the child asked.
This kid was going to be the next Barbara Walters. “How old are you?”
“I turned six in September,” Ashley replied with all the maturity her age required.
“Well, I turned six a long time ago.”
Apparently his answer satisfied the inquisitive Ashley, who returned her attention to her friends.
“When are you coming back to school?” the smallest of the girls asked.
