by Stacy Gail
“She even brought her own power cord so you could charge it up,” the woman at the desk offered while the blonde jarhead and the older man with glasses joined them. “So if you lose it, she gets to kill you. It’s a rule we just made up.”
“That was extremely thoughtful of you.” All smiles, the blonde jarhead stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Sass, right? Hi, Dorian Havlik, but feel free to call me Dorian. Or Perfect, like my wife calls me.”
“Do yourself a favor and don’t listen to Havlik’s bullshit.” Rude turned to block him before Sass had the chance to grasp the man’s hand. Then, ignoring her aversion to PDAs, he wrapped an arm around her in a way that tucked her firmly to his side, a bold statement of claiming if there ever was one. “No one else does.”
“It sounds like his wife does, which is how it should be.” Sass couldn’t fight a grin as she looked to the blonde man. “You must be married to a wonderful woman.”
“All I can say to that is Anna knew a good thing when she saw it. Or so I keep reminding her whenever she’s yelling at me to clean out the garage.”
“You still haven’t cleaned out the garage?” This came from the man in glasses who had collected a bunch of messages from the woman at the desk. “Geez, Havlik, even I’m starting to get pissed at you for slacking off on that, and I don’t even know where you live. James Fogelmann,” he added to Sass with a nod that stopped just short of being a courtly bow. “Founder of PSI and father of Mary Jane, the real person who keeps the place afloat.”
“It’s not easy, but someone’s gotta do it.” The woman at the desk, Mary Jane, offered up a long-suffering sigh that Sass had to believe was based in reality. “It’s so nice to have some estrogen around the place, considering what I’m surrounded by. Are you sure I can’t talk you into staying a little longer?”
“Sorry, but I’m already off-schedule as it is, so I’ve got to be running.”
Rude’s arm tightened around her. “Where’re you headed?”
“I’m hitting three, maybe four different stores in Little Italy to get everything I need to make your dad’s famous agliata sauce, arancini with Mama Coco’s marinara sauce, capesante al forno, spaghetti alla carbonara with either pancetta or guanciale, depending on what I can find and if the price is right. And for the desserts I need the makings for espresso panna cotta and a chocolate tiramisu. Oh, and if I have time, a cannoli dip that’s great for the carb-conscious.”
A moment of silence greeted this before Havlik stepped forward. “Excuse me, I know we just met, but I really have to say this. Will you marry me?”
Rude shoved a forearm into his chest. “Dumbass, you’re already married.”
“If Sass came in and cooked like that, Anna wouldn’t mind. Like, at all.”
“I don’t even know what some of that stuff is, and I’m drooling,” Mary Jane breathed, and Sass had to believe her. The woman looked hungry enough to start gnawing on her desk. “Are you getting ready for a party?”
Sass shook her head. “Food is kind of what I do for a living. Weekends are my heavy-duty cooking time, when I take step-by-step photos of how to make dishes and how to put together a nutritionally balanced menu. Then once I’m done with that process, I take all the food I’ve made for my work and distribute it among friends and family.”
“I’m a friend,” Havlik announced. “In fact, we’re all friends here. We’re a friendly bunch.”
“You’re not giving away a drop of agliata sauce as long as I’m breathing,” Rude put in, and pulled her close to kiss her forehead. “And baby, don’t go crazy running all around town trying to find a good guanciale. I prefer slab bacon in my carbonara anyway.”
Nothing in the world could have stopped Sass’s scandalized gasp. “Rudolfo.”
He looked to the ceiling. “Oh shit, here we go.”
“You did not just say that.”
He sighed. “I refuse to have this conversation here.”
“Your father would be shocked to hear you say such a thing. What kind of Italian are you?”
“Obviously the kind that’s not a carbonara snob, unlike you and Dad.”
“I’m not a carbonara snob, I just know how it should be done.”
“I’m not a carbonara snob, either,” Havlik offered, raising a hand. “And neither is my wife. By the way, she’s eight-and-half months pregnant with this huge monster baby, and she can no longer stand for long stretches, poor thing. This means she’s been living off of my cooking, which consists of microwave Buffalo wings, instant oatmeal and Funyons. Usually all on the same plate.”
Holy crap, his poor wife. “Would it be okay if Rude dropped off some food at your place later on this weekend? Not the capesante al forno, since that’s shellfish and it probably wouldn’t be the best thing for the monster baby, of course. But the arancini—they’re breaded cheesy risotto balls in marinara sauce—spaghetti alla carbonara and the agliata sauce would be okay for her.”
“No one gets any of the agliata, not even a woman who’s pregnant with a monster baby,” Rude announced again, then glanced at the older man and Mary Jane. “Since we don’t want to appear rude, I don’t suppose you guys have orders to place?”
“Uh, well, we wouldn’t want to impose,” Mary Jane said while her father shrugged. “But I have a weakness for tiramisu, so you know what? Screw it. Gimme, gimme, gimme, if you have any left over.”
“Awesome. This helps me out, actually.” Sass decided then and there that for Mary Jane to hold her own in a place like PSI, she had to have some serious lady-balls, and that had to be rewarded with copious amounts of rum-soaked tiramisu. “The people who always get a ton of food from me every weekend are either out of town or getting over a bad stomach virus, so I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with all that food. If it’s okay with you, I’ll pack up a little bit of everything for you to try. You don’t have to eat it all—I just don’t want to throw it away.”
“If that’s the case, we’ll definitely take your leftovers.” James Fogelmann looked up from his messages long enough to shoot her a keen look over the top of his glasses. “Who do we have to kill in order to get your leftovers every week?”
“My parents and two of our old foster sisters, one who’s now a mother of a cute little toddler and one who’s away on her honeymoon.” Rude’s hand slipped to her waist, its warmth branding her through her clothes. This was yet another PDA that should have made her squirm, but that warmth felt so good she couldn’t make herself step away from it. “Sorry, Cap, but Sass and I would kind of miss our family if you knocked them off.”
Something sharpened in the other man’s eyes before he glanced back at her. “Our foster sisters? Does this mean you were a Panuzzi foster as well?”
Sass nodded, surprised. “Rude’s parents took me in when I was fourteen. They saved my life, as far as I’m concerned. I love the Panuzzis, they’re good people.”
Rude rested his mouth against the top of her head.
“Ah. So it’s you.” His politely reserved air vanished and he extended his hand to her with a warm smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Sass. Call me Cap, all my friends do.”
“Okay. Thank you, Cap.” Not sure if his hearing about her was a good thing since she and Rude had been enemies far longer than they’d been friends—and now friendlier than friends—she could feel the uncertainty in her smile as she took his hand. “And thanks for helping me out on the leftovers.”
“That’s not exactly a hardship.” He waved the messages at his daughter and headed away from the desk. “I’ll get right on these, Mary Jane. Sass, nice meeting you—feel free to drop in any time.”
“I’d better get back to work as well.” Havlik offered her his arm. “Milady, may I walk you to your car?”
“Go away.” Rude again shoved him while Sass laughed, before she allowed Rude to steer her toward the door. “The lady is well taken care of, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’m simply trying to keep an extra eye out for the woman wh
o’s destined to save my wife from another meal of oatmeal and Funyuns.”
“You don’t think Havlik is really feeding her that crap, do you?” Sass whispered after watching Rude and Havlik share an odd exchange of glances before they left the reception desk behind. “Because that’s beyond cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Yeah, and being married to that guy is punishment enough.” They headed out into the sunshine, and just outside the door Rude paused, holding her slightly behind him. When she realized his head was on a swivel, her heart decided right then would be a good time to jump out of her body.
“Is something wrong?” With all her instincts firing at once, the normal busy street suddenly looked like the world’s most dangerous place, and the reason for the concrete planters in front felt a lot more ominous.
“No, no worries.” He turned to her and caught her between the building and his body, his fingers hooking through the belt loops of her jeans and his hips resting against her belly. “It’s just habit, keeping an eye out for trouble. That isn’t a bad thing, right?”
“Right.” She searched his face and saw that his attention was laser-locked on her mouth. Since she was fairly certain he wouldn’t look like a man starving for a kiss if there was any trouble around, she relaxed against him. “I really should get going. I’ve got a lot to do today.”
“Yeah.” But he didn’t move, or look away from her mouth. “Thank you for bringing my phone.”
“My pleasure. Don’t forget my cord.”
“Don’t give any of my agliata sauce away.”
Damn, but he could be cute when he wanted to be. “Since when did it become your agliata sauce?”
“Everything of yours is mine now, just like everything of mine is yours.” His hands pulled her hips more firmly into him, and at last he lowered his mouth to hover above hers. “That’s what it is to be us.”
Funny, now she couldn’t stop looking at his mouth. “Us?”
“I’m not just me anymore, and you’re not just you. We’ve become us. A team. Get used to it.”
That statement was both alarming and exciting, but she didn’t get a chance to explore the subject further as his mouth closed over hers. On a soft sound that whispered against his tongue, she closed her eyes and let herself sink into the gift of his kiss. That was what it felt like—a gift that gave her a soaring, wild joy she’d never experienced before. Kissing Rude was like flying.
No.
It was better than that.
Kissing Rude was like being free for the first time in her life.
And it was the definition of wonderful.
Rude watched Sass’s car turn out of sight before giving the street one last sweep. Seeing nothing out of place, he headed back inside, and wasn’t surprised to see Havlik waiting.
“Clear?”
“Clear.” He wouldn’t have let Sass go otherwise.
“Good, I guess. Though I sure would like to know who the fuck Mr. Aviator Glasses is. Hard to get a fix on him when he’s decided to be coy.” Havlik’s attention slid past him to the glass door and the street beyond. “In other news, how’s your lady taking Cadwallader’s unfortunate demise?”
“I’m not sure she knows about it.” No need to upset her over scum who’d never been fit to breathe her air.
Havlik’s sandy brows came together. “Isn’t it a good idea for her to be on guard, in case his murder has something to do with her?”
“It has nothing to do with her, and Sass is always on guard. It’s her nature. I’m not keeping the information from her, Hav,” he went on when his friend opened his mouth. He appreciated Havlik’s concern, but the man was making the grave mistake in thinking the subject was open for a fucking debate. “I’m just not telling her about it. She’s had more than her fair share of shit storms in her life. If I can shelter her from even one, I’ll turn the goddamn world upside-down to do it.”
Chapter Fifteen
Rude could smell the savory scents of garlic and olive oil before he stepped through Sass’s front door, which she’d left unlocked for him when he’d buzzed from below. Once he was inside, it was like stepping into his idea of food heaven.
“Sorry I’m not greeting you like I should.” Hair up in a high bun and wearing slinky jeans that hugged her ass, flip flops, a red camisole and a button-down white shirt left open, Sass hunched over an expensive-looking camera on a swivel tripod. On either side of the dining table were umbrella lights on adjustable stands, currently covered in a white opaque filter to soften the light. The table itself was covered in white linen, and set with an espresso cup and saucer, a half-full French press, a red and gold-embroidered napkin and a plate of tiramisu dusted with cocoa and zigzagged with chocolate glaze. On the back of the couch crouched a small calico cat that took off to hide under desk as he approached. “It’s just that the sun’s being a bitch, trying to set on me before I’m done. I’ve got this one last dish to shoot while I’ve still got a little natural sunlight left. There’s beer in the fridge, so help yourself, okay? I’ll be right with you.”
He couldn’t seem to get his eyes off her ass. “Thanks or the offer, but I picked up a bottle of pinot that’s going to go great with everything you’ve made today. Want some?”
“Oh. Wine.” She said it the same way she’d moaned his name. She looked up from the camera with a smile that kicked him in the gut in the best possible way. “That might be the sexiest word you’ve ever uttered. Yes, please. And thank you.”
He smiled. Such good manners from such a good girl. “If you think that’s the sexiest word I’ve ever said, I’ve gotta up my game.” On his way to fetching glasses and a corkscrew, he took a quick peek into the fridge, then shot her a wry glance. “I see you found guanciale.”
“Did you ever doubt it?” The lights flashed as the camera clicked.
“Never.” He made quick work of uncorking the wine, then headed her way after pouring a generous amount for them both. “I learned a long time ago that when you set your mind, that’s it. Game over.”
“Careful. That sounds like you think I’m stubborn.” There was a smile in her voice as she adjusted the camera angle before taking a few more shots. Then she straightened with a satisfied sigh and turned to him to accept her glass of wine. “Hi there. How was your day?”
“About a year long.” Holding his glass away from her, he caught her at the small of her back with his free hand and pulled her close for a kiss. She flowed against him like water, melting her curves into him—soft where he was hard, surrounding him with warmth. It was a crazy kind of magic she had, filling all his spaces in a way that was better than any fantasy he’d ever cooked up.
And he’d cooked up one helluva lot.
He toyed with her mouth and enjoyed the way she played back before her smile eventually broke off the kiss. “There. That’s how I would have greeted you if I hadn’t been racing the sun, especially since you brought wine.”
“Yeah?” He rubbed is hips against hers. Friction with Sass was the best friction there was. “A greeting like that makes me want to walk through the door again.”
“You think we can top that kiss?”
“Baby, that was just the opening act.”
Her laugh whispered between them and he captured her mouth again. But even as he enjoyed the sound of it, somewhere deep inside it hammered at him that while he’d known her since he was sixteen, it had taken all this time to learn what her laugh sounded like. That sucked, and it showed he had a hell of a lot of ground to make up for. But he was up to the task.
Way up.
She was no longer laughing when they finally parted, but the brightness in her dark eyes was just as satisfying.
He gave her a cocky grin. “See what I mean?”
“Oh, yeah.” She sounded delightfully winded, and his grin widened when she rested a hand against her heart. “You really know how to prove your point.”
“Just making sure I have your attention.” He nodded at the photo setup as she took a f
ortifying sip of wine. “You almost finished?”
“With the photography part, yeah, at least for today. I got the arancini and marinara, the panna cotta, the tiramisu and agliata projects done today. That leaves the carbonara, capesante and cannoli dip for tomorrow.”
He frowned and rubbed a massaging hand over her back. “That’s a hell of a lot of work, Sassy. You must be tired.”
“Not so tired that I couldn’t also whip up a batch of gnocchi.”
Instantly his stomach rumbled. “Gnocchi might be my favorite thing to eat in the entire world.”
“Frankie told me. I have your mom’s recipe, so I thought that would match up well with your agliata sauce, and we could have that for dinner tonight.”
Everything inside him went still. “After all the cooking you did, you made gnocchi just for me?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, gnocchi is kind of the equivalent of Italian junk food, so it’s never going to make an appearance on my blog or in the column. And technically speaking, I haven’t made it yet—just the dough. If you help me cut them up and shape them, it’ll go faster, and we can be eating in twenty minutes.”
“You got yourself a deal.”
In minutes, the garlicky agliata sauce was coming to a slow simmer on a back burner and a pot of salted water was heating in preparation to boil the gnocchi. Sass emerged from the pantry with a large bag of flour, then retrieved a covered ceramic bowl from the fridge.
“I remember helping Mama Coco make this dish when I first got to the Panuzzi house.” There was built-in butcher’s block at the end of the free-standing counter that overlooked the living room, and this was where she set up the work area. “I’d never even heard of gnocchi, you know? All I could think was that I was totally going to gag on it, whatever it was. I was positive that something that sounded so close to ‘nee-yucky’ was going to taste like shit on cold toast.”
