Romano's Revenge

by Sandra Marton

  "What'd you want me to do? Was I supposed to say, 'Hey, Matt. Hey, Suze. You know what? The whole thing's a gag.''

  Lucy shrugged her shoulders. "Something like that."

  "And what we were doing when they walked in?" Joe snorted with derision. "That was some gag, all right."

  "If you're trying to make me think you're gallant, Romano, you're wasting your time."

  Joe ran his fingers through his hair. "I just don't see a reason to involve anyone else in this."

  "That's because you know it's wrong. It's an ugly deception."

  "Oh, I love it! The lady says this is an ugly deception, as if she had no part in setting it up."

  "I admit, I went along with the plan, but-"

  Joe stalked forward, lowered his head until they were nose to nose. "But nothing. You're in this, right up to your eyeballs."

  "Well, I want out. I hate lying!"

  "We're not lying. We're simply assuming a different interpretation of the facts. Thinking outside the box, as it were."

  "A charming distinction, if ever I heard one."

  "I'm glad you think so, since you're being well-paid to help with the interpretation."

  Lucy glared at him. Then she swung away and threw her arms wide. "I wish I'd told you what I thought of you and your idea, right from the start!"

  "Well, you didn't." Joe glanced at his watch. "And we'd better get a move on. Upstairs, out of that silly outfit, into some real clothes. One of those Plain Jane skirts. A shapeless blouse. Another pair of sensible shoes."

  "There's nothing wrong with my shoes," she said furiously. "Or with my skirts."

  "And comb your hair," he said calmly. "Try leaving it loose."

  "Dammit, Romano--"

  "Meanwhile, I'll shower and change. We can grab breakfast on the way."

  Lucy stamped her foot. "Stop giving orders. On the way to where?"

  Joe hesitated. He thought about telling her the truth, that he was taking her downtown to buy something for her to wear tonight, that he was going to stop at a trendy hair salon where he'd once stopped in to pick up a redheaded lawyer he'd been dating, and throw himself-and Lucy-on the mercy of the stylists.

  Then he thought about her probable reaction.

  "It's a surprise." He saw the surge of color in her face, knew her temper was at the boiling point. "Go on up," he said gently as he clasped her shoulders. "Get out of that silly outfit. Do it, right now, or I'll do it for you."

  Lucy's mouth opened, then shut. Her eyes narrowed. He waited for her to tell him what a rat he was, what a no-account, no-good...

  "I'll get even with you for this," she said between her teeth. Then she slapped his hands from her shoulders, turned on her heel, and ran up the stairs.

  She came down fifteen minutes later, looking, he decided, like a nun who'd left the cloister.

  "Charming," he said politely, taking in her pinned-back hair, her starched, white cotton blouse, her gray skirt and flat heeled black shoes.

  "I'm so glad you approve," she said, flashing him a smile a barracuda would have envied.

  Joe sighed, took her arm, and hustled her through the house, into the garage and into his car.

  "Where are we going?"

  "We're going clothes shopping," he said as the garage door slid open. "And before you tell me you don't need clothes, just get it through your head that there's no way in hell I'm taking you to dinner with my brother and his wife with you looking like the last girl to be asked to dance at the senior prom."

  Lucy flushed. "I suppose you think you look perfect."

  "I will, tonight."

  He looked perfect now, she thought, glancing over at him. His dark hair was wet from the shower, curling slightly around his ears. He'd put on a gray T-shirt that outlined every muscle of his torso, and faded jeans that looked soft as silk with age.

  Heat rolled through her. She thought of how that gorgeous body of his had felt against hers. Of how hot his mouth had been. Of what might have-would have-happened, if his brother and sister-in-law hadn't interrupted them...

  "This," Joe said, flooring the gas pedal, "is the last Sunday of the month."

  "What a brilliant deduction."

  "The club goes in for formal bashes on the last Sunday of every month. That means tuxes for the men, gowns for-"

  Lucy sniffed. "I know what it means."

  "And?"

  "And what?"

  "And, do you have a formal gown in your luggage?"

  "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

  "Meaning, you don't."

  "Meaning, I don't need one."

  "No. No, you don't." Joe shot her a tight-jawed look. "You've always got your G-string, for formal occasions."

  "I'm not going to dignify that with a response, either."

  "You don't have to." The tires squealed as he shot around a corner. "Which is why we're going shopping. You need a dress, shoes, the works."

  "If you think I'm going to spend money I don't have, just to soothe your ego--"

  "You're right. It's my ego, and my money. Consider what we buy a perk of the job."

  "I don't want any perks!"

  The tires squealed again as he pulled to the curb. "See, that's the thing about perks, Blondie. You don't have to ask for them. They're part of the package."

  "I quit!"

  "Too late. We made a deal, remember?"

  "It didn't include you buying me clothing."

  "How about me buying you breakfast." Joe slammed his door, came around to her side of the car and reached for the handle. "Is that permissible, or am I going to have to get a court order for a feeding tube?"

  Lucy glared up at him. Oh, he was so sure of himself. So smug. So damned opinionated...

  So spectacularly handsome, she thought, and her heart did that same stupid thing it had done before, turned over behind her ribs so that she felt dizzy.

  "Well?" he said.

  "I hate you," she muttered.

  Joe rolled his eyes, Lucy stepped from the car. Round two had begun.

  At six-thirty, Joe had all but worn a path across the carpet that led from the living room to the library.

  He paused at the foot of the steps each time, and looked up. Lucy's door remained firmly shut. What in hell was taking her so long? He'd never understood why women took so long to dress. In this case, he understood it even less.

  They'd bought only one dress, one pair of shoes, one tiny purse, so she couldn't be doing the female thing, standing in front of her closet in her underwear, trying to decide what outfit to put on.

  Joe's footsteps faltered. Dammit, he didn't want to think about Lucy in her underwear.

  "Madam will need the proper undergarments," the smiling salesclerk at Neiman-Marcus had said after Joe had finally given the nod to a gown.

  "Madam will choose those herself," Lucy had replied, with a look so icy that neither Joe nor the clerk had been foolish enough to argue.

  The clerk had brought her a selection of lacy things. Lucy's cold stare had dared Joe to try and see them. He'd wanted to, just to make sure she bought the right things, of course.

  Joe stopped pacing, shut his eyes and smiled.

  At least he'd seen her in all the dresses. Damned if she hadn't looked magnificent in each and every one. Angry as a cat who'd had its fur stroked the wrong way, sure, but magnificent. That lovely face. The lush body and the long, endless legs, all set off to perfection in gown after gown after gown. All that golden hair, streaming down her back...

  The stylist had let it down, oohed, aahed, taken up his scissors and done little more than take off snippets here and there.

  Which dress had they ended up buying? He couldn't remember. He'd wanted to buy them all, after a while. The black satin. The blue velvet. The red silk.

  It wouldn't matter. Lucy would look perfect in anyone of them. He wouldn't have to worry about having to make excuses for what was supposed to be his choice in women to Matt, or to any other guys they might see tonigh
t.

  "Joe?"

  Lucy's voice was almost a whisper. He turned, looked up the stairs ... and knew that the opinions of his brother, or anybody else, had nothing to do with what he felt.

  The gown-the red silk, after all-was beautiful. The low, square neckline showed off Lucy's elegant bones; the fluid fabric clung to her high, rounded breasts and slender waist like a sweet memory and the short skirt was the perfect foil for her long legs.

  But sackcloth would have done as well. The beauty, the perfection that made his heart lurch, wasn't in the dress.

  It was in Lucy.

  Her lovely face. Her pale gold hair. The wide eyes and parted, trembling lips...

  Joe felt his heart expand so fully that he had to struggle to draw a breath.

  Lucy laid her hand on the banister. "Am I-is the dress all right?"

  He thought of all the things he might say, all he longed to say. In the end, he only smiled and held out his hand. She looked at it, hesitated, then, slowly, she started down the steps to him.

  "You're lovely," he said softly when she reached him.

  "It's the gown." She cleared her throat as she lifted her eyes to his. "I want you to know that I'll pay you back, Joe. Once I have a job-"

  Joe clasped her shoulders and drew her into his arms. Her body was stiff and unyielding, but he heard her little catch of breath as he gathered her against him, felt the swift kick of her heart against his.

  Mine, he thought fiercely, and something primal and male burned its way through his blood.

  "You have a job," he said. He cupped the back of her head and tilted her face to his. Her hair, like silken rain, tumbled over his hands. "You're my fiancée. The woman I love, and need, and want."

  Lucy's eyes searched his. "For tonight," she whispered.

  A muscled knotted in Joe's cheek. "For tonight," he said, and then he bent his head and kissed her until she was clinging to him, and trembling in his arms.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE evening was rapidly turning into a disaster.

  Under other circumstances, Lucy knew it would have been fun. Susannah Madison Romano, who'd already been the editor in chief of a major magazine and was now in charge of a new one, was the sort of woman she'd always admired.

  Susannah was beautiful, and fashionable, and she could hold her own in any discussion. And yet, for all of that, she was feminine and sweet. And her husband adored her.

  He adored his brother, Joe, too. Lucy was certain Matthew would have slugged anybody who'd dare to describe his feelings that way, but the love between the two men was obvious and heartwarming.

  That very love for Joe made Matthew suspicious of her. She could see it in his smile, hear it in his voice, and who could blame him? She'd come from out of nowhere, as far as he was concerned. There were times, as the evening stretched on, she found herself wanting to turn to him and say, "Look, it's okay, this isn't real. I'm not your brother's fiancée, I'm not even anyone he cares about..."

  But that would only make things be worse, because then the lie she and Joe were living would be in the open. And the ugliness of it would be more than she could bear.

  Joe had been right about that, at least. There was no reason to involve anyone else in what they were doing.

  So she smiled reassuringly each time she caught Matthew looking at her. She laughed at his funny stories, even though she didn't actually hear them. But it was simple enough to take her cue from Susannah and from Joe. When they smiled, she smiled. When they laughed, she laughed...

  And wondered who she despised more, herself or Joe.

  They were living a lie, a lie made worse by the kiss Joe had forced on her before they'd left his house.

  Except, he hadn't forced it on her. She'd wanted his mouth on hers. His hands on her skin. His breath, mingling with her breath. She'd wanted it, wanted him ... and what could be uglier than that, because Joe had kissed her for one reason, and only one reason.

  He'd done it to make her look like a woman who'd been loved. A woman who was in love ...

  She wasn't. Of course, she wasn't. She was a woman in lust, to borrow Matthew's phrase. And Joe, damn him, knew it.

  He hadn't said it, but saying it wasn't necessary when his every action showed it. They were in a public place-a yacht club overlooking San Francisco Bay-and he hadn't touched her improperly, or said much of anything to her. He certainly hadn't kissed her again.

  He didn't have to. She was painfully, agonizingly aware of him, seated beside her. She tried not to think about him, or about the kiss. Concentrate on your surroundings, she told herself. On the club.

  It was a beautiful place. Teakwood floors. Glittering chandeliers. Lovely women and handsome men ...

  But none as handsome as Joe. None as virile, as rugged, as out and out gorgeously male.

  "...sail, Lucy?"

  She blinked, looked up. Matthew was smiling across the table at her, his eyes still cool and questioning.

  "I'm sorry, Matthew. What did you say?"

  "I said, do you sail?"

  She nodded. "A little."

  "Ah. A lady who can tell a line from a rope," he said, and smiled again, but she knew the simple words were a test.

  "Definitely. Some old salts might toss you overboard if you call a line a rope," she said lightly, and smiled back at him.

  "So, where did you learn to sail?"

  "Back home. On Cape Cod."

  "You're from New England?"

  She nodded. "Boston."

  "Well, that's interesting." Matthew took his wife's hand in his. "Susannah's from that part of the country, too."

  "Really," Lucy said politely.

  "You two might know some of the same people."

  "It's possible."

  "Suze?" Matthew said, and looked at his wife.

  "New England's a big place," Joe said abruptly. "I doubt if Susannah and Lucy moved in the same circles." He looked at Lucy. "Isn't that right, honey?"

  She knew exactly what he meant. Susannah would hardly be likely to know anyone who was friends with a woman who took off her clothes for a living.

  Lucy's throat tightened. She wanted to tell him that no matter what he thought, she wasn't that kind of woman, that she'd damned near been raised in clubs as elegant as this one, but what was the point? Let Joe Romano believe what he liked. It wouldn't matter, after tonight. No matter what he said, or did, she was finished with this charade. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, she was leaving him.

  She had enough money to get her to the bus station. Once she was there, she'd buy a ticket with whatever she had left. A ticket to anyplace...

  "Lucy?"

  She blinked. Susannah was looking at her, a gentle smile on her face and a worried look in her eyes.

  "Lucy, are you all right?"

  "Fine," Lucy said brightly. "I was just-I was thinking about what Joe said and I'm afraid he's probably right. I doubt if we moved in the same circles."

  "Well, we can talk about it another time. Over coffee, some afternoon, so we can get to know one another, hmm?"

  "Fine," Lucy said again, and hated herself for yet one more lie.

  But no lie was as agonizing as the one she kept telling herself, that she hated Joe. That she didn't feel anything for him. That he wasn't the most wonderful man she'd ever met ...

  She shot to her feet. Three startled faces looked up at her.

  "I-I'm just going to the ladies' room."

  Susannah rose, too. "Great idea," she said briskly.

  "Women." Matthew grumbled as he and Joe pushed back their chairs. "The only creatures on the face of the planet who go to the bathroom in packs."

  "We do it so we can talk about you," Susannah said fondly. But they didn't talk about the men. They didn't talk about anything, not until they were both washing their hands at the marble sinks.

  "This must be hard for you," Susannah said softly. "Pretending, I mean."

  Lucy looked up and met her eyes in the mirror. "I don't know what you're ta
lking about."

  "I'm talking about you, making believe you're having a good time, despite my husband's none-too-subtle interrogation techniques." She smiled as she dried her hands on a towel. "Forgive him, won't you? Matthew loves Joe a lot. He's just surprised everything's happened so quickly, that's all."

  Lucy saw the color rise in her cheeks. She looked away from the mirror and reached for a towel.

  "There's nothing to forgive."

  "It's good of you to say that, Lucy. They're just, well, very protective of each other. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that their mother died when they were only kids."

  "Did she?"

  "Yes. Didn't Joe tell you?"

  Lucy shrugged her shoulders. "We haven't had much of a chance to talk about the past."

  "Ah." Susannah smiled. "Of course not. You two fell in love so fast. But you have years ahead of you, to learn all about each other."

  "Years," Lucy said brightly, and burst into tears.

  "Oh, Lucy!" Horrified, Susannah rushed towards Lucy and threw an arm around her shoulders. "Lucy, what is it? What did I say?"

  "Nothing. You didn't say ... It's just that-that things aren't the way they seem. Joe and I-Joe and I are-"

  "Joe's crazy about you."

  Lucy looked up, laughed, and reached for a tissue from a box on the marble sink.

  "He's not."

  "He is. I can see it, each time he looks at you."

  "Susannah-"

  "And you're crazy about him."

  "I'm not." Lucy blew her nose, then tossed the tissue into the basket. "I'm not crazy about him at all. Look, I can't explain, but we aren't-I mean, things between us aren't-"

  "You're nuts about my brother-in-law," Susannah said softly.

  The women's eyes met in the mirror again, and Lucy knew she was fresh out of lies.

  "If I am," she said, her voice trembling, "I'm going to regret it."

  She left the ladies' room quickly, before Susannah could respond, and made her way back to the table.

  But something had gone wrong there, too. Joe and his brother were silent, not looking at each other. People at the other tables were looking, though, quick little covert glances from behind their wine glasses and champagne flutes.

  "Is something wrong?" Susannah finally asked.