Romeo, Romeo

by Robin Kaye

  Nick was having way too much fun at her expense, so she threw her napkin at him.

  Dave barked, making her wince. Rosalie patted Dave's big head to calm him. He groaned when she started rubbing his ears. Dave's, not Nick's, but if she wasn't mistaken, Nick looked jealous. Good.

  “Aw, Lee. It wasn't as bad as all that. It's not like I took off all your clothes, just most of them.”

  The worst part was she didn't remember a thing. Usually, when she got naked with a guy and had to live with the embarrassment, she got a little enjoyment out of it. Very little in her experience, but still, it sometimes made the mortification worthwhile. She had no problem imagining how much she'd have enjoyed herself with Nick. He was watching her as if he could read her mind, and she felt sure he could. His eyes drifted to her chest. She followed his gaze, only to find her bra did nothing to hide her reaction to those fantasies. Rosalie crossed her arms.

  “I couldn't have done any more even if I'd wanted to.” He nodded at Dave. “You've got quite the chaperone there. I brought you home, helped you undress, and tucked you in. I was barely able to grab a pillow before he started growling. He all but herded me out of the room.”

  “You're lucky that's all he did. He always wanted to tear Joey limb from limb.”

  “You weren't joking about Joey proposing to you, huh?”

  “You didn't miss much of my conversation with Mama, did you?”

  Nick threw her a smug smile and shook his head. “So, you okay with this?” “With what?” “Us seeing each other.”

  They were seeing each other? When did that happen? “Why shouldn't I be?”

  “Good. So, I'll pick you up here at seven?” “Damn, you're smooth.”

  Nick stood and nudged Dave out of the way. He leaned over Rosalie, his hands on the arms of her chair, their noses close to touching.

  “I usually get what I want.”

  Rosalie tried not to ask, really she did. But he was so close, and he had that whole morning-after, sexy as hell, stubble thing going on. And those clear blue eyes. She felt herself falling right into his trap. She was in trouble.

  “Yeah, and what do you want?” she asked, barely recognizing the husky voice emanating from her.

  “You.”

  He cupped her face and stared at her as if he were trying to make a decision. Then, after a long pause, his lips whispered over hers. He kissed her. Soft and light and seductive. Slowly, he deepened the kiss, but only in movement and pressure. There was no thrusting of tongues, no roaming of hands other than threading his fingers though her hair and massaging her scalp and neck. He hit a hot button… well, the one above her waist, anyway. Then the kiss became a wide-open, mouth-to-mouth exchange of breath, slow and sensual. It went on forever, and when at last he touched his tongue to her bottom lip, she imploded. She'd never experienced anything like it. The man should write a book for the good of all womankind.

  She groaned in frustration and tried to wrap her arms around him, but his hands cupped her shoulders, holding her in place as he ended the kiss. She opened her eyes and tried to focus on his. They'd turned gray, like the color of the sky before a violent storm. Nick returned to his seat, as if nothing had happened, leaving her dazed and confused. It took a moment to gather her wits, what little she had left, considering her condition—hungover and horny. Her mouth still tingled—in fact, quite a few of her two thousand and one parts tingled.

  Rosalie tried to figure out what had happened, why Nick had pulled away. How could he kiss her like that and be insensitive to the unbridled sexual tension arcing between them? Well, except for that stormy eye thing.

  Nick pushed his chair back and disturbed her musings. “Do you take the Broadway Express in?” She nodded.

  “I'll drive you to your stop.” “Okay, thanks.”

  “Do we need to do anything with Dave?”

  Dave who? Oh, right, Dave…” I need to feed him.”

  Nick rose. “Where's his food? I'll feed him.”

  “By the door to the garden, but you don't have—”

  “How much does he eat?”

  “Three scoops.”

  He nodded and started out of the room. “Drink your juice.”

  Nick disappeared. Hearing the telltale sound of kibble hitting stainless steel, Dave ran toward his bowl. Rosalie prayed Nick would get out of the way before Dave ran him over. She heard a grunt. She couldn't tell if it was Nick or Dave, but either way, poor Nick hadn't been quick enough.

  “When was the last time he ate? He practically tackled me.”

  “I had Henry feed him last night. Henry's my neighbor. He feeds Dave and walks him for me when I can't get home.” She rose and took the dishes to the kitchen.

  “So this Henry, he's a teenager?”

  “No, he's a graphic designer. Why?”

  “An old graphic designer?”

  “No, he's my age…”

  “And he's got a key to your place?”

  “Well, yeah. It's not as if Dave can let him in. Why are you so interested in my neighbor?”

  “I'm not.”

  “I'm sure Wayne will be happy to hear that. If Henry so much as looks at another man, Wayne gets all weird and possessive. I don't know how Henry stands it.”

  The lightbulb switched on in Nick's head. What was it with men and the whole proprietary thing? She'd kissed Nick a few times, and now he was checking out the competition? Rosalie knew she should have been mad, but the girl in her could only sigh.

  “Are you ready to go?”

  So much for the warm fuzzies her reflection brought about. Nick helped her on with her coat, stuck an umbrella in her briefcase, and led her out the door. Was he going to tuck lunch money in her pocket, too? Rosalie was about to ask him when she noticed it.

  “Where's my car?”

  “It's at the shop. You were in no shape to drive.”

  “Oh, right. Um, thanks for getting my briefcase.”

  He opened the door of the white convertible Mustang and handed her in. The drive to the subway was only a few blocks.

  When Nick pulled up to the station, she unbuckled her seat belt and started to get the door. His hand came around the nape of her neck; he pulled her close and kissed her. His rough beard rubbed against her skin like sandpaper, and his lips were velvet soft. His hold was gentle, but his kiss was raw. She held on, her fingers anchored in his hair, and all thought of being late for work, of Gina's questions, of everything except her and Nick in the cocoon of the car fled. She took in the smell of Nick mixed with new car and leather, the feel of his tongue against hers, the press of his mouth, the sharpness of his teeth, the brush of his beard against her skin, and his arms banded around her. She reveled in it. Rosalie sank into him, and he pulled away.

  Nick's hands held hers, nicely but firmly, extracting them from his person while she reeled from his kiss. She wondered if he had a catalog of kisses. Each one he planted on her was different, although they all seemed to have the same effect. He, on the other hand, went from hot and heavy to casual and offhanded in the blink of a stormy eye. It was downright unnerving.

  “I'll be by about seven to pick you up.”

  She nodded and picked up her briefcase as he reached across her to open her door. She was unable to put words together.

  “Call me if you need anything. You have my numbers.”

  She nodded again, thinking she needed to do something. A taxi behind them laid on the horn… right. She had to leave.

  What a difference a day made. One day she got the world's most insulting marriage proposal, and the next she had a date with the hottest guy she'd ever seen in boxers… yeah, including the Calvin Klein underwear models.

  Rosalie slid out of the car and held onto the door, half expecting to ooze onto the pavement before she could close it.

  It took several moments for the realization to hit her. When it did, she tripped on the curb. Nick saw the show and winked before he drove off, but she was too dumbfounded to be embarrassed. Damn, Nick
had done it again. He'd said he usually got what he wanted, and he was right—he'd gotten a date. But that wasn't all he wanted.

  Oh, yeah, what a difference a day made. Rosalie was one lucky girl, except for the nasty hangover. A date wasn't all she wanted, either. She found herself singing on the way to work. “Tonight, tonight, tonight…”

  Chapter Five

  Rosalie stepped off the elevator and found Gina waiting.

  “Somebody had fun last night.” Gina said in a singsong voice, which was the last thing Rosalie needed to hear.

  She took a deep breath and decided to make Gina run for it. Sometimes an eight-inch height difference had its advantages. Rosalie power walked down the hall singing “… She knows when I am sleeping. She knows when I'm awake. She knows when I've been bad or good…” She stopped singing. “It's annoying as hell.”

  Gina fell behind. She was not a good runner. Her breasts bounced so much, it was a wonder she didn't blacken both eyes.

  “Oh, and you're hungover.” Gina gasped, breathless, as she turned the corner into their office suite. “I can't wait to hear all about it. I had a few drinks, but I'm not hungover, and you're twice my size.”

  “Thanks for the news flash.” Rosalie glared as she pushed open the door.

  “I thought you were going to pick up your car.”

  “I did.” Rosalie took the last swig of her latte. There was nothing like mainlined caffeine to increase the irritant factor of nosy assistants. Gina closed the door behind her. It was unfortunate that she was on Rosalie's side of the door when she did.

  “So, spill.” Gina made herself comfortable in the leather chair in front of the desk, slipped off her shoes, and sat with one leg pulled up underneath to make herself look taller.

  Rosalie sat at her desk, took out the files she hadn't had the chance to look over the night before, and got down to work.

  “Gina, I have a lot to catch up on, and I have to get ready for our move to Premier Motors—”

  “I've already made the arrangements for our move to the dealership. I've requisitioned computers, scheduled the IT installation, ordered supplies, and hired and scheduled a service to move the files we have here uptown. The only thing I haven't done is scope out the area for restaurants and a good bar. You're all caught up, thanks to me. Now, what did you do last night and with whom?”

  “How do you know I was with someone?”

  “Hmm… maybe it's the whisker burn all over your face, but it could be the glow.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Gina's brows furrowed, and her eyes narrowed to slits, squinting as if Rosalie had the answer written in fine print on her face. If Gina kept that up, she'd need Botox before she was thirty.

  “You have that glow—the one you get when you're in lust. Stop stalling, and tell me his name.”

  “Nick.”

  “Nick what?”

  “Nick, the mechanic at Romeo's… well, he's the service manager. We went out to dinner.” Rosalie didn't meet Gina's eyes. She needed no encouragement.

  “And?”

  “And we had a nice time.”

  When Rosalie got the guts to look, Gina was leaning forward, sitting on the edge of her seat. Damn. “And?”

  “And Dave likes him.” She might as well get the inevitable over with while she still felt sick. There was no way the situation could get worse.

  “You took him home?”

  “No, he took me home. I had too much to drink.” “Rosalie, how long have we known each other?” “Close to four years.”

  “In all that time, I've never seen you hungover, and I've never known you to introduce Dave to any of your boyfriends on purpose—not after that unfortunate emergency room visit. Come to think of it, I've never seen you with whisker burn, either. Did you break rule number two?”

  “No.” Rosalie shook her head and regretted the movement. Beating back nausea, she took a deep breath. “Nick slept on the couch.”

  “Sure…”

  “Gina, if you don't believe me, that's your problem. I don't need grief from you, too.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  Rosalie rested her elbows on the desk, dropped her head into her hands, and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, hoping they'd erase the headache rooted there. “Nick took Dave for a walk and stopped to buy breakfast at Fiorentino's. Mrs. F. called my mother, and then Mama called me…” She'd been going for a boring shopping list tone, not that it helped. Gina's eyes widened and shone like new pennies.

  “Oh, to have been a fly on the wall.”

  “Yeah, well, Nick was. He must have exceptional hearing, because he repeated several parts of our conversation verbatim.” Rosalie slid the top drawer of her desk open and searched for something to stop the banging in her head. Rubbing wasn't cutting it.

  Gina padded out of the office and returned with a bottle of water and a handful of pills.

  One look at Gina told Rosalie the inquisition was not over. “Cyanide?”

  “You wish.” Gina handed Rosalie the medication.

  “I hate pills. I already took three. They didn't help.”

  “This is aspirin mixed with caffeine—it's the perfect hangover remedy.”

  Rosalie popped them in her mouth and swallowed a half-bottle of water. “Thanks.”

  “So, what does this Nick look like?”

  “He's a big, tall, Italian, Jude Law with the same blue eyes, a phenomenal chest, and an incredible ass.”

  “Sounds like he's got the physical attraction part of the love equation covered. How about personality and intellect? Is he dumb or something?”

  “No. He's smart and funny. I had a nice time.”

  “As evidenced by your whisker burn. I hope you're not on the rebound.”

  “How can I be on the rebound, when I was never bound in the first place?”

  Gina slid forward in her seat with her toes planted firmly on the floor, ready to take off at any moment. With her little body erect, she looked like all she needed was the countdown. Ten, nine, eight… Rosalie knew it was time to take cover.

  “Are you sure he's single? Did you check for the telltale wedding ring tan line?”

  “He took me to his cousin Vinny's restaurant. He wouldn't do that if he were married.”

  “Where does he live?”

  Rosalie shrugged. “I never asked.”

  “You didn't ask. Okay, what's Nick's last name? You did ask his name, didn't you?”

  “I forget. Maybe DiNicola. That's his cousin's last name, I think.”

  “You slept with a man, and you don't even know his last name?”

  “I didn't sleep with him. He slept on my couch.”

  “Semantics—he could have been a mad rapist.”

  “Oh, and knowing his last name would have been a big help if he were.”

  Gina stood and wiggled into her shoes. Shit, she was going to pace. Rosalie hated when she did that. And she was off… hand on hip, she strutted back and forth in front of Rosalie's desk, her back slightly arched, making her miniature JLo butt stick out more than usual.

  “Rosalie, you're too damn trusting. Have I taught you nothing? Haven't I told you about all those nice girls Sam's pulled out of the East River?”

  Rosalie didn't follow Gina's double-time march. She couldn't muster enough energy to move her eyeballs.

  “Gina, ever since your sister married a homicide detective, you've been obsessed with murder. I'm not an idiot I'm careful. I met him at the restaurant, and I know he's the service manager at Romeo's.”

  “How do you know he didn't slip something in your drink?”

  “Leave it alone, Gina. Nick's a nice guy.”

  “Fine, but don't blame me when you find out he's a married serial rapist with six kids living on Long Island.” She muttered something in Spanish and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

  Rosalie winced. Neither the conversation nor the slamming door had helped her hangover. Damn, she felt l
ike shit.

  Nick sat in the Mustang parked across the street from Rosalie's under the wash of a streetlight, missing his Viper. He killed the engine and wondered if a night with Rosalie was such a good idea. Sure, she said she wasn't interested in a relationship, and on the surface, she seemed like the perfect playmate—for lack of a better term. But women always said what he wanted to hear in the beginning. The only difference was that Rosalie had said it first. Strange.

  Something nagged at him in the deepest recess of his mind, yet he couldn't get a grip on it. It was a sense of anticipation, but not the same anticipation he felt about taking over another dealership or seeing the preliminary P&Ls. This was more turbulent, nervous. The thought of being nervous astonished him.

  Something about Rosalie was different, or maybe it was that he felt different when he was with her. He wasn't used to not knowing his own mind, and he didn't like it. It might take time, but he'd figure it out. He always did.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face and got out of the 'stang. At least he was comfortable in his clothes. Being someone else meant he no longer had to live up to his image or his status. It felt great to be out of a suit and tie. He pulled the sleeves of his Henley down and shrugged on his old leather jacket before skipping up the steps of Rosalie's brownstone. He rang her apartment, and she buzzed him in.

  “Door's open. Come on up.”

  What was she thinking, not even asking who it was— and then leaving her door open? Nick pushed his way past the guy getting mail out of his box, strode down the hall, and slipped into her apartment, determined to give her a lecture on safety.

  “What are you—”

  Dave barked and jumped, slamming Nick against the closed door. The dog's beefy paws knocked the air out of Nick with a whoosh, and he struggled for his next breath.

  “Oh, sorry, Nick.” Rosalie rushed to the door, grabbed Dave by the collar, and yanked. “Down, Dave. You remember Nick, don't you, boy? He fed you your num-mies this morning.”

  Damn, she looked good. She had on a lipstick-red, wraparound sweater that his fingers itched to untie, over some kind of satin and lace lingerie top that skimmed her hips and brought to mind sweaty sex and the sound of ripping fabric. Her black jeans made her legs look long and hot as a summer day. Pink polished toenails peeked out beneath the hems of her jeans. Nick cleared his throat.