by Jo Leigh
She nodded, smiling, looking as if the awkwardness of last night’s kiss had never happened. “I was going to go to the house. I have some leftover tuna fish in need of eating.”
“As delicious as that sounds, how would you feel about me taking you to the best pizza parlor in New York.”
“The best?”
“Hands down. Also, not something I share with many. So, I’ll have to invoke the no-repeating rule. I have a feeling the pizza chefs in Little Italy would object. Probably using tar and feathers.”
“Wow, Little Italy really is old-fashioned. But yes, that sounds much better than my rather dull salad.”
“Good. It’s not too far from here.” He nodded toward Forty-Eighth Street and they started their walk. “Do you always go out for lunch?”
“No, not usually. I was in a stuffy meeting all morning. It feels good to get some fresh air.”
Tony choked out a laugh. “In this city?”
She laughed with him, the early afternoon sun glinting on her hair, picking up different shades of gold. Her teeth were perfectly white and her creamy skin was flawless. Somehow she seemed to keep getting prettier every time he saw her.
“Look, I should warn you, there might be a wait,” he said “but we can always catch a taxi for the return trip.”
“We? I got the impression last night that you liked to cut and run.”
Thank God he didn’t blush. “About that,” he said. “The real reason I asked you to lunch.”
“I thought it might be.”
“You don’t sound angry...”
“I’m not. Curious. Puzzled. Not angry, though. Which is lucky for you,” she said, weaving her way around a sudden influx of pedestrians that pushed between them. When she got close again—almost touching—she went on with her sentence as if it had never stopped. “Because I know two of your secrets. Imagine what I could do if my feathers were ruffled.”
“I walked right into that, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
He touched the small of her back, his hand acting on its own before he’d remembered his mental vow not to do that again. Catherine didn’t seem to mind, though, so he figured a sudden retreat would only make things worse. They turned the corner to an equally busy street. “It’s just down there. The one with the sandwich board outside.”
“It’s a storefront?”
He nodded. “There are a few tables inside, but I wouldn’t hold out too much hope of getting one. See all those folks standing near the street? Eating?” Everyone was leaning forward as they ate so they wouldn’t get any grease on their business clothes.
“I do. I’m starting to believe you’re not the only person who thinks this pizza is the greatest.” She curled a hand around his arm. “Let’s hurry and get in line.”
Tony felt the soft warmth of her palm pressed against his skin.
He grinned all the way to Sunday.
* * *
IT WAS BY far the best slice of pizza she’d ever had. She wasn’t sure why. Totally worth eating standing outside, trying not to interfere with the pedestrian traffic. The pizza didn’t appear to be anything special. But that first bite. She’d made a sound that was absolutely obscene, but was fortunately masked by several other people doing the same.
Even Tony, who’d clearly eaten there many times before and was into his third or fourth bite, groaned in a way she hoped would be repeated while doing things other than eating a slice of cheese pizza.
She leaned close and whispered, “Someone should set up a microphone out here. The porn industry would probably pay a lot for the free background noise.”
Tony coughed. He took a quick sip of his soda, upon which he’d been balancing his plate, then coughed again.
Catherine placed a hand on his back, prepared to offer assistance if the need arose.
His face turned an interesting shade of red as he tried to swallow. But at least the coughing had subsided. And so had the stares.
“Yeah, I shouldn’t have said that.” After giving him a smile, she lowered her lashes and her hand. “Sorry.”
He cleared his throat and started laughing.
She took a small bite and chewed like a perfect lady.
“Want another slice?” Tony asked. “Before the line gets longer.”
She wanted more than that. A large pie to go would be great, even though she’d have to empty out her small fridge. “Not for me, thanks. But I don’t mind waiting if you want another.”
“Are you kidding? I don’t think I can ever eat pizza in front of you again.”
“Oh, come on. It was sort of funny,” she said, and took her last bite.
“It was very funny. Just unexpected.”
Catherine smiled again. “Finish eating and I promise not to say another word.”
Tony lifted one dark brow at her and the way he did it was kind of sexy. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but who cared?
The thought stopped her. For someone who made her living reading people, that last thought was like blasphemy. But the truth remained, she continued to miss all but the most blatant signals. Last night, for instance...the way he’d left her on the rooftop had really floored her. And now this...
She truly hoped this lunch wasn’t merely an attempt to save face for his family’s business.
“So, was this a social call or did you have something to report on the restoration?” she asked, tossing her napkin and paper plate into the trash.
He thought about it as he finished chewing. “Both, I guess,” he said, and got rid of his trash as they started walking back. “I called George this morning, and you’ll have to wait another week for him to finish the job he’s on. As for the garden, I’d recommend Luca taking over the project. He’s brilliant at design and he’s on his way to finishing his architecture degree, so you’d luck out with him.”
She slowed to a stop, causing the man behind her to cuss her out in Castilian Spanish. “So you’re—”
Tony held up a hand, and the tight ball in her chest eased into something that allowed her to breathe.
“I’ve never done anything like that before. Kissing a client is completely unprofessional. And pretty crazy.”
They started walking again. Well, he did, and she scurried to catch up.
“And to leave the way I did? I feel like every kind of fool.” He stopped. Forcing her to piss off more New Yorkers. No one seemed to be mad at him, though.
“The worst thing is I’d do it again. I want to do it again right now. I’m very attracted to you, and I was reasonably sure I was getting the right signals back, but what I did was not cool. So, whatever happens, I wanted to make sure you knew I was sorry.”
Catherine wasn’t sure she heard everything past the part where he’d said he wanted to kiss her right now.
Tony studied her. “I thought we were doing okay today, but maybe I misread things again,” he said, when she didn’t respond. “Look, I can get you a cab, send you back to work. Then you could let me know, whenever it’s comfortable, what you want to do.”
“Or I could tell you right now.”
He blinked. “Now would be great. But...there’s more. Even if Luca took over and we started hooking up—whatever that entails—you’d still be a client and that makes things tricky.” They stopped at the intersection and he lowered his voice even more. “Little Italy is a small community, and it gets even smaller when you try to keep people out of your business.”
“Is that it?”
“Pretty much. Yeah.” His eyebrows drew together in a suspicious frown when she stepped closer to him instead of following the crowd when the light changed.
There were far too many people around for this conversation, so she pulled Tony up against the window of a copy store, away from foot traffic. “What if I
just fired you?”
He let out a sigh. “Shit. Seriously?”
“It would solve just about everything, right?”
He deflated. Briefly laid his head back against the brick and studied her. Her teasing gaze must have given her away. He straightened and narrowed his eyes. “Hey, this isn’t easy. I’ve never kissed a client before.”
“Sorry. That was a joke,” she said. “I’m actually wondering why we can’t do both.”
“Both...?”
“Why can’t we continue to work together?”
“And the other thing would be...”
“I think you know.”
Tony grinned, looking just too damned adorable for words.
“There’s no rule, is there? I mean, you won’t be expelled from the contractors’ guild or anything?”
“No. There’s no rule. But give me a minute, okay?” he said. “My heart nearly exploded when you said you’d fire us. I was already trying to figure out how to explain that one to my family.”
Catherine smiled big. Nice to know he would’ve chosen her over the job. “I wasn’t trying to get even, but I do want you to stay involved in the restoration. Nothing against Luca...”
“Fair enough,” Tony said, getting some of his composure back. “More than fair. If we see that our personal relationship is affecting the work, we’ll take a step back. Reevaluate the situation.”
“One would hope we could be that mature about it.”
“Right,” he said with a wry laugh. “For now I’m giving you a heads-up, in case you see anyone from your office around.”
“A heads-up for...?” she asked slowly, the intent in his eyes sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine.
Tony smiled. “I think you know.”
He pulled her into his arms. Nothing that would cause the crowd to pause, but it felt wonderful. “I’d like to start right now,” he said, his whisper close to her ear, “but I’ll settle for tomorrow night. How would you feel about skipping our work session tonight and coming over to my place for dinner tomorrow night instead?”
She looked up into his beautiful dark eyes, appreciating again his laugh lines, and his unaffected grin. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
He showed his approval with a kiss that wasn’t nearly as desperate as the one on the rooftop. It started off with a brush of his lips, a taste of his breath, the warmth of his body. She followed him easily. In fact, it was the deepest connection she’d felt to him so far. There wasn’t one awkward thing about it. Not the quick swipe of his tongue across her lower lip, not the moan only she could hear.
She sighed into him, and he held her tighter. Finally, he did the gentlemanly thing and pulled back. “Now there’s no question I’ll need to hail a cab for you so you won’t be late. Mind if I hitch a ride?”
“Not at all. But don’t you have an appointment coming up?”
“Yeah,” he said, pulling her through a brief break in the pedestrian traffic until he could thrust his arm out for a taxi. “But later. At the office. That’s why I can’t help out at your place tonight.”
“Huh. I was going to ask you to come into the UN for the ten-cent tour, but now that I know you lied, I’m not going to.”
“You know, I really would like to see the inside,” he said. “I don’t really know what you do, except that it has something to do with translation.”
“Something like that, yes. I’ll explain tomorrow evening, if that’s all right?” Despite her desire to show him her workplace they’d actually used up too much of her lunch break eating and talking. Which was fine, since she had a lot of work to do. Although trying to concentrate after what just happened? That would be a real feat.
6
THE NEXT MORNING Catherine stopped at the closest newsstand, bought two magazines and a London Times. After she’d paid the nice man who ran the kiosk, she was surprised to bump into a woman she recognized. It was her neighbor on the other side. She had a red front door and a large pot of marigolds on the stoop. At least Catherine thought it was her neighbor. So many of the older women had the same outdated hairstyle, hair severely pulled back into a tight bun.
Still, Catherine smiled at her. “Good morning.”
The woman looked at her as if she was insulted by the greeting. She did give Catherine a brief nod, however, before she summoned an actual smile for the kiosk man. Either Catherine had been mistaken and the woman wasn’t her neighbor, or else she’d managed to alienate the entire neighborhood with all the noise. But even so, the woman could have been a little more pleasant.
Later, Catherine spent her lunch hour standing in line at yet another bakery—this time, the Lady M Boutique in Bryant Park. She knew a little bit more about what Tony liked, so she’d narrowed her choices for their dessert down to four kinds of cake.
She hoped the line would move quickly, as she wanted to get back to work as soon as possible. Which didn’t mean she would be able to do any work. She’d been so distracted ever since yesterday, it was a little crazy.
After Sal and his crew had left, she’d worked on the upstairs fireplace tile—a horrid, messy job that required more muscle than care. Not really her cup of tea, but once she’d started, she pressed on. Plenty of time to let her thoughts wander, and of course, they’d zeroed in on Tony.
It helped that she’d listened to Marvin Gaye. God, such sexy music. And then she’d taken a long, slow bath in oil-rich water, using her fingers as a pale substitute as she tried to imagine what sex would be like with Tony.
But it wasn’t until she’d slipped between her sheets that she realized the depth of the opportunity that had been handed to her. Tony wasn’t just gorgeous. He was bright and funny and he lived what she considered to be a real life. At least compared to what she was used to. Of course, she’d known people from all social classes, but her past relationships and all her friends and associates had some kind of tie to her rarified world.
The kind of money her family had was used to a great extent to set them apart, to cushion them from the harsh realities of 99 percent of the population. At least her family had always stressed service as a fundamental precept. But for the most part, their charity was performed at arm’s length. Usually, they just made big monetary donations.
Even the men she’d seen socially she’d met at school or through cocktail parties and charity dinners. She’d had some interesting dates, two longer-term relationships with men she liked, but nothing that had rocked her world.
Tony had to be more experienced than she was, and she really looked forward to getting to know him, and not just sexually, either. She tried to think of another man she’d ever been this intrigued by, and couldn’t.
It was her turn to order, so she stepped up to the counter. “I’d like four different slices to go, please.” She grinned as she made her selections, and blushed all the way back to the UN, thinking about what it would be like when she and Tony got between the sheets.
* * *
TONY HAD LEFT work on the early side. Poor Gina must have suspected he was going to see a woman tonight, and her level of curiosity hinted that she knew it wasn’t going to be Rita.
He was used to the fact that practically everyone knew about his arrangement with Rita despite the fact he’d never told anyone, and he knew Rita hadn’t, either. They’d barely been out together. Usually she’d come to his apartment and they’d have food delivered. But that didn’t stop the gossip mill.
Sometimes he hated the tiny community he lived in. He barely had any time to enjoy being in the most exciting city in the world, so it wasn’t as if it was a trade-off. He just wished that people would mind their own damn business.
As soon as he got home, he relaxed. At least to a degree. Knowing he’d be with Catherine soon was damned exciting, but it was the good kind of tension. He looked forward
to showing her his home. It was the place he loved the most, and he knew she’d understand what it meant to him. It was far enough away from work that the claustrophobic attention he was normally paid was greatly reduced. And after the divorce, he’d decorated to his tastes, not Angie’s.
He checked on the bottle of Syrah he’d uncorked a half hour ago, then checked the time and hurried to take a shower. As it got closer to Catherine’s arrival, he became more anxious. Anticipation had him humming as he got dressed, and to his surprise it wasn’t just about the hoped-for sex at the end of the evening. There was so much he didn’t know about Catherine.
As they’d planned, she called him when she arrived on his block. He took the elevator down to the lobby of his building and met her at the door. Catherine surprised him with a very European greeting, an almost-kiss on each cheek. She also had a pastry box in her hand from a shop he didn’t recognize.
“What a gorgeous neighborhood,” she said, as he led her to the elevator. “There’s only one button. Is this a private elevator?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Are you in the penthouse?”
“Nope. The eighth floor. It’s an unusual building. The eighth, in my opinion, is the best of the lot.”
He could see her reevaluating him, wide-eyed, as they went up floor by floor. Completely understandable. “The area is called the Cast Iron Historic District. I figured you’d like it. This building is prewar, but there’s been a lot of work done.”
“I was impressed on the cab ride here. Stunning architecture. No wonder you know so much about restoration. You never said you had your own historic treasure.”
He held the door open for her as they entered the living room. It was a completely open plan all the way to the kitchen. The showstoppers were the twelve-foot vaulted ceilings and the double-arched wood casement windows. Above his oversize custom sofa he had a large print of an architectural jewel from Barcelona, one of Antoni Gaudí’s mosaic arches. The walls were white, the floor-to-ceiling drapes were white and gray, and both offset the dark wood floors.
