Mistletoe Magic (5 page)

“I’m a woman of mystery,” she said.

He laughed. She hugged her arms to herself to keep from trembling at his deep, rich laugh. Making him laugh—and enjoying the sight and sound—was not part of her plan.

“Detective shows were always my favorites.” He stepped forward and leaned back against the railing next to her. The upright way he held his broad shoulders and lean frame exuded strength.

She rubbed a hand along his soft coat—cashmere, she was pretty sure.
Give it back and get down to business.
But if she gave back his coat, she could only think to snuggle next to him—his body radiated heat, called her to explore its hard lengths…She snugged the coat tighter.

“Still cold?” he said. “Want to go back inside?”

“No,” she said, too sharply. She didn’t want to risk running into her cousin Joey, not yet. “I mean, I like it out here.” She turned and faced the sparkling city skyline again.

“You from here?”

“Yeah, you?”
She knew the answer, but better to play it his way and be subtle.

“Originally.
But I spent most of my life on the East Coast.” He leaned further back, apparently trying to catch her eye.

“I’ve been gone awhile myself. Down in Southern California.” It had been warmer there, but inside she’d grown colder. Being home warmed her, but going soft from the heat wasn’t helping. She gripped the railing, hoping the chill would seep into her.
“Anyway…the DeGrazias, huh?
I heard you all are looking into some new ventures.” She faced him.

“Did you?” He stood and crossed his arms. The scrutiny of his deep-set brown eyes told her of his intensity and intelligence.

She shrugged. The DeGrazias were clever. She’d spent years tracking the DeGrazia businesses—DeGrazia Construction, DeGrazia Distribution, Sal’s Restaurant, and the Calabra’s strip clubs—and the family, from up-and-comers Pete and Gianni to established politicians like Carolina, and Gina hadn’t found anything solid to implicate them. In her mind, she spat, twice—the evil eye—onto that bitch, Carolina.

“Yes.” She slid her hand over her hip.

“Where?”
He edged his legs apart, a defensive pose.

She stifled her smile at having gotten him on the defensive. “I worked for Italia Imports in Los Angeles. Rumors go around.” Between that, her own knowledge and research, and what her mom had told her, Gina’d pieced together what the DeGrazias were up to. Now she had to stop them. She’d tried everything she could from Los Angeles. She’d had to make a more drastic plan. Her first move had been coming home. Tonight was the second strategic maneuver.

“I don’t deal in gossip.” He frowned, his lips pressed tightly together.

His firm directness and continued intense stare shifted her out of business mode. Gina glanced away from him. She tugged on her ear. Her dangling earring jingled against her hand. Music drifted out from the room. Tony Bennett. Grandma Celeste and Grandpa Frank used to dance around D’Angelo’s Market to Tony Bennett. Laughing, sometimes letting her dance between them. Or her dad would lift her in his arms…She swallowed and blinked. Everything had been right back then. She had to find—or make—that world again.

Vincente eased his posture and offered his arm.
“Like to dance?”

She hesitated then nodded. When she placed her arm on his and they walked forward, her face heated. The blast of warm air as they entered the room didn’t help. The scent of alcohol, bodies close together, dancing. Not just dancing, but the implication of seduction, the excitement of flirting, of new attraction.

They moved through the crowd to the dance floor. Vincente gripped her closer to him, as if to keep her from being jostled around. His lean body pressed near hers gave her an all-too-familiar hot, tingling and thought-killing sensation. She had to stay sharp, focused.

Before she had time to gather her wits, he slid his arm around her waist and grasped her right hand, maneuvering her into a dance. She had no choice but to place her left hand on his shoulder. His muscles hardened under her touch. She licked her lips, the image of something else on him getting hard in her hand. With a quick shrug of her shoulders, she dismissed the unwelcome thoughts that made her throb.

Vincente cocked his head at her odd movement. “Uncomfortable?” he said. He moved her around with the grace of an athletic dancer, like Gene Kelly appeared in those old movies she used to watch with Grandma Celeste.

“Not really.” She was, though. From her mask to the heat and sensations his touch produced, she was about ready to crawl out of her skin like she’d have to peel herself out of her dress later. Or he could ease it off, undoing the zipper, his strong hands exploring her, his lips following…She turned her face to the side and blew out a breath.

“So, you left your life down south?”

“Yes, my mom asked me to come home and help save the family business.” That wasn’t strictly true. Her mom had been asking her to move home since college graduation, and she was ready to hand the business to the DeGrazias without even knowing it. This evening Gina was stretching a lot of truths.

He raised his eyebrows.
“And your dad?”

Typical Italian-American man—expecting the man to be running the business.
Dismissing her business sense just like her father did.
“Refreshing to meet a man who lives up to the stereotype.”
Vincente made her hot, all right. Anger was preferred to arousal. Something in her frayed, ready to snap.

He shook his head. “Guess you don’t want to talk about your dad.”

“No. I want an answer to my question.”

“What question?” He shifted his hand higher on her back.

“About what your family is planning.” Gina shimmied slightly, the heat from Vincente’s palm making her squirmy.

“
You trying
to live a stereotype too?” His deadpan expression made her throat constrict.

“What do you mean?” Gina lifted her hand off his shoulder slightly. Too much contact with him threw her off her game.

“A businesswoman with a set of brass balls.”
He smirked.

She fisted her hand then dropped it to her side. “Who’d still be standing if each of us took a fist where it counts?”

“I never hit a lady.” He
smiled,
a brief flash of mirth.

She forced herself to frown. He was too damn sexy and dangerous. Clearly there was a reason he’d been known as his family’s personal enforcer. One-on-one, he was powerful, strong,
confident
. How was she going to get herself back on target?

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About the Author

Celia Juliano learned to read at the age of two, beginning her lifetime love of books, especially those with a happily ever after. She grew up believing in fairies, angels, Santa Claus, and the true love of an Italian prince. Now she writes about everyday angels and Italian American men…as well as other stories of relationships, minor miracles, and happy endings. A native Californian, she lives in the San Francisco Bay Area.

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