The Devil Served Desire (11 page)

She wanted him. And like the Twinkies, Maria saw, grabbed and consumed.

Unlike the Twinkies, the desire for him couldn't be shoved in the garbage can and forgotten beneath the plastic lid. When she'd looked at him, and long after she'd walked away, she'd only felt this searing flame of want. And when he'd kissed her—

At that moment, nothing else mattered but having Dante. The sooner the better.

Maria paced the small kitchen of her apartment. She wouldn't have to wait long. It was nearing midnight and before she knew it, he'd be on her doorstep, wanting to resume where they'd left off.

Oh, yes.

Oh, no.

Her doorbell rang. She stopped mid-step and wheeled around. He was here. And damned if her heart didn't react like a jackrabbit in heat.

Just before she opened the door, Maria straightened her back and took a deep breath. No way was he going to see her as the eager one. She opened the door, flashed him a calm, I-don't-need-to-have-you-in-my-bed-more-than-I-need-to-breathe smile and said, "Hi."

He stood there, in dark jeans and a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, that lopsided grin on his face, and her composure slipped to the floor like a pair of panty hose that had lost their elasticity.

Damn. All she wanted to do was tear off his clothes and drag him off to her queen-size.

"Hi, yourself," he said.

"Uh..." The words she meant to say went right out of her head.

His grin widened. "I’m sure the hall's available for socializing, but your apartment might be a bit more private."

"The hall?" She blinked, then the connections in her brain began clicking, neurons fizzing and popping like crazy. "Oh, oh, yeah, of course. Come in."

"I thought you'd never ask." He entered the apartment and made the room seem too small. He wasn't a large man, but he had a presence that filled her space.

It said there was a man in her apartment. Not any man.
Dante
.

He withdrew his arm from behind his back. "I brought a bottle of Chianti Classico, anyway. I didn't want to be rude and show up empty-handed."

"You could have shown up with nothing and I would have been fine with that." She took the bottle from him, cradling the cool glass in one arm.

"Nothing?'' He arched a brow.

She couldn't resist. "The neighbors might have a problem with a naked man in the hall, but personally, I think every building should have one."

He smirked. "Depends on the man."

She allowed her gaze to roam over his toned V-shape. "And how he looks naked."

"True."

She laughed. Her heart hadn't resumed anything resembling a normal pace, but at least the teasing had eased the tension between them. And ratcheted the temperature up a few thousand degrees with all those thoughts of naked and Dante. Two words that when put together, did really funny things to her gut. She turned away from his gaze and headed toward the kitchen. "Let me get some wineglasses."

He followed her into the kitchen, making her damned glad she'd kept on the skirt. She could feel his eyes on her legs, watching the swish of her skirt against the bare skin. Her slides clicked against the tile, followed by the answering clack of his shoes. She paused at the counter and reached into the cabinet, withdrawing two delicate gold-rimmed wineglasses.

When she pivoted, he was there. So very much there. Her gaze went straight to the warm, golden skin exposed by the open buttons on his shirt. A simple triangle, nothing more, but it hinted at the ridges and planes that lay below.

And stirred a whole other appetite within her.

Who needed Twinkies with something like that in her kitchen?

"Corkscrew?"

"Please," she murmured.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, you meant the wine."

"That's usually what that tool is used for, yes."

Maria pivoted on her heel and flung open a kitchen drawer, rummaging in it for the wine opener. For a second, she couldn't even remember what it looked like.

This was never going to work. Never had she been so discombobulated by a man.

"Isn't this what you want?" Dante reached past her and pulled the wine opener out of the drawer.

"Oh, yeah. I just, ah, have something in my eye"— blink, blink—"and missed it."

"Uh-huh." He smirked as he inserted the corkscrew into the top of the bottle, screwed it down and popped off the top. The wine let out a soft pop when the cork was released and the scent of Chianti filled the air between them.

With an easy, practiced hand, Dante reached for a glass and poured, twisting the bottle at the end before tipping it upright, never spilling a drop. "For you," he said, handing her a glass.

When she took the goblet, their fingers brushed and the simmering tension between them perked into a steady boil. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

The way he said it made her think of pleasures far beyond the wine. Oh, this was wrong. In too many ways to name.

He poured his own glass, then raised it to hers. "To a taste of something delicious."

Their glasses clinked. He smiled and sipped. "And I'm talking about the alcohol. Of course."

She took a sip. The wine was divine.

But damned if his smile wasn't better.

Not to mention the scent of him. Every Italian delicacy under the sun seemed to emanate from his skin, his clothes, his hair. He was like a buffet waiting to be sampled. A nibble here, a nibble there, and before she knew it...

She should get rid of him. Just as she had the Hostess snack foods. Any dieter knew the first cardinal rule: eliminate the temptation. Otherwise, her willpower didn't stand a chance.

Hell, she'd already lost that battle. The minute Dante's lips had met hers, Maria's willpower had deserted her for a vacation in the Bahamas. For a moment there, he'd had her thinking commitment—maybe even marriage—wouldn't be such a bad idea if it meant being with a man like him every day.

That he was a man who could be trusted. Who'd stay true to the words that came out of his mouth and not undermine them behind her back.

Crazy thoughts. She'd been down that road once before with a man who had pled a damned good case, then perjured himself at the same place setting where she'd served him gnocchi.

She reached forward, setting her wineglass on the counter. "Listen, about what happened earlier..." she began.

"Don't tell me you're already regretting that kiss?" His voice was deep and teasing.

"Well... yes."

"Why?"

She sighed. "Because you're the kind of man my mother likes. Not the kind I like."

He seemed surprised. "Just because I ate her soup?"

"No. Because you're responsible. And nice. And mature. And Italian."

He shook his head. "And that makes me a bad man... why?"

"Because you're the kind of guy a woman falls in love with. She gets all wrapped up in him. Her every thought centers around what he's doing. Where he is. Who he's with."

"Yeah? So?"

"And then it turns out to be a big, fat, one-sided lie."

"Whoa!" He put a hand up. "Am I sensing some leftover baggage you're dumping off at Dante National Airport?"

"It's not baggage. It's reality." She leaned forward, into his space, connecting her gaze with his, telling him in no uncertain words she was looking for truth. "Do you want to get married right now?"

"Are you asking me? Or just talking hypothetically?"

"I don't have a white gown in my closet. Nor do I have any kind of urge to hitch myself to someone who's going to tell me when to be home and how much to spend at the Stop & Shop. So, no, I'm not asking. It's entirely hypothetical."

His gaze traveled up and down her frame. A flush ran through her body that had nothing to do with the alcohol. "You'd look good in white."

"That's not what we're talking about."

"Why not? That could be my new favorite subject. Maybe even make it a category on
Jeopardy
. Ways to Describe Maria Dressed
and
Naked."

"I bet you'd knock yourself out on the video clues."

Once again, his gaze slid over every inch of her like a heated visual caress. Damn. It had suddenly become August in her apartment. "I might need CPR from Alex Trebek," he said.

"Now that would be something I'd watch."

"Gee, glad to know my getting mouth-to-mouth from a game show host would interest you." He leaned toward her. "A guy's gotta take some pretty desperate measures to get your attention, I take it?"

"No. Not at all. He just has to be the opposite of Mamma's Dream Date."

"Well, for your information, I don't want to get married this minute."

"Well, good."

"But I do someday," he said, moving closer, his words soft, as if he were sharing a secret. "I want a house and a bunch of kids and a wife who smiles when I walk through the door."

"One of those traditional lives, huh?"

"What's wrong with that?"

She looked away. "Everything."

A woman lost her identity, her self in that kind of life. She'd seen it in generation after generation of Pagliano women. That particular buck stopped here. With her.

"You seem scared of marriage, which surprises me," he said.

"Surprises you?"

"You stood up to George Whitman and his lawyer. Not many men would do that, never mind women. And yet, the mere mention of a little gold ring has you running for the Berkshires."

She took a sip from her glass. "I'm not scared of anything."

His gaze sought hers, probing. "Now who's bullshitting who?"

She drank again, giving him a noncommittal shrug.

Dante smiled and drank from his own glass, then turned a slow circle around her apartment. She could see he knew he was right but wasn't going to rub it in.

"Hey, what's that?" He crossed past her and into the living room.

She pivoted, following his line of sight. "A chess set. Gathering dust."

"Do you play?"

"I play all kinds of games."

He turned, smiled at her. Something went liquid in her gut. "I bet you do."

She grabbed up the wine and took a gulp.

"So you do play chess?" he asked again.

"I used to."

"And why not anymore?"

She laughed. "The men I date don't come over to play games involving my brains."

Dante considered her for a long, heated second that seemed to last forever. "They don't know what they're missing."

"They don't care is more like it." She gestured to her breasts. "Most men never see past these. I could have a bobblehead for all they know."

"Well, I—"

She put up a hand, cutting off the sentence before he could finish. "Oh, no. Don't even try it. When we met, your eyes couldn't have been more glued to my chest if you'd slapped them on there yourself with some Elmer's."

"You're a voluptuous woman. You can't blame a man for looking."

"Oh,
please
. I have two large pieces of my anatomy that serve very little purpose in life except to drive men crazy. That's not attractive. That's a generosity of skin. And men stop right here." She pressed on her chest.

Dante's gaze stayed with hers. "Then you're dating the wrong kind of man."

"Well, I guess that leaves only gay men in my dating pool."

"No, I think you just need to pull from the deep end." He crossed to her, took her glass from her hand, then took her other hand and led her to the chess table. "Have a seat."

She arched a brow at him. "You want to play
chess
with me?"

"I do, indeed." He pulled out her chair at the small gateleg table against the living room wall.

"Being all chivalrous now, are you?"

"I figure I might as well be nice before I whup you on your own chess board." He watched her sit and marveled again at how different Maria was from anyone he knew. A woman who was smart, sexy
and
played chess? Dante had definitely died and gone to Man Heaven. He took the seat opposite her and ran a hand along the crackled surface of the table. "Nice piece of wood."

"Thanks. I salvaged it myself last year. Had a hell of a time getting the old finish off but I think it looks a lot better now than it did painted pink with flowers."

"You did this?" She could use power tools, too? This wasn't just heaven, it was Utopia in female form. He fingered the edge again. "Great job."

"Thanks." Maria opened the drawer on her side of the table and pulled out the chess pieces. "It was part of a... refinishing frenzy I had for a while."

"Had?"

"Yeah."

"What happened? You run out of furniture?"

"No. Another woman imprinted her ass on my dining room table."

"Oh." He considered that piece of information for a moment. "That would do it."

"Yeah." She brought out the last of the pieces. "Black or white?"

"Black. For the bad guy. I can't have you keeping me on a pedestal forever." He grinned.

"I don't have you on a pedestal."

He reached over and started taking his pieces and placing them on the corresponding squares on the board. "Oh, yes, you do. You think I'm some kind of choirboy destined to become every mamma's dream son-in-law."

"Not every mamma's." She set her bishops in place. "Just mine."

"A match made in heaven," he said.

"Or hell. Since your name does mean 'devil' in Italian."

He smirked. "Think of me as a study in contrasts."

"If I think of you at all," she said blithely, sliding a pawn forward. "Your move."

He took a sip of wine, considering the board.

"It's just a pawn," she said. "Not a lifetime commitment."

Dante met her gaze. "What if we raised the stakes a little?"

"Meaning?"

"Loser gives the winner a massage."

She cocked her head. "Uh-huh. Typical male thinking. And of what body part?"

He grinned. "I'll be fair. Make it loser's choice."

She wagged a finger at him. "You'd probably lose on purpose."

"I never lose on purpose. My male pride couldn't take the hit."

Maria sipped at her wine and met his teasing gaze. "Nope. This is my apartment. My chess board. Thus, my rules." She gestured toward him with her goblet. "You lose, I choose the part of my body you massage. I lose and I
still
choose the part of your body to massage."