The Devil Served Desire (3 page)

Shape into the sexy curves of a belly button with your pinkie, pressing the ends together very well—don't want this to come undone; much better for
her
to do that when she eats this delight

Allow tortellini to rest on a floured tea towel for at least an hour while you cook up something else with the pretty lady at your table. Later, boil in salted water, being careful not to crowd the tortellini.

Serve with a meat sauce and a good red wine. Cap the meal with a kiss and a promise of more dessert to come.

As soon as Maria entered Vita, she knew she'd broken the first cardinal rule of dieting—never, ever surround yourself with the very temptation that had contributed to the problem in the first place. If Dante hadn't been holding her hand, she'd have turned and run away, as far as her high heels could take her.

The aromas of the restaurant ganged up on her, teasing and tempting like a hundred dancing virgins in front of a sultan. Garlic bread, fresh Parmesan, simmering pasta sauce, sweet ricotta. Her stomach, which had settled into quiet complacency, roared to life, screaming
gimme, gimme, gimme
.

A portly man with a friendly face came around the mahogany lectern in the reception area, his hands extended in greeting. "Welcome to La Vita Deliziosa, the Delicious Life." The words rolled off his tongue with all the romantic beauty of her mother tongue.

She'd seen the restaurant a hundred times. The North End was, after all, a small place, but she'd never been inside. Clearly, she'd missed a stop on her culinary journey through life.

"Maria Pagliano, meet Franco Vaccaro, our maître d and"—Dante smiled—"the one person who keeps me from getting into too much trouble."

"Ah, you not so much trouble," Franco said. "He has a temper, this one, and a head like a mule. But with a
bella donna
like you, he behave." Franco clapped Dante on the shoulder.

"Hush, Franco. You'll scare her away."

"Maybe, a good idea." Franco wagged a finger at him. "I know you when you were this high"—he raised his hand three feet off the ground. "Trouble, but with a smile that could charm the fishes out of the sea." Franco shook his head. "Even my Isabella, God rest her soul, she called him an angel."

"That's because I am one."

Franco's laughter was hearty and rich. "Ah, a devil more like. No, no angel here." Franco leaned closer to Maria and lowered his voice to a whisper. "He's a good boy, though. Like my own son. He treat you right."

"Whoa!" Dante put up a hand. "Don't start your matchmaking again." Franco gave an innocent, who-me? shrug. Dante turned to Maria. "Franco won't be happy until he sees me married and saddled with a dozen kids."

"He should meet my mother," Maria said. "She'd help fit you for the bridle."

"Marriage, it's not so bad," Franco said. "Good for the head and the heart. You should—"

Dante shook his head. "All I want is to get this pretty lady a meal."

Franco smacked his forehead. "Ah,
mio Dio
, I forget myself. I see a beautiful woman, my mind, it is a hole." He cleared his throat then spoke again, his voice now as formal as his pose. "Your coat
signora?
"

"Allow me," Dante said. Before she could move, his nimble fingers were at her nape, sliding the camel cashmere off her shoulders, down her arms and over her hands, smooth as a waterfall.

He lingered behind her, his aftershave teasing at her senses. If she backed up one step, she'd be pressed to his pelvis.

Now another part of her started shouting
gimme, gimme, gimme.

Franco took her coat from Dante's hands and the two men stepped over to the coat rack, talking quietly. She heard the name Vinny mentioned, but the conversation didn't interest her anywhere near as much as Dante's rear profile.

He was wearing black jeans, and they fit him like the peel on a banana. Definitely a Grade-A rump. Maybe even A-plus, if there was such a thing.

God, when was the last time she'd had sex? She had to think for a minute, which told her it had already been too long.

January twenty-third. With Harvey Waite, the exterminator from Stoughton who her mother had introduced her to at Cousin Rosina's wedding reception. Foreplay had started at eleven p.m. and Harvey had finished at eleven-ten, leaving Maria still waiting at the starting line.

Needless to say, she had not gone out with Hog-the-Orgasm Harvey again. Since then, she'd had a two-month—well, she didn't want to call it a dry spell—just a period of no acceptable men on the planet.

This had caused her mother no end of worry and muttered impromptu prayers for the Lord to please give her daughter enough sense to settle down with a good Italian boy. After all, Maria was twenty-eight, and in her mother's mind, a hair's breadth away from her eggs drying up and her body falling all to hell, leaving her a lonely old maid who would never produce a grandchild to smother.

Maria wasn't looking for marriage right now—hell, she had trouble sticking to a diet, never mind a relationship. But lately, she'd had this constant, aching need she couldn't identify, making her wonder if there was something missing in her life.

Yeah, a good-looking man who didn't have sex by a stopwatch.

There
was
Antonio, who'd made it clear he wanted to resurrect the past when he saw her again—and Lord, if she were lucky, he'd start with a repeat performance of prom night. But he lived in California and she wouldn't see him until the class reunion in May. Good thing, too, because she fully intended to diet down to someone resembling the cheerleader he remembered. The way he'd said "pom-poms" on the phone had left her weak in the knees.

Clearly, two months without sex was one month and twenty-nine days too long.

Then, there was Dante. She'd seen the way he'd looked at her chest, like a barracuda spying a beefy scuba diver. He was definitely interested. He'd even offered to feed her, and in Maria's book, that practically equaled a marriage proposal.

Dante was a few inches taller than she, and walked with a confidence that said he was a man used to being in command. He had broad, powerful shoulders, tapering down to a lean waist, and powerful legs that flexed beneath the denim. The washboard of his stomach stretched at his T-shirt, and the bulge of his arms said he could lift a woman with ease.

And have a hell of a lot more duration than Harvey, who'd complained about his biceps cramping up halfway through.

Dante finished his conversation with Franco and returned, taking her by the elbow and leading her gently toward a table.

Antonio was hundreds of miles and two more, very long months away.

Dante, however, was right here. Right now.

Maria Pagliano was not a patient woman. She wanted a dress, she charged it. She wanted to eat, she grabbed the nearest available nourishment. She wanted a man, she told him. And Dante Del Rosso was definitely a want-able man.

He stopped and turned to face her. Dark hair, dark eyes, slightly olive skin, punctuated by a grin that seemed to tease and flatter her, all at once.

She swallowed when he came closer, resisting the urge to throw him on the floor and demand he end her nine-week celibacy.

"Hungry?" he asked in a voice that to Maria didn't mean salad.

"Starved." Her heart began to race. Franco had faded into the background. The restaurant was deserted, not even so much as a waiter to interrupt them. Around her, the scents of the food acted like an aphrodisiac, giving her a heady rush that propelled her toward him another step.

"Then I won't keep you waiting."

"Oh," she said, almost on a sigh. "Good." Her lips parted and her breath became ragged.

"Right here is a great spot." He motioned toward the vinyl banquette, handing her a menu.

Damn
. He really
had
meant food.

She slid into the booth and opened the menu, wondering if she was due for her Depo shot again. Her hormones were completely off track, raging through her like an out-of-control train.

She glanced at her watch and realized she hadn't eaten in eight hours. Stomach first, Dante later.

But maybe ... she should replace food with sex. Get a little exercise, keep the calorie count down while burning a few hundred. The idea did have merit.

Plus, that approach didn't come with unnecessary heart involvement, which was how Maria usually liked to handle dating. Get in, get what she wanted, then get out and never, ever get too attached. Ever since David the Gynecologist, she'd realized monogamy and men went together about as well as chocolate and tuna.

Dante had taken the opposite seat and was waiting for her decision, his hands clasped. His eyes were wide and deep, crinkled a bit at the corners, as if he laughed often. She liked that.

A lot.

"What do you recommend?" she asked. "Is the chef good?"

He smiled. "His food will take you on a journey you'll never forget."

She rolled her eyes at the hyperbole, then returned her attention to the menu. "How about the antipasto?"

Dante kissed the tips of his fingers. "Heaven."

Maria folded the menu and slid it to the side. "Then I'll have the antipasto and a Diet Coke." Not quite a low-calorie meal, but she figured the soda helped reduce the damage.

"No wine?"

She shook her head. The only thing Maria did in moderation was drink. Alcohol had a way of rushing straight to her brain, obliterating all common sense, and leading her to do incredibly stupid things, like go to bed with Harvey the Exterminator.

"I'll be right back." Dante left and returned a few minutes later with the most delicious-looking antipasto she had ever seen. Colors and tastes crowded the white plate like an array of butterflies.

Paper-thin prosciutto, creamy white provolone, thick sausage bits, deep red roasted peppers, plump marinated artichokes, mushrooms, pepperoncini, tiny green olives, stuffed cherry peppers and generous wedges of Parmesan. Maria held her fork over the plate, hovering, wondering where best to dive in and give her taste buds a culinary orgasm.

"Unless you want some botulism with your bill, I wouldn't eat anything in this place."

Maria turned and saw a short, white-haired man in a gray suit standing in the doorway, next to a tall, plump man in a darker gray suit. Mutt and Jeff, going to a funeral. Franco stood behind them, gesturing a wild apology to Dante for letting them get past him.

Dante scrambled to his feet and crossed to the men, putting out his hand to the short one. "Mr. Whitman. I didn't expect you to come b—"

"I’m here to slap you with a lawsuit." He waved a hand at his companion. "Meet my lawyer, Jerome F. Finklestein the Third, with the law firm of Finklestein, Finklestein and Jones."

Finklestein didn't clarify if he was the first or second said partner. He just dipped his head in greeting, his face about as cheery as Al Gore at an Ozzy Osbourne concert.

"What you did was negligent, Del Rosso." Whitman pointed a finger at him, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky I didn't get killed."

"Vinny got a little overexcited lighting the flambé at the next table. It was an accident."

"He set my tie on fire."

"I’m very sorry about that."

Maria remembered him mentioning a fire in the restaurant. She hadn't realized he meant one of the
customers
had been ablaze.

"My daughter gave me that tie."

"I’m even more sorry, Mr. Whitman."

"And then, you sprayed me with a fire extinguisher." Whitman shook his head. "A fire extinguisher!"

Dante put his hands up in a what-could-I-do gesture. "Instinct I saw fire, I reacted."

"My suit was ruined, you know," Whitman went on, his lawyer watching from the sidelines as his client did all the haranguing. "It wasn't just any suit, it was a Brooks Brothers."

"I’ll gladly replace—"

"And to top it all off, I didn't get to finish my dinner." He made a sour face. "I don't like having my meals interrupted."

The two men were squaring off like rams in mating season. Maria slipped out of her seat, crossing to the trio. They paused, three pairs of male eyes immediately swiveling to the sole female in the room.

Actually, all they looked at was the scoop of her T-shirt. She could have had a monkey head above her breasts for all they noticed.

"Why not have something else to eat now? I suspect Vinny has gone home," she said.

In the years since she and her two best friends had opened Gift Baskets to Die For, Maria had realized her strength lay in saving the sale when it seemed unsalvageable. Working with two other women meant she could use her brain and be respected for it, instead of having all eyes on the acreage below the neck. Working with women had definite advantages over working with hormone-minded men. For a woman who'd never been taken seriously by a man, it was a damned good thing.

Then why was she helping this man? A stranger?

Dante glanced at her, his chocolate eyes sending a quiver through her stomach, and she knew exactly why she was coming to his rescue. Her brain had never been much for keeping her bed warm at night. But it did readily provide a few ideas for how Dante could return the favor. Her dry spell was about to end.
Oh, yeah
.

I’ll worry about meeting a guy on an intellectual level after I've had an orgasm.

The men stared at her, mute, so she went on. "Try the sausage and cheese tortellini. It's"—she kissed her fingers as Dante had done earlier—"heaven on a plate."

"He'd probably poison me." Whitman glared at Dante.

"Nah," Maria scoffed. "How can you go wrong with tortellini? And oh, with that seasoned sausage and the mortadella. Ooh." She pressed a hand to her chest, drawing in a deep breath, as if inhaling the image. Six eyes watched her palm go up, down, up, down. Just as she'd expected. "Oh so tender and cooked perfectly, then served with that meat sauce and sprinkled with just the right amount of Parmigiano Reggiano." She knew she was lying, because she'd never tasted anything here, not even her antipasto, yet, but figured if the aromas were any indication, then everything in Vita was a mandible masterpiece.