Waking Up to You: Overexposed (17 page)

His laughter softened his tanned face, bringing out tiny lines beside his eyes. It also made him utterly irresistible, as several women sitting nearby undoubtedly noticed.

Nick had been incredibly hot as a teenager. Lean and wiry, dark and intense. As a thirty-year-old man he was absolutely drool-worthy. Not that he’d changed a lot—he’d just matured. Where he’d been a sexy guy, he was now a tough, heart-stopping male, big and broad, powerful and intimidating.

She didn’t suspect he’d changed on the inside, though. Once a Santori male, always a Santori male. The men of that family had always been good-hearted.

Honestly, looking back, if Nick had been a jerk about what had happened at the wedding, she might have gotten over her crush a lot sooner and this moment might be a lot simpler. She could tell him to f-off, remind him he’d once laughed at her and added to her humiliation. Only...he hadn’t. Curse the man.

He’d been very sweet, carefully helping her up—once she’d released her thunder-thigh death grip from around his hips. He’d gently wiped powdered sugar and cream off her cheek. He’d helped her pull her dress back down into place without making one crack about her chubby thighs or her panty girdle. He’d pretended she hadn’t practically assaulted him. And he’d helped her back up onto the dance floor and continued their dance. Absolutely the only annoying thing he’d done was to start calling her Cookie.

As her mother often said, he’d been raised right. Just like his brothers. He was every bit a gentleman—a protector—and he’d never given her a sideways glance that hadn’t been merely friendly. In his eyes, she’d always been Gloria’s baby sister—the chubby ballerina who looked like a little stuffed sausage in her pink tutu and tights and he’d treated her with nothing but big-brotherly kindness.

Until now.

Fortunately, though, she wasn’t sweet Izzie the cookie-gobbling machine anymore. He hadn’t seen her for almost a decade...she no longer blushed and stammered when a hot guy teased her. And she no longer even tried to imagine she could have been a ballerina with her less-than-willowy figure.

Once she’d stopped eating pastries and hit brick-shit-house stature at age eighteen, she’d known her future as a dancer would come from another direction than the ballet.

She’d also learned how to handle men.

Now,
she
was in the driver’s seat when it came to seduction. She’d been running the show with men for years. And it was high time to let Nick Santori know it.

“So, when you offered to serve me...what
were
you talking about?” she asked, swiping her tongue across her lips. It was a move she’d perfected in her Rockettes dressing room. Men used to come backstage, trying to pick up the dancers and they all went for the lip-licking. God, males were so predictable. She held her breath, hoping for more from this one.

And she got it.

“I’m talking about me serving you with a line and you tipping me with your number. But since it’s crowded and I’m rusty at that stuff, why don’t you just give me the number?”

Izzie had to laugh. If he’d come back with a smooth line, the laugh would have been at his expense—because she doubted there was one he hadn’t heard. But Nick had been completely honest, which she found incredibly attractive.

She also laughed to hide the nervous thrill she’d gotten when she realized Nick Santori really did want her number. That he really was trying to pick her up.

Her...the girl he’d once complained about having to dance with at a wedding. What were the odds?

“I think I’ve got
your
number.” She’d had it for years.

He didn’t give up. “Use it. Please.”

He meant it. He wasn’t teasing, wasn’t trying to make her blush, wasn’t treating her the way he treated his kid sister, Lottie, who’d been one of her classmates.

Nick Santori was trying to pick her up. Which shouldn’t have been a big deal, but, for some reason, had her heart fluttering around in her chest like a bird trapped in a cage.

“My name’s Nick, by the way.”

No,
duh.
She was about to say that, then she saw the look in his eyes—that serious, intense look. He wasn’t kidding. He wasn’t pretending they were just meeting.

She sagged back against the wall, not sure whether to laugh or punch him in the face.

Because the rotten son of a bitch had no idea who she was.

2

T
HE
WOMAN
HAD
flour in her hair. She smelled like almonds. Her apron was smeared with icing and whipped cream. Food coloring stained the tips of two of her fingers.

And she was utterly delicious.

The hints of flavor wafting off her couldn’t compete with the innate, warm feminine scent of her body, which assaulted Nick’s senses the way no full frontal attack ever had. Though they were in a crowded restaurant, surrounded by customers and members of his own family, hers was the only presence he felt. He’d been drawn to her, captured in an intimate world they’d created the moment their eyes had locked.

“You’re name’s Nick,” she said as if making sure. Her voice was a little hard, her dark eyes narrowing.

Worried she had an ex with the same name, he replied, “I’ll answer to anything you want to call me.”

“Anything?”

He nodded, unable to take his attention from that bit of flour in her hair. He wanted to lift his hand and brush it away. Then sink his fingers in that thick brown hair of hers, tugging it free of its ponytail to fall in a loose curtain around her shoulders. His fingers clenched into fists at his sides with the need to tangle those thick tresses in his hands and tug her face toward his for a brain-zapping kiss.

She had the kind of mouth that begged for kissing. One that promised pleasure. God, it had been a long time since he’d really kissed a woman the way he
liked
to kiss a woman. Slowly. Deeply. With a thorough exploration of every curve and crevice.

Recently, his sex life had been limited by proximity and his active status. He hadn’t had any kind of relationship in years. And the sex he had was usually of the quick, one-night variety, where slow, indulgent kissing wasn’t on the agenda.

He could kiss this woman’s mouth for
hours.

Nick didn’t understand why he was so drawn to her. All he knew was that he was attracted to her in a way he hadn’t been attracted to anyone for a long time. Not just because she was beautiful under the apron and that messy ponytail. But because of the wistful, lonely look she’d worn earlier that said she didn’t quite belong here and she knew it. Just like the one he’d had on his face lately.

“You’re single?” he asked, wanting that confirmed.

She nodded, the movement setting her ponytail swinging. It caught the reflection of a candle on the closest table, the strands glimmering in a veil of browns and golds that made his heart clang against his lungs.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked.

She arched one fine eyebrow. “We haven’t settled on what we’re going to call
you
yet.”

He turned, edging closer to her as a group came into the restaurant. The brunette slid along the wall, farther away from anyone else. Nick followed, irresistibly drawn by her scent and the mystery in her eyes. “I guess you have a Nick in your past?”

“Uh-huh.”

“It didn’t go well?”

“I’d have to say that’s a no.”

“Bad breakup?”

“No. We never even dated.” One side of her mouth tilted up in a half smile. It held no happiness, merely jaded amusement. “He barely even noticed my existence.”

“Then he was an idiot.”

The other side of her mouth came up; this time her genuine amusement shone clearly. “Oh, undoubtedly.”

“He didn’t deserve you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re better off without him.”

“Nobody knows that better than me.” She sounded more amused now, as if her guard was coming down.

“Enough about him,” Nick said. “If you don’t like my first name, call me by my last one. It’s Santori.”

He watched for a flare of surprise, a darting of the eyes to the sign in the window, proclaiming the name of the place.

Strangely, she didn’t react at all. “I think we’ve already determined what I should call you. You said it yourself.”

Puzzled, Nick just waited.

“Idiot,” she said, tapping the tip of her finger on her cheek, as if thinking about it. “Though, honestly, it doesn’t quite capture you now. It might have sufficed years ago, but for today, I think we’ll have to go with...complete shithead.”

Nick’s jaw fell open. But the sexy brunette wasn’t finished. “By the way, that number you wanted? Here it is, you might want to write it down...1-800-nevergonnahappen.”

And without another word, she shoved at his chest, pushing him out of the way, then strode out the door. Leaving Nick standing there, staring after her in complete shock.

“I’d say
that
didn’t go well.” Mark stood right behind him, watching—as was Nick—as the brunette marched off down the street like she’d just kicked somebody’s ass.

Well, she had. Namely his. He just didn’t know
why.

“No kidding.”

“I see you haven’t lost your touch with women.”

“Shut up.” Shaking his head in bemusement, he lifted a hand and rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know how I blew that so badly.”

“But you sure managed to do it.”

Hearing his twin chuckle, Nick glared. “At least I’m not wearing a ring. I can still
try
to pick up a hot stranger.”

Mark just laughed harder. Which made Nick consider punching him. Only, Mama was standing behind the counter, glancing curiously at them as she waited on the customers. If Nick went after his twin, she’d come around and whack them both in the head with a soup ladle.

“Hot stranger...oh, man, you are going to hate yourself when you figure out what you just did.”

His eyes narrowing, Nick waited for his twin to continue.

“You really didn’t recognize her, did you?”

Oh, hell. He should have recognized her? He
knew
her?

“Still not getting it?”

“Tell me how much trouble I’m in,” he muttered, praying he hadn’t just come on to a cousin he hadn’t seen in years. If they were related—and he
couldn’t
have her—that would be a crime worthy of a military tribunal. So he prayed even harder that she’d been some girl he’d known in high school.

“Pretty big trouble.”

He waited, knowing Mark was enjoying watching him sweat.

“She
is
family, you know.”

Damn. All the blood in his body fell to his feet out of embarrassment...and disappointment. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“You shot out of the booth like your ass was on fire.”

Rubbing a hand over his eyes and shaking his head, Nick mumbled, “Who is she? Mama’s side or Pop’s? Please tell me she’s not one of Great Uncle Vincenza’s thirty granddaughters. Otherwise I just might have to re-up and hide from him and his mafia buddies for the next decade.”

Mark’s eyes glittered in amusement. The guy was enjoying this. “Not Great Uncle Vincenza. Think closer.”

Closer. Christ. “There’s no way she’s a first cousin....”

“Not a cousin.”

Oh, thank heaven. “So who?”

“I’ll give you a hint. Did you happen to notice the icing and flour all over her apron?”

Had he ever. He didn’t know if he’d ever smelled anything as good as all that messy, sugary stuff combined with the brunette’s earthy essence. “Yeah. So?”

“You’re not usually this dense.”

“You’re not usually this close to death.”

“Think...the bakery....”

“Natale’s? Gloria’s folks?” And suddenly it hit him. “No.”

“Oh, yes.”

No. Impossible. It was out of the question. “Not Gloria’s baby sister.
Tell
me that wasn’t chubby little Cookie.”

“She ain’t chubby and I think if you called her Cookie to her face she’d slug you.” Mark threw a consoling arm across Nick’s shoulders, his chest shaking with laughter. “To answer your question, yes, my brother, that was Isabella Natale.”

Nick couldn’t speak. He was too stunned, thinking of how she’d changed. It had been at least nine—ten years, perhaps—since he’d seen her. She’d still been in high school and he’d run into her at a Christmas party at Gloria and Tony’s when he was home on leave. She’d still blushed and stammered around him. And she’d still been girlishly round—pretty but with such a baby face he’d never taken her crush on him seriously.

Oh, he knew about the crush.
Everybody
knew about the crush. His brother Tony had threatened to break his legs if he so much as looked at her the wrong way at the wedding.

Huh. He hadn’t looked at her the wrong way. He’d just landed on top of her in a pile of cookies. And had been unable to get up because she’d wrapped her limbs around him like she was drowning and he was a lifeguard trying to save her.

He started to smile. “Izzie.”

“Izzie. Formerly chubby sister of our sister-in-law, turned sexy-as-hell woman, now back in town working at the bakery.”

“Her parents’ bakery up the block?”

“That’s the one.”

“Is she here for good?” he asked, already wondering how things could have turned out this perfectly.

“I don’t know. She’s been home for a couple of months, since Gloria’s father had a stroke. With the new baby, Gloria couldn’t help much, and the middle sister’s a lawyer.”

“So the youngest one came home to take over.” Not surprising. The Natales were much like the Santoris—family meant everything.

It almost seemed too good to be true. He’d finally come across someone who not only made his nerves spark and his jeans grow a size too tight, but who also came with a premade stamp of approval from the neighborhood. She was gorgeous. She was feisty. Her smile nearly stopped his heart. She’d had a crush on him forever—and was obviously still affected by him, judging by the way she’d taken off in a huff.

And she was
not
a faceless stripper behind a mask.

Enough of that.
The Crimson Rose was every other man’s fantasy. At this point in his life, Nick wanted
reality.
He was ready for what his brothers and sister had. And he had just stumbled across a
real
woman who he sensed could both drive him absolutely wild with want and be someone he could truly like.

“I think I’m feeling a need for some fresh cannoli,” he murmured, smiling as he looked out the window at the sky, streaked orange by the setting sun. Izzie was no longer in sight...she obviously wasn’t too desperate for pizza.

Maybe he’d deliver it to her.

“Judging by the way she bolted, you’d better think again.”

Nick shrugged. He wasn’t worried. After all, Izzie had had a thing for him once upon a time...she had practically chased him down. He just needed to remind her of that.

And to let her know he was ready to let her catch him.

* * *

“I
SWEAR
, B
RIDGET
,
you should have seen his expression. It was as if it was the first time in his life a woman has ever turned him down.” Izzie didn’t even look at her cousin as she spoke. She was too busy punching into a huge ball of dough, picturing Nick Santori’s face while she did it.

Though it had been nearly twenty-four hours since she’d run into him, she hadn’t stopped thinking about him. Drat the man for invading her brain again, when she’d managed to forget him over the past several years. Ever since she skipped out of Chicago to follow her dancing dreams, she’d been convincing herself her crush on him had been a silly, girlish thing.

Seeing him had reminded her of the truth: she’d wanted Nick before she’d even understood what it was she wanted. Now that she
knew
what the tingle between her legs and the heaviness in her breasts meant, the want was almost painful.

“Didn’t Nana always say the secret to a flaky crust was not to overwork it?” her cousin said, sounding quietly amused.

Izzie shot her cousin—who sat on the other side of the bakery kitchen—a glare. “You want to do this?”

Bridget, who was pretty and soft-looking, slid a strand of long, light brown hair behind her ear. “You’re the baker. I’m the bookkeeper.” She sipped from her huge coffee mug. “So why did you walk away? You’ve wanted him forever.”

“Maybe. But I don’t want
forever
in general,” she reminded her cousin as she floured the countertop and began to work the dough with a rolling pin. “You know I don’t want
this
for any longer than I’m forced to have it.” She glanced around the kitchen, where she was working alone to finish up the dessert orders for their restaurant clients. Including Santori’s.

Not that she’d be the one delivering their order...no way. Her delivery guy would be in to take on that task shortly.

“I know. You’ll be gone again once Uncle Gus is well enough to come back to work.” Bridget didn’t sound too happy about that, which Izzie understood. Her sweet, gentle-natured cousin was an only child, and she’d practically been adopted by Izzie and her own sisters. They’d been very close growing up.

Izzie missed her, too. But not enough to stay here. As soon as her father recovered, and her mother no longer had to nurse him at home full time, Izzie would be out of here for good. Whether she’d go back to New York and try to reclaim some kind of dancing career she didn’t yet know. But her future did not include a long-term stint as the Flour Girl of Taylor Street.

It also didn’t include becoming the lover of any guy who her parents would see as the perfect reason for Izzie to stick around and pop out babies. Even a lover as tempting as Nick.

“So how’s your life going?” she asked her cousin, wanting the subject changed. “How’s the job?”

Bridget leaned forward, dropping her elbows onto the counter. “I guess I’m not very good. My boss obviously doesn’t trust me, there are some files he won’t even let me look at.”

“Weren’t you hired to keep the books at that place?”

Bridget, who’d gone to work three months ago for a local used-car dealership right here in the neighborhood, nodded. “They’re a mess. But every time I ask him for access to older records, he practically pats me on the head and sends me back to my desk like a good little girl.”

Izzie assumed her cousin meant her boss
figuratively
patted her on the head. Because, though Bridget was in no way a fireball like Izzie and her two sisters—she wasn’t a pushover, either. It might take her a while to get her steam up, but Izzie had seen glimpses of temper in her sweet-as-sugar Irish-Italian cousin. That boss of hers obviously hadn’t gotten to know the
real
Bridget yet. Because she was about the most quietly stubborn person Izzie had ever met...as anyone who’d ever tried to beat her in a game of Monopoly could attest.