Italian Stallions (14 page)

To the real Vinnie,
a constant source of inspiration

“S
crew you, Vince!”

Theresa Bellessi barely registered the words before the impact of another body slammed into her back. As she stumbled she made a desperate scramble for the glasses on her tray but it was a lost cause. The martini, the cosmo, and the glass of Sangiovese all went flying as the heel of her shoe twisted and she fell backward into a chair.

A chair already occupied by a Ciao Bella patron.

A very large, very muscular Ciao Bella patron.

The breath whooshed out of his chest, accompanied by a soft curse as Theresa slammed into him. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry,” Theresa said as she tried to find her feet. But with her legs in an undignified sprawl and the tiled floor slick with alcohol, that was easier said than done.

Big hands closed around her hips as he tried to help her off his lap, and she was aware of thickly muscled legs moving under her own. She managed to shift her weight forward enough for her feet to reach the floor, only to have it skid through a puddle of God knows what as she tried to stand. She fell back in the same moment the customer tried to catch her, his big hand closing firmly over one of her breasts.

His fingers closed reflexively around it for a second. Then as he realized exactly where his hand was, he jerked it away and stood up. “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice deep with a noticeable east coast accent. He grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling.

She could feel the heat of his big hands through the cotton of her white button front blouse as he held her shoulders and turned her to face him. She groaned as she got an up-close look at the carnage she and her tray of drinks had wrought. Red wine plastered the fabric of what looked like a hellaciously expensive shirt to his mile-wide, muscular chest. Under different circumstances, she would have very much enjoyed the way the wet shirt clung.

But right now all she could see was a big, fat bill for a dry cleaner, or worse, a new shirt for the unfortunate customer. “I’m so sorry, sir,” she said, heat searing her face as she sensed all the attention in the restaurant’s crowded bar focusing on her. Great. Less than a week into her job as a cocktail waitress at Ciao Bella, her cousin Gia’s restaurant, and Theresa was already making an impression. Unfortunately, not the kind she had hoped for.

“If you write down your name and address, I’ll reimburse you for the dry cleaning, and of course your drinks and food are complimentary.”

“It was an accident,” he said, chuckling softly. “Besides, I think you got the worst of it.”

Theresa glanced down at herself, and saw immediately what he was talking about. While the Sangiovese had hit him square in the chest, she’d received the brunt of both the cosmo and the martini. The front of her shirt was soaked and tinged pink. And since she was wearing white, she was giving the entire bar a nice peek at her lingerie.

She gave a small prayer of thanks that she’d decided to go with the bra with the fully lined cups.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. She grabbed the towel tucked into her apron and went to work trying to soak up some of the red stain. “I should have been watching—”

“What, you’re gonna grow eyes in the back of your head? She knocked right into you.” He grabbed her hand to still her frantic attempts to clean.

She looked up—way up—damn, the man had to be at least six-four—and finally got a good look at his face. He was gorgeous, but there was nothing pretty about him. The word that popped into her mind out of nowhere was chiseled. His chin was square and blunt, as if it had been carved from stone. His cheekbones were like sharp blades pushing through his tanned skin, and his long Roman nose spoke of his proud Mediterranean heritage. His hair waved off his forehead, thick and dark, maybe a shade lighter than her own. His espresso-colored eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, and were framed by outrageously long lashes, the only remotely feminine spot on an otherwise very masculine face.

He might have looked mean if his lips hadn’t been quirked in an apologetic smile. “Really, don’t worry about the drinks. Besides, it’s my fault, if you want to know the truth. I’m Vince—the guy she was yelling at,” he said.

Theresa finally unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Oh. Well, I should have worn different shoes,” she said and gestured down to the black Mary Jane pumps on her feet. Unlike the ridiculous platform stilettos she’d been forced to wear at her previous job, these shoes were both cute and comfy, but obviously lacked the proper traction for working in a restaurant with tile floors.

“Yeah, well, the reason she stormed out in the first place is because she’s pissed at me,” he said. “That’ll teach me to laugh in a woman’s face when she tells me she wants to marry me.” He looked over her shoulder and sighed. “I better go and do damage control.”

Theresa turned and looked out the window that faced the busy street. A tall, meticulously groomed blonde stood with arms folded across her chest glaring at them both.

The customer pulled his wallet out of his pocket and fished out a bill. When he went to toss it on the table, Theresa grabbed his wrist. “Absolutely not,” she said, ignoring the shock of heat that went up her arm as her fingers brushed the warm skin of his arm.

“Come on,” Vince said. “She knocked you over, I grabbed your—” His cheeks flushed dark as he gestured vaguely at her chest.

“I know you didn’t do that on purpose,” she said. And compared to what she’d had to put up with working at Slap Jack’s, a minor boob graze was hardly worth mentioning. He tried to hand her the money again, but she shoved it away. As much as she couldn’t afford to take care of his bill out of her own pocket, she couldn’t accept his money, especially when he was being so nice about everything.

His mouth tightened as though her reply didn’t sit well with him.

“Vince, I think Cameron—” Theresa’s cousin Gia appeared at her side. “Whoa, what happened here?” Theresa’s stomach knotted.

“I spilled my tray. All over him. It was totally my fault,” Theresa said before Vince could get a word in edgewise. “Don’t worry, I already comped him and offered to reimburse him for dry cleaning.”

Gia nodded approvingly and some of the tension uncoiled in Theresa’s midsection. Not that she expected Gia to go ballistic, but Gia had already gone out of her way to help her, and Theresa wanted to prove that she wasn’t the irresponsible fuckup that the rest of the family thought her to be.

“Very sorry about that. As I was saying, Cameron asked me to come find you.”

Vince shook his dark head and muttered something under his breath. “Guess I better get out there,” he said, giving them both with a rueful smile.

“Why bother?” Gia said in a voice that only Theresa could hear. She looked at Theresa and did a double take. “Whoa. Now if this were Hooters, that look would work really well for you, but right now, I suggest you change before going back to work.”

Theresa nodded and left. She grabbed an extra shirt from her locker and changed in the bathroom, wincing as she looked in the mirror. Though petite, she was, in a word, busty. Which meant that in order for a requisite white button front Ciao Bella blouse to fit, it had to be a size too big. Its boxy, unisex cut was already unflattering, and made Theresa’s small but curvy figure disappear into a shapeless blob.

I should be grateful,
she reminded herself,
that this place has a uniform that consists of more than pasties and a g-string.
Yes, she was grateful that she no longer had to dance in a cage or serve drinks in the near nude to generate enough income to pay the rent and cover a seemingly unending list of emergencies. Yet a vain, totally ridiculous part of her hated that her insanely gorgeous male customer had looked at her and seen a short, shapeless lump.

Although judging from his tall, sleek, model-perfect girlfriend, he wouldn’t have looked twice at Theresa regardless of what she’d been wearing.

Theresa hurried back to the bar as quickly as the Friday night crowd would allow. Even with the bar this hopping, she had some work to do if she wanted to make up for having to cover Vince’s tab and still make a nice cut. She was about to check on a big group to see if they wanted another round when Gia caught her by the arm.

“You must have made an impression,” Gia said with a sly smile. Vince left this for you.”

Theresa gasped when she saw the hundred dollar bill in her cousin’s hand. “I can’t take that.”

“He insisted,” Gia said.

“But I wasn’t even his server.” Vince and his date had been seated in a section of the bar covered by Tanya, a short-haired brunette in her late twenties. “You need to give that to Tanya.”

“He took care of her too, but he insisted I give you this.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s a really good guy. You’ll see what I mean, he comes in several times a week.”

Theresa reluctantly accepted the bill but couldn’t suppress the uneasiness that had settled into her spine. In her experience, a man didn’t throw around hundred dollar bills unless he wanted something in return.

She looked outside. Vince was still out there, having a heated discussion with the blonde. His face was pulled in tight lines and the way he raked his hands through his hair screamed of frustration. He reached out to take the woman’s arm but she jerked away, and thumped her fist in the middle of his chest. It wasn’t quite a blow, but it certainly wasn’t a caress. Theresa’s throat got tight as she waited for his reaction. Theresa remembered the last time she got physical with her ex that way. Her wrist still throbbed when it rained, a physical memento of his response.

She shook her head, reminding herself that not every man was like Mark. But that thought didn’t make Vince any less intimidating. He was huge—not just tall but really muscular. Big enough to break the slim blonde in half if he wanted to. But all Vince did was calmly hold his hands up and say something to make the woman back off.

He reached for the woman’s arm again, and this time she didn’t resist. As he turned to guide her down the block, Vince glanced into the restaurant and caught Theresa watching. He gave her a quick, two-fingered wave and smiled.

Even as her entire body went warm, warning bells went off in her head and the hundred seemed to burn a hole in her front pocket. No way he could be that nice, that gorgeous, that perfect. When someone seemed too good to be true, it was because he was. She turned away without returning his smile.

Vince Mattera cracked open another beer and sank into the overstuffed cushions of his leather couch. Custom built to accommodate his size, the piece of furniture dominated the media room of his recently purchased house in San Francisco’s posh Nob Hill neighborhood.
Nice fuckin’ Friday night,
he thought as he aimlessly channel-surfed through the eight hundred satellite channels. Christ, after the week he’d had, all he’d wanted was a stiff drink, a good meal at his favorite restaurant, and an energetic fuck to take the edge off.

Instead he’d had his drink and his meal cut short by his freshly ex-girlfriend. At eleven o’clock, when he should have been recovering from his orgasm and gearing up for round two, his only companion was snoring and drooling next to him on the couch.

“Stupid Chester,” he said and reached out to absently scratch the dog’s ears. “Should have dumped her when she brought you home.” That had been nearly two weeks ago, and Cameron had oh-so-casually mentioned that Chester, a nine-month-old purebred golden retriever who was as cute as he was obnoxious, would be the perfect “practice baby” for them.

Vince had oh-so-casually ignored that comment and asked her why Chester couldn’t live at her apartment.

“Because you’re the one with the yard, such a luxury in this part of the city.” And in the time since Chester had moved in, he’d managed to dig up and crap on every square inch of his garden. Fifty thousand dollars worth of landscaping down the drain. Not to mention the two handwoven Persian carpets he’d crapped on and the huge sofa he’d disemboweled.

He needed to do something about the damn dog.

As though sensing his master’s uncharitable thoughts, Chester opened one eye and raised a brow.

“I don’t have time for this shit,” Vince muttered. And he didn’t have time for an overemotional, increasingly clingy girlfriend who bitched and moaned because he had to travel several times a month and was unable to squire her to whatever society gala she was supposed to attend.

He’d started dating Cameron when he was looking for a house. Somehow she’d managed to talk him out of a reasonably sized if still overpriced Victorian in favor of this six-thousand-square-foot brick home complete with a lavish garden and guest cottage. “So much better for entertaining,” she’d said. “You could have dinner parties out on the terrace, casual get togethers in the kitchen.”

From the beginning, she’d made no bones about her interest, never wasting an opportunity to flirt. At the time, dating her had seemed like a good idea. She was attractive in a sophisticated, well-maintained sort of way. As an added bonus, she had a lot of contacts in the business community, so he figured accompanying her to her many social engagements would be a good way to mix business with pleasure.

However, after only three months, it became clear that Cameron didn’t view their relationship in such detached terms. When she’d talked about all that entertaining, she’d imagined herself as the permanent hostess. Lately she’d been making comments about his house being far too big for one person and how lonely he must be all by himself.

He hadn’t taken the bait. And then Chester had shown up. Still, Vince hadn’t said anything because he hadn’t felt like having what he knew would be a difficult—and for her at least—painful discussion. Call him an asshole, but he had enough going on at work to stress him out. He didn’t need his personal life in the mix.

He fended Cameron off as best he could because frankly, he liked the way things were. Liked having someone to go out with when he was in town. Liked that he didn’t feel obligated to her when he had to work late or travel. And yeah, he was a guy, and he liked getting laid regularly.