An Offer He Can't Refuse (18 page)

But she wasn't going to think about it. Her focus now was Johnny and how she was going to get out of tonight's date. Common cold? Cold sore? How about just common old cold feet?

"They told me about your grandfather's impending retirement."

At her mother's quiet words, Téa did the whole wild wobble and wiggle as her world once again went sideways. She stumbled away from the discs and looked over at her mother, surprised. "They told you about Cosimo?"

"And the party. And the promise they made to him about you."

Téa backed up until her shoulder blades hit the cold surface of the mirror. Silver Crewcut, on the other side of the room, was watching her. When he saw she'd noticed, he glanced away, as if he felt a sudden fascination for the golden-flowered hibiscus hedge lining the nearby window.

"I don't want to go to the party, Mom." Téa sounded twelve years old, so she cleared her throat and tried a second time. "I'm
not
going to the party."

Her mother waved her left hand. She'd once worn an extravagant wedding set, with a three-carat marquis-cut center diamond, fit for the queen who raised Salvatore's three princesses. When the FBI had confiscated all the cash that was found in the house, she'd sold the ring to pay for their tuition at Our Lady of Poverty, the exclusive and expensive school they'd attended. "It's not the party I want to talk to you about."

Téa pressed closer to the glass behind her, telling herself it was its cold that caused the shiver rippling down her back. Her mother wasn't going to bring up the past, was she? She never discussed the Carusos or her marriage, and Téa figured it was because it was impossible to explain how she'd ended up with a man who was, at best, a philandering criminal.

Téa already knew that love defied explanation.

"We don't need to talk about anything," she said quickly

"You won't remember how it was before," her mother went on despite Téa's protest. "How it was sixteen years ago."

"I remember."

Her mother briefly closed her eyes. "Then I wish you didn't."

Téa remembered everything about that time. Long days and nights without word from her father. Visits from her father's "friends," who wanted to know where Sal might have kept his ledger—the "Loanshark book"—that was actually a handwritten record of all his business activities. Then there were the government-issue cars with the unusual antennas parked near the house twenty-four hours a day. The men sitting inside them, drinking coffee or eating sandwiches, their eyes following Téa, her mother, and sisters as they moved about their own neighborhood.

And that final, frightening and destructive search of the house by the FBI. "I remember exactly how it was."

Bianca took in a deliberate breath. "Still, I want to warn you,
cara
."

More shivers raced down Téa's back. "Can we talk about this another time, Mom?" Another century, when they were both old and gray and the memories and the fears had finally faded away. "I have to get to work and then I have this big… uh, thing tonight." She'd walk across hot coals, or even date Johnny Magee to avoid the direction this conversation was taking.

Her mother drew closer and brushed her palm over Téa's hair, the soothing gesture in contrast to her scary next words. "Men will be coming into town."

"Men?" It was hard to swallow the dry lump in her throat. "What kind of men?"

"You know the kind I mean. They'll be coming here soon, and over the next few months, to curry favor with your grandfather, to cement old alliances, to create new ones. They'll be searching for vulnerabilities in the family and looking for ways to take power."

Will they be looking for the book again?
Téa pictured its soft, glossy cover and could almost smell the faint scent of the apricot rose pressed between its pages. The book's secrets were sixteen years old, but she doubted their ugliness had diminished. If it came to light, those who had borrowed money, gambled illegally, or had been blackmailed for their peccadilloes would still be embarrassed or exposed.

And others would be implicated.

Her mother brushed her hand over Téa's hair again. "Watch your back,
cam"
she whispered.

The glass behind Téa had been warmed by her body heat, so there was no reason to shudder. But she did anyway, and again, when she found the gaze of Silver Crewcut was trained their way once more.

"What about
him
, Mom?" she said, her eyes flickering over her mother's shoulder. Was it happening already? Was this one of the men her mother was warning her about?

That non-Botoxed frown appeared again between Bianca's eyebrows. "Him? You mean the man who checked in last night?"

"He's staring at us."

Her mother shook her head, smiling a little. "He's a construction manager from Colorado Springs. We don't need to see snakes under
every
rock."

But Téa would feel them around her now, she just knew it, in every dark car that slid around her street corner, in every dark Italian eye that looked her way, in the dark shadows of her very own bedroom.

The opportunity to get out of her house tonight suddenly seemed like manna from heaven.

"The spa has a tennis racket I can borrow, right?" she asked.

Her mother nodded. "Of course."

"And some tennis-y type outfit in the boutique?"

Another nod.

"Not to mention my usual deep discount?"

Her mother laughed and Téa liked the sound of it. Not that she felt like joining in. But at least she was giving herself something else to think about beyond the Caruso problem tonight.

Johnny.

Funny, how in the space of one short conversation, he'd become the least dangerous man in her life.

"The Tender Trap"

Frank Sinatra

This is Sinatra
! (1956)

At Johnny's knock on her door, Téa swiped up her purse
and the borrowed tennis racket. Then, in the same movement, she opened the door and tried walking past him, already on the way to his car. She was that eager to get out of her house.

"Wait, wait, wait." Johnny caught her by the shoulders and pushed her gently back inside. "I made a mistake about the time. We're not in a rush, actually we're a little early."

The door closing behind him did nothing to calm her jumpy nerves. Tomorrow she'd be better, but today her mother's warning had lurked in her mind. All morning and afternoon she'd imagined villains staked at her corner or stalking past her windows. "I don't mind being early," she said.

He smiled. "You might want to be dressed."

She glanced down at herself—at herself in her enveloping mauve chenille bathrobe—and flushed. It wasn't that she wasn't already dressed for tennis, but the teeny tiny outfit she'd brought home from the spa's boutique might as well have been constructed of wet tissue paper then molded to her skin. The first puff of breeze and the skirt would flutter up to reveal built in "shorts" that hit her legs at hot-pants level. She'd slapped her bathrobe over the getup before too many glimpses of her nothing-left-to-the-imagination figure in the bedroom mirror sent her into hiding forever.

Gripping the nubby lapels, she looked over at Johnny, who appeared manly yet adequately covered in knee-length navy athletic shorts and a white tennis shirt. "Why do men get to wear clothes that are comfortable and loose-fitting?" she demanded. "How would you like to live a life in Lycra?"

One corner of his mouth kicked up again and he flicked a long finger against her nose. "I never win these arguments. So I'M save us both time and apologize right away for everything from Barbie dolls to
Playboy
centerfolds."

"Big apology. They're the same thing."

He laughed, and his finger stroked down her cheek this time. "What's the big Lycra phobia anyway? You afraid to let me see your body, Téa?"

Of course she was afraid to let him see her body, she thought, as tingles skittered down her skin from where he'd touched her.
I'm the fat sister
. The one who battled every calorie from making camp on her hips, her butt, her breasts.

He moved closer, bringing the walls of the room #with him.

She tried stepping back, but he'd hooked his forefinger around the thick belt at her waist. At her next inhale, she drew in Johnny's scent, tangy and clean. And then just like that, like a wave, like a whiplash, once again heat whooshed over her body. Desire.

Her heart was tripping all over itself as she tried thinking her way over, through, out of the intensity of it. But her thoughts were as scattered as her breath. She didn't want this! She didn't want this sudden yearning that had to be oozing out of her pores, like steam rising from boiling water.

Because it would control her, and not the other way around.

"Such a coward," he scolded softly, "and still into all that useless self-denial." His head drew closer.

In slow motion, Téa watched his mouth descend toward hers as her body pulsed at her breasts and between her legs. For Johnny, all for Johnny. God, he was beautiful, she thought, the lack of air in the room putting her into a stupid daze. Ail-American blue eyes and golden hair and tanned skin. The All-American boy most likely to succeed all grown up.

Her fingers uncurled from their place on the robe's lapels and dropped, brushing against hard abs beneath his shirt. He flinched, stilled, then moved in.

Open your lips, Contessa. Let me have you.

His voice inside her head broke through her breathless dizziness and sent a cold bucket of self-preservation over her trembling skin. She jerked back, and Johnny's fingers loosened the tie of her robe. As it slid off, she made a run for the door wearing only the lime-colored V-necked shell and matching tennis skort. "We better go."

A long wolf whistle followed her out her front door.

Johnny didn't.

Taking a deep breath, she turned on the walkway to face him. He was standing in the doorway, staring at her. Tingles ran down her arms and up her legs and she felt the back of her neck go hot beneath the thick braid of her hair.

It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. She wasn't in the market for a man. And she didn't have any practice in dealing with this out-of-control, wild…
thing
for one she barely knew.