An Offer He Can't Refuse (33 page)

"Mad About the Boy"

Jackie Gleason

Lonesome Echo
(1955)

Téa's first reaction: surprise. Second reaction: excitement
. Third reaction: anger at her own inexperience.

All those years wasted on the grandsons and great-nephews left her unprepared for this kind of male-female negotiation. An offer for another early-bird dinner date was easy to field—and to refuse. A request to be a man's "pure pleasure" was something else entirely.

A request to be
this
man's pure pleasure was mind-boggling.

But he didn't seem to think it was as outlandish as she did. God, how thrilling was that? Despite the three reasons that would make her say no—M, O, and B—it was still a flattering proposition.

He ran his forefinger down the side of her hot cheek. "I didn't shock you, did I?"

"Of course not," she scoffed. What an actress she was. "But you mentioned that uh, one dance, so I thought it was all you were interested in."

"I decided to put my money where my mouth is. I told you self-denial was a waste of time and so I stopped trying to deny myself from being with you again."

Oh God, how ultra-thrilling was that? But a man like Johnny wanted more than a puddle at his feet, she felt sure of it, so she held herself together and suppressed her sudden urge to burst into one of Eve and Joey's silly high school cheers. So she couldn't have him. That he wanted her was enough—wasn't it?

He must have taken her silence for hesitation. "I realize running your own business takes a lot of your concentration and energy. But how about spending some… social time with me?"

That "social" sounded more like "sexual" and her face flushed hotter even as everything south of there had its own clench-and-release reaction. She was thankful he couldn't notice, though, because they'd reached the grounds of the swap meet and he was following the hand signals of the parking attendant into a nearby space.

It gave her much needed moments to cool down and think clearly. As he came around to help her out of the car, she opened the passenger door for herself. He looked down at her, his eyebrows raised. "Well?" he asked.

Well, he was her teenage fantasy and the lover who'd blown away her "better without witnesses" rule about sex all rolled into one. She'd be a fool—no, she wouldn't be a woman—to refuse him.

Except she had those three good reasons: Though Johnny knew of her mob background, he didn't fully understand the taint she carried from it. There wasn't going to be any more pure pleasure between Johnny and Téa.

"Well?" he asked again.

She stepped out of the car. "I'm thinking about it," she heard herself say.

Because her mouth rebelled against a flat-out refusal. And because it was exciting to have the upper hand with him for once. For once, to play it cool.

Okay, it might be playing a game, but…

She slid a look at him from under her lashes as they headed for the swap meet entrance. Could she think of this as a game between them? If she did, then she wouldn't get too serious about it. Certainly the blond varsity god walking beside her wasn't interested in anything more than an amusing diversion. That's what he'd
said
he wanted.

What if she could see it as a temporary, amusing diversion too?

Though the temperature was cooler here than in Palm Springs, the sun's rays reflected off the asphalt of the huge parking lot. The atmosphere only got hotter as Johnny managed to appropriate her hand. He was even able to guide her direction of walking once they were past the swap meet's entrance gate.

"Hey, look here," he said, tugging her toward a set of tables filled with sunglasses. "Try these on."

He pushed a pair of oversized hot pink plastic frames onto her face. Humoring him, she peered at herself in the mirror. "I don't think these are me, Johnny. I'm all dark lenses and a mouth."

"And what a mouth it is," he murmured, handing over a five-dollar bill for the glasses even as he leaned in for a kiss. "I like you… in… hot…
hot
… pink," he murmured against her lips.

She supposed she should have protested, or at least found a pair of sunglasses as cheesy to purchase for him, but when he lifted his head and towed her onward, she was too dizzy to make such a decision. Besides, the sleek, expensive pair he wore suited him to perfection.

Damn, she thought. This wasn't going to work as even a temporary amusement. He was way, way out of her league.

Though not that you could tell by some of his shopping selections. Before they'd made it past two of the dozens and dozens of rows, he'd bought a set of miniature wrenches, a leg-sized bag of kettle corn, and a package of athletic socks. He halted again as they came upon a booth of Jamaican products. His hand hovered over a crocheted Rasta cap in black, red, and yellow stripes as he sent her a speculative glance.

"No, no, no, no." She put her hands over her very expensive, very difficult-to-maintain straight hair. "That won't look good with my new sunglasses."

He listened. And bought another in gradated shades of pink that he clapped onto her head without a by-your-leave.

"I thought men didn't like to shop," she grumbled, checking out her bizarre, but slightly rakish reflection in another mirror.

"Do you really mind so much?" he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze. "I want to bring some color into your life, Contessa."

"How do you know that I'm not perfectly happy with my neutral tones?"

"Because you're not some anemic mouse, as much as you seem to be comfortable in the wardrobe of one."

She frowned at him. "1 might take offense at that."

"Don't." He smiled. "I just think you look best in bright, warm colors."

"I'm a designer, Johnny, I'm aware of it." She couldn't let him think she didn't know her business.

His hands busied themselves adjusting her cap. 'Then why the mouse-wear?"

She shrugged, looking away from him. "Maybe because I gave up on competing with Eve a long time ago. It seemed easier to disappear into the woodwork." It was part of the reason. Sort of.

"You don't seem the jealous type."

Because she hid her passions as well as she hid her secrets. She clutched her purse beneath her arm, realizing she hadn't thought about the Loanshark book or the Mafia wolves since climbing into Johnny's Jag. Imagine that. He already
had
diverted her. Grateful, she rose on tiptoe to give him a quick peck on the lower lip. "Thank you."

His arm curled around her waist and held her there. "For what?"

She could feel the thrumming of his heart through both their shirts. Steady but fast, and it made her feel bold and almost beautiful. "For the sunglasses, the hat…"

For this unfamiliar type of confidence taking root inside of her. Téa Caruso with Johnny Magee. She was a good daughter, sister, designer, but it was something new to feel she could be good with a
man
. This kind of man. She broke free. "For that tempting offer I think I really am considering."

He smiled. "Take your time, Contessa. Take your time."

But as if to belie his words, he started up a subtle yet insistent pressure. As they browsed the aisles, he stayed close beside her, always a hand on the back of her neck or on the small of her back, his mouth a whisper away from her ear. Her skin seemed to be lifting toward his touch, nerve endings quivering in anticipation of his next stroke or his next breath.

And trying to play it cool only heightened her sexual tension.

He bought her more things. A glittery tube of lip gloss. A goofy necklace with her name spelled out in fluorescent bead blocks. When he drew her hair to the side to latch it on, he also unfastened the top button of her chambray shirt to loosen the collar. The second button popped free of its own accord, but when she reached up to fasten it, he grabbed her hand.

"Don't," he whispered against her fingers. His lips were warm and soft.

Swallowing hard, she jerked her gaze away from his and glanced down at what the loosened buttons revealed. Nothing even R-rated. Only a hint of cleavage that rose and fell with each of her ragged breaths.

She left it alone, but had to move quickly away before she forgot her cool and begged him to touch her, taste her, have his way with her. She hadn't decided yet that she could risk that again.

But the wanting to didn't get any better when they happened upon a vendor selling candles and bath products. He picked out half a dozen pillars in various heights, lining them up and looking them over with a critical eye. "What do you think?" he asked her.

"What do I think about what?"

"I want candles in my bedroom. How many? What color? Which sizes?"

She stared at him, her imagination leaping up to paint the scene. The big bed, surrounded by flickering flames, illuminating their reflections in the mirror overhead. Her skin burned, her womb clenched.

"Téa? You're the designer. What do you think?"

Blinking, she pulled out of the fantasy. Johnny was watching her, his own face expressionless. Clearing her throat, she wiped her damp palms on her jean skirt and then commanded her fingers to remain steady as she pointed out possibilities. As the saleswoman wrapped them in tissue paper, Johnny picked up a small sample vial of scented oil.

He sniffed it, then pressed his fingertip on the top to collect a drop. His hand found hers.

She tried pulling away, but he held fast and turned her arm to expose the paler underside. Her gaze couldn't leave his hand as he stroked the oil on her inner wrist. The scent of bergamot and citrus bloomed between them. "What do you think about this?"

She stared at the wet line he'd painted on her skin
. I think I'm in trouble
! How could she manage to hold her own against someone so much better at the art of seduction? She was supposed to be playing here, not losing her head. The ridiculous bead necklace was already halfway to stealing her heart.

No
. Of course it wasn't.

His fingertips tickled up her forearm to the bend in her elbow. "It says it's called 'Heat of Passion.'"

Téa licked her lips and was glad of the oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes from him. "It smells… heady."

"So do you, Contessa."

She shook her head, knees weak. "You're too good at this."

He froze, then his touch slipped away from her skin. Pivoting toward the saleswoman, he accepted the bag of candles and then set off down the aisle.

Perplexed by his abruptness, Téa started after him. "Johnny? Johnny, wait."

He hesitated, then paused to let her catch up. "Sorry."

She tried to determine what had gone awry, but he wore that damned detached expression so well there was no clue to be found on his face. "I didn't mean to, but it was the wrong thing to say, wasn't it?" The knowledge that something she said might actually affect him had its own special pull.

"Don't worry about it. It's nothing I haven't heard before." He strode off again, then halted once more to confront her. "I want to have you, Téa, but I don't want to hurt you."

Her fingers flew up to the bead necklace, already warm from her skin. She didn't like that rough note in his voice. She didn't like him mentioning her name and "hurt" in the same sentence. "I thought you said you wanted a distraction. That doesn't sound serious enough to cause either of us any pain, Johnny." It was the only reason she was remotely entertaining the possibility.