So Irresistible (12 page)

Uncomfortably, her friend shifted. “Not
exactly
.”

“Not yet, you mean.” Gabriella tried to smile. “Right?”

“No. Maybe not ever! Do you have any idea how dictatorial you can be when you’re under stress?” In frustration, Pinkie gestured. “I thought after last night you’d loosen up.”

She had. Memorably. But not at work. At work, she couldn’t ease up. Not for a second. Not after the mess she’d caused.

Gabriella sighed. “I guess you thought wrong.”

“So . . . what? That was just your way of vetting new hires last night?” Pinkie wanted to know. “You spot a likely looking candidate across the bar and then take him home with you?”

“Technically, we went to his place,” Gabriella told her. “And if
everyone
wanted to interview the way Shane did,” she kidded, “it would make my job a
lot
more enjoyable.”

Pinkie didn’t even blink. “What’s he got on you?”

A whole lot of sexual magnetism
. “Nothing!”

“Everything is changing,” Pinkie complained. “
You’re
changing, Campania is changing. . . .” Her pastry chef crossed her arms again. “Your stupid rift with your dad ruined
everything
around here.” Pinkie waited a beat. “It ruined our friendship.”

Hurt, Gabriella looked away. “I hope that’s not true.”

“It’s
your
fault if it is,” Pinkie accused. “Because
I
—”

“I’m trying to fix it all. I’m working my ass off! Can’t you see that?” Gabriella tossed down her pen. “If I could have a little cooperation around here, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard.”

“Right. So
you
leave, and
we’re
all supposed to fall in line, now that you’ve decided to grace us with your presence?”

“When are you all going to get over that?” Honestly perplexed by Pinkie’s resentment, Gabriella stared at her. “I went away to Astoria. I came back. I’m here now. Let it go!”

Silence. Then, “Not everyone moves as fast as you do.”

Gabriella narrowed her eyes. “Is that a dig about Shane? About my getting together with Shane? Because if it is—”

Looking exasperated, Pinkie shook her head. “If you’d quit being so stubborn and defensive for thirty seconds—”

“Maybe if everyone would quit attacking me, I would.”

“We’re not attacking you! We’re . . . hurt, that’s all.”

“Well, you should get over it.” Annoyed that no one could see how difficult this was for her, Gabriella picked up her pen again. With effort, she looked at her morass of schedules. “If you can’t do that, I’ll have to find someone who can.”

More silence. It practically vibrated with disbelief.

Gabriella glanced up at Pinkie again. “Someone has to make the hard decisions around here. Right now, it’s me.”

“I see.” Tight-lipped in the dim after-hours pizzeria lighting, Pinkie glared back at her. “Fine. If that’s the way you want it . . . then
fine
. Just don’t say I didn’t try.”

Her pastry chef huffed off, her footsteps loud in the otherwise deserted pizzeria. A door slammed. Pinkie was gone.

 

 

The funny thing was, Pinkie’s parting shot had been almost identical to Gabriella’s after her showdown with her dad.

Fine
.
Just don’t say I didn’t try
.

Those defiant last words had been delivered with a lot more bravado and a metric ton more tears in Gabriella’s case, but they’d had a similarly unmoving effect on Robert Grimani. Her father hadn’t relented. He hadn’t called Gabriella back—or phoned her the next day. He hadn’t followed her out of the pizzeria and into the alleyway, where she’d been wrestling with unlocking her bike for a bad-tempered, wounded getaway.

He had let her go, all the way to Astoria, without a word.

There’d been plenty of words before that, of course. Gabriella had pushed determinedly for improvements to Campania. Updated lighting. A new sealed-concrete floor to replace the cracked linoleum. Appetizers that went beyond stodgy garlic bread and garden salads. Potential expansion to Seattle. She’d waged a campaign on a daily basis, convinced she could prevail with her father the same way she always did with everyone else.

Instead, Robert Grimani had listened to each of Gabriella’s carefully crafted pitches. Day after day, he’d given her the impression she was close to a breakthrough . . . until she’d had no choice but to push harder than ever. On that fateful last day, finally and astonishingly, her dad had turned her down flat. He’d let her storm out. But first—and worst—he’d informed her that he’d only been humoring her every time she’d brought up those issues, hoping she’d eventually wear down and give up.

It was as if her dad didn’t know her
at all
.

“I’m a traditionalist,” he’d explained. “I like things the way they are. The way your Nonna Grimani and Poppa wanted it.”

“Yes—over
fifty
years ago, Dad!” Gabriella had cried. “It’s time to move on. It’s time to innovate. Time to refresh the menu, bring in some modern ingredients and techniques—”

His upraised hand had stopped her. “No. This place isn’t one of your fancy MBA classrooms. It’s your
heritage
. You can’t mess around with your heritage. What do you think your mother and I have been working for all these years?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriella had shot back, hurt and proud and embarrassed to have gotten so vulnerable. She’d taken a look around the boisterous, customer-filled, less than sophisticated pizzeria, so familiar and beloved. “But if it’s
this
place, maybe you can keep your ‘heritage.’ Maybe I don’t want it.”

Not like this
.
Not with someone who doesn’t respect me
.

“Gabriella,” her dad had said, “you don’t mean that.”

“I never say anything I don’t mean.”

“Well, then . . .” Agitatedly, her father had gestured, his face turning red, his chest puffing up. “Maybe I don’t want you to have it! Maybe I want Pinkie to have it! Your cousin is—”

“Fine,” Gabriella had interrupted, too hurt to listen. “Give the pizzerias to Pinkie. She’ll turn them into cupcake shops. Just don’t say I didn’t try. Because I tried my hardest.”

That was when Gabriella had walked away, barely able to see the path to the pizzeria’s back door because of the tears in her eyes, following the same footsteps Pinkie had just trod. It had been the last time Gabriella had spoken to her dad for months.

Honestly, the whole thing still stung. A lot.

It didn’t help that, although Gabriella’s showdown with her dad had been private—happening here, in her office, in fact—she suspected her cousin, Pinkie, knew about the whole thing.

And she wanted Gabriella to fail, all over again, too. Because that might mean she
would
get those cupcake shops of hers.

Resolutely, Gabriella got back to work, determined not to let that happen. Now more than ever before, she needed to win.

For her sake. For her dad’s sake.

For the sake of everything the Grimanis had built . . . and Gabriella had accidentally endangered with one wrongheaded burst of defiance. Their confrontation had left her dad unarmed, upset, and shorthanded, easy pickings for the company that had pushed for a takeover. If only she hadn’t been so proud, so stubborn . . .

So willing to throw away all the good with the bad.

When she’d been in Astoria pulling shots of espresso and longing for the smells of garlic and sausage, Gabriella had missed everyone. She’d wanted to forget her pride and come home.

Her mother’s phone call had given her the chance to do just that—and save the day, too. With her usual confidence, Gabriella simply hadn’t thought it would be so difficult.

Yes, she was doing things at the pizzeria her father’s way, as a tribute to him and his love of tradition.

Yes, she was sticking by the rules she’d flouted before, as a safeguard against stirring up more disaster.

Yes, she was being hard-core about the chain of command, lest she be tempted to lean on someone she couldn’t trust.

But even given all that, shouldn’t things have been easier?

Not with a saboteur out to wreck her family’s pizzerias, Gabriella reminded herself as she went back to work drawing up schedules. Not with her hanging on by her fingernails this way.

Of course saving the day was going to be difficult. Wasn’t it always? Which was why, Gabriella decided, she had to focus—starting with
not
getting caught up in Shane Maresca’s sparkly eyed charm three days in a row. Starting tomorrow, Gabriella vowed, she’d be strong.

Strong enough to resist him.

No matter what it took.

 

“Hey, Gabby.” Catching sight of her near the pizzeria’s drinks station, Shane touched her arm. The contact jolted him—and made him want to touch her more.
Intimately
. With effort, he didn’t. “C’mere. There’s something I want to show you.”

She faced him with her eyes wary, both hands full of roll-ups—napkin-wrapped cutlery bundles used to set up tables.

Her gaze dropped to his hand on her arm. She leaned away from his touch. The electricity between them faded to a low buzz.

Wariness still came off her in waves, though, confusing Shane. They’d been
so
close before. But after three days of working together, he and Gabby had yet to repeat the intimacy they’d shared after their brewpub meet-up. In fact, they’d been circling each other like Wild West desperados instead, both of them unsure who was going to make the first move. And when.

This pizzeria wasn’t big enough for both of them.

Shane hadn’t anticipated that. Truth be told, it was driving him crazy. Working with Gabby and not touching her?

That was
torturous
. He still wanted her.

He wanted her right there, in booth number six, in fact.

“I’m really busy, Shane. Jeremy was late today. Jennifer didn’t show at all. My backup is on the way, but—”

“It’ll only take a minute,” he cajoled. “Come on.”

Refusing to take no for an answer, Shane gently towed Gabby toward the back of the house. They passed through the kitchen on the way. Bowser, Emeril, Frosty, and Pinkie were hard at work doing prep for the first seating. Farther in the back, Scooter was manning the dishwasher. Near the adjacent time clock, Hypo was peering worriedly at his tongue in the mirror.

“It’s nothing serious, Hypo,” Shane called. “Penguins!”

Visibly, Hypo calmed down. He waved. “Thanks, dude.”

After his night doing recon at the brewpub without Gabby, Shane had gotten to know and understand this misfit crew much better. He’d figured out what made them tick, what made them stick around, and which dynamics were working at Campania . . . and which were not. But that was day-old news. Right now . . .

“‘Penguins,’” Gabby mimicked as they kept going. “Huh?”

“It’s a signal that Hypo and I made up,” Shane explained. “When he gets frantic about some new imaginary illness, he’s supposed to break the cycle by thinking about something else.”

“Like penguins?”

Shane nodded. “I told him to think of something that made him smile. He said ‘penguins.’” A grin. “I’m not judging.”

“Me neither. Penguins are cute.” As they reached the employee break room, Gabby stopped. For the first time, her body softened in his grasp. “It’s nice of you to try to help Hypo. He gets pretty wrapped up worrying about getting sick—preferably with some super-rare disease or textbook medical condition.”

Shane shrugged. “Most people are closer than they think to solving their problems. They just need a fresh eye and some help.”

“Even you?” With unexpected seductiveness, Gabby eyed him. “Even
you
need help solving your problems?”

“Hell no. I’m perfect already.” Grinning, Shane stepped back. He gestured at the break room floor. “As proof . . . ta-da!”

Gabby squinted. She looked at him. Examined the break room floor more closely. Then, “I’m seeing . . . what, exactly?”

“The floor!” Excitedly, Shane pointed at it. “I mopped it.”

“So? You’ve been doing that for three days now.”

“Yes. Inexpertly. But now it’s
perfect
. Impeccably clean. No puddles of mop water. No missed spots. No improvement necessary.” Feeling ludicrously proud, he pointed at himself. “You are looking at a world-class mop jockey, right here.”

Gabby stifled a smile. “Let me get this straight. You’re a business tycoon with a gazillion-dollar high-rise apartment—”

“I’m an aspiring restaurateur, yes,” Shane corrected, sticking to his makeshift cover story. “Who has a home.”

“—and you’re
this
happy about
mopping
successfully?”

For the first time, Shane had cause to feel uncertain.

He forged onward anyway. “Hell yes, I am.” He gestured at the chipped but pristine linoleum. “I made this floor
better
than I found it.” For him, that was a first. A monumental one.

“I
did
have to give you a lot of instructions, though.”

“And I took those instructions well,” he reminded her.

“And you
do
hold the Campania record,” she mused, “for the newbie with the longest tenure in the mopping department.”

Shane frowned. Why was Gabby denting his sense of hard-earned accomplishment? “Fuck off, will ya? I’m
learning
!”

“I know.” Smiling at him, Gabby came closer. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “You did a good job. Well done.”

“That’s right. Thank you.” He relaxed a fraction, loving the feel of her. It had been
days
since he’d held her in his arms. This was just what he needed. “Was that so much to ask?”

“For me? Yes. For you?” With a new sense of teasing companionship, Gabby swayed against him. She darted a cautious glance toward the noisy, bustling kitchen. “Yes. I get the impression you haven’t had to toe the line at work very often.”

“I haven’t,” Shane admitted. “I’ve always been . . . my own boss.” That was one way to describe fixing for a living.

At least he was being honest with Gabby. In his own way.

“An entrepreneur who’s willing to mop. What do you know?”

Shane knew that he’d made an authentic attempt at learning that mundane task. He’d worked earnestly to please her. But he’d already been vulnerable enough for three lifetimes with Gabby.

“I told you, I’m unique,” Shane said, purposely shifting the conversation. Hearing Gabby mock his efforts—even good-naturedly—bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He hadn’t been able to pretend at mopping, though. He’d had to learn that for real, and then to do it. For his fix to work, he’d had to appear serious about learning the pizzeria biz. He’d had to seem genuinely interested in trailing her. “But you’re right about one thing. I’ve never liked authority.”

“Around here,
I’m
your authority.”

“Well . . .” He couldn’t help smiling. “I
do
like you.”

“Mmm.” Her suddenly flirtatious gaze traveled over his face. She came even closer. “I like you, too. I liked you right away.”

Her nearness made him hot. Also, antsy.

Shane didn’t want anyone to find them this way. An on-the-job rendezvous could only endanger the good relations he’d built with the crew. He’d managed to convince them that his relationship with Gabriella was over. If they knew it wasn’t, they would only resent Shane for having an “in” with the boss.

They would resent Gabriella for playing favorites, too.

On the other hand, Gabriella felt
wonderful
against him. For her sake, Shane could overlook a lot of risky behavior.

“Everyone likes me,” he agreed, settling on an in-between strategy that didn’t discourage her but didn’t involve a full-court press toward getting them both naked behind the break-room changing screen, either. “Despite that, though, no one’s ever expected anything but badness and trouble from me.” He smiled, realizing that that had always been true . . . until now. “Except for you.
You
expect more from me,” he said, “and you get it.”

“Well, this
is
exemplary mopping,” Gabby said. “After this, I’ll be expecting even more good things from you.”

At that, her winsome smile hooked him twice as hard. Shane liked her
so
much. He didn’t want to. He just did. Helplessly.

He also loved that she actually seemed to believe he could be good. Worse, Shane was starting to suspect he could be, too.

Here at Campania, he was
building
things, not tearing them down. He was getting an honest day’s wage for an honest day’s work. He actually felt . . .
good
about that. Even about mopping.

“So,” Shane said, stretching his sore, unaccustomed-to-mopping muscles, “now that I’ve conquered mopping, what’s next?”

“Next?” Gabby’s voice lowered. “Next you get a reward.”

“Really?” He brightened. “Sometimes, in grade school, I’d get a sticker for a job well done. I
loved
those stickers.” He sighed. “So much so that I swiped the whole roll from the teacher’s desk. After that, they didn’t mean so much anymore.”

“Aw.” Gabby stroked his jaw. “Poor disillusioned thieving baby. That must have been a bummer for you.”

“It wasn’t so bad. I sold the stickers to the other kids at a profit. It went along with my report-card-doctoring service.”

In retrospect, he realized he’d hit upon “fixing” early. And hard.

“Ooh!” Gabby gave a husky laugh. “You really
were
bad.”

“Not bad.” He delivered her a grin. “Just misunderstood.”

“That’s what
all
the bad boys say.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m into bad girls.” Whose philosophies
she
, all at once, seemed to be channeling. How else to explain Gabby’s continued stroking of his face, her increasingly close-to-him body, her purring delivery of those lines? “Like you.”

“Me?” She gave him a wide-eyed look of sham innocence . . . even as she ran her hands seductively along his shoulders and down his chest. Studiously, she puzzled over the buttons of his chef’s coat. She undid one. “I’m not bad, just misunderstood.”

“That makes two of us. Two of a kind.” Shane couldn’t stand it anymore. He scooped her cheek in his hand, then kissed her.

After so many days without her, feeling her against him almost made him lose his mind. Gabby kissed him back with all the intensity and passion he remembered—and when he finally levered away from her, trying to regain control, she grabbed two fistfuls of his whites and shoved him against a nearby locker.

The whole thing clanged.
Everyone
must have heard it in the kitchen. If they’d begun service, their customers would have heard that telling clang in the dining room. Evidently, Gabby didn’t care. She only kissed him harder, her hands roving lower and lower....

Shane grasped her hands. “
Here?
Really?” he managed to pant. His vision had gone hazy. His pants seemed to have shrunk. “Anyone could walk in on us. Bowser, Scooter, Emeril—”

“You’re right,” Gabby said. “Over
here
would be better.”

Then she grabbed his hand and dragged him toward paradise.

 

 

“You started this,” Gabriella panted to Shane as she kicked shut the door to her office. A regulation OSHA poster fell loose from the wall; a barrage of paperwork and office supplies blocked her from what she really wanted.
Shane
. She kicked everything aside, pulling Shane farther into the office. “I just want the record to show that
you
started this, by kissing me back there.”

“Guilty.” Eagerly, Shane worked at the buttons of her chef’s coat. With no repentance at all, he peeled it away from her shoulders, revealing her tank top beneath. He cupped her breasts through it, then kissed her again. “I’ll take the heat.”

“You’ll
bring
the heat, you mean.” Gasping, Gabriella clutched his head against her. She ran her fingers down his back, grabbed the hem of his chef’s coat, yanked it upward. The minute she’d actually
touched
him out there, she’d been dying to see Shane naked again. To kiss him. To feel him. “Oh my God.”

“You feel
so
good,” he breathed as she found the wits to unfasten his chef’s coat’s buttons instead of hastily trying to jerk the whole thing off him unfastened. “I missed you,” Shane said as Gabriella peeled away his coat to reveal the T-shirt beneath. “Why did we wait so long to do this again?”

“Because it’s wrong.” Gabriella dropped his coat, helped him out of his T-shirt, then spent a moment savoring him. She started in on his pants. Yay, drawstrings! Chef’s pants were genius in the getting-undressed-quickly department. “
So
wrong.”

Shane groaned. “I
love
doing things that are wrong.”

For a second, as he caressed her face and looked into her eyes, Gabriella got the crazy impression that he loved . . .
her
. But how could he? All they’d ever done was . . . well, this.

And have mop lessons, of course. Responsible, joke-filled, trying-to-resist-Shane-and-failing-miserably mop lessons.

They’d almost killed her. The whole time Gabriella had been tutoring Shane in swirly, figure-eight mop motions, she’d also been staring at his hands, his muscle-bound arms, his face, and trying to keep her vow
not
to sleep with him again.
Just mop
.

Speaking of which . . . Gabriella had been unbelievably touched by Shane’s efforts at Campania so far. Against all expectations, he’d survived that first hectic day. And the next. And the next. He hadn’t done anything perfectly (not by a long shot), but he’d exerted an honest and hardworking effort. That impressed her.

“This can’t be wrong,” she asserted as Shane wasted no time stripping off her tank top.
Good idea
. She craved the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips, his mouth against hers, his big, hard cock inside her. Shane’s clothes fell to the floor. Heart pounding, Gabriella wiggled out of her pants. Her panties. And her good sense, too. “Not when it feels
this
right.”

On a groan, Gabriella felt Shane caress her breasts, then kiss her nipples. They were both naked now, naked and striving, and no matter how much Shane kissed her, Gabriella couldn’t get enough. His mouth felt soft and skillful, his hands rough and tender, and she’d been fantasizing about this, Gabriella realized, ever since agreeing to let Shane come to work for her.