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She nodded. “That’s when I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life in a convent.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I’m going to become a nun,” she said, her voice quivering with happiness.
“A nun?” he choked out.
She dabbed at her watery eyes with a paper napkin. “I’ve already applied to begin my novitiate at St. Mary’s. I just wanted one last chance to say goodbye, Trace, and to thank you.”
Thank him? He frowned at his sore toe as her words echoed in his head. He’d kissed her and she’d decided to become a nun. Not exactly a glowing endorsement for his sexual prowess. “A nun,” he murmured, still rocked by her announcement.
“Are you surprised?”
“You could say that.” He looked up at her. “How long have you been thinking about becoming a…nun?”
“Since I was a little girl.” She steepled her fingers together and leaned toward him, looking more animated than he’d ever seen her. “But I didn’t want to rush into anything, so I decided to have one last fling just to be sure.”
A fling. He’d been ready to propose to this woman, and she’d considered him a fling! He shook his head, wondering where he’d gone wrong. In all the time he’d spent sizing up Kimberly as wife material, it had never occurred to him that she might not be interested. He stifled a snort. Not interested? She was about to take a vow of chastity!
“So sorry to eat and run.”
He looked up, surprised to see Kimberly standing up and donning her jacket. “You’re leaving?”
“We nuns don’t like to keep late hours.” She headed toward the front door, then paused to blow him a kiss over her shoulder. “I had a wonderful time tonight, Trace. Thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you for cooking it,” he said blankly. Then he pushed out his chair.
“No, don’t get up,” she said, holding one hand in the air. “I can see myself out. Besides, you and your toe need to rest.”
He slumped back down in his chair as she waved goodbye and sailed out the door. A few moments later he heard the roar of a car engine and the squeal of tires. Sister Kimberly had a lead foot. He vaguely wondered if nuns got speeding tickets.
Then his gaze fell on the soiled plates neatly stacked at one end of the table. Too late he realized that Kimberly wasn’t so perfect, after all. She’d left without doing the dishes.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He couldn’t do dishes with a sore toe. Maybe he should just throw them away. He’d never really liked that daisy pattern, anyway. Too girly. He’d picked them up cheap at a local thrift store when money had been tight. Now he could afford more masculine dishes. Maybe something with cars on it.
While he pondered if he should buy glasses to match, the doorbell rang.
“It’s open,” he called, lifting his head and opening his eyes, but not bothering to get up. No reason to aggravate his toe any more than necessary. Maybe it was Kimberly, back to tell him it was all a big joke.
But he didn’t laugh when the sultry brunette walked into the room. She wore a short red silk suit that outlined a luscious hourglass figure. The kind of body a man could sink his hands into. With a conscious effort, he lifted his gaze from her full, round breasts to look at her face. He noticed her big brown eyes first, fringed with thick, dark lashes, then her pert nose and full, red lips.
This woman was no nun.
So who was she? And what was she doing in his condo? He swallowed as a curious mixture of apprehension and lust rose up inside of him. But before he could ask her anything, she placed both hands on the table and leaned toward him, unwittingly displaying her generous cleavage. Then she spoke.
“You’re just the man I’ve been looking for.”
2
CHLOE SILENTLY COUNTED to ten while Trace Callahan stared at her chest. Cursed with genes that made all the D’Onofrio women well-endowed, she was used to men paying avid attention to her physical assets and ignoring the fact that she was a savvy, intelligent woman. But this one seemed worse than usual.
She impatiently cleared her throat to get his attention. It worked. He looked up at her, his eyes slightly glazed. For the first time she noticed their unusual color—a deep, dark blue like polished sapphires. If she put any stock in physical appearance, she’d have to admit Trace Callahan was handsome. All right, just plain gorgeous with that square jaw, aquiline nose, and close-cropped dark hair. She couldn’t help but notice how well the rest of him looked either, his biceps and broad shoulders clearly defined though his pine-green polo shirt.
“You’re staring,” Trace announced.
Chloe swallowed, her throat dry. “Me? You were the one who was staring.”
“I always stare at beautiful women. Especially when they suddenly appear in my dining room.” Then his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why exactly were you looking for me?”
She looked pointedly at the empty chair in front of her. “Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down?”
“I’d rather you answered my question first. Or maybe I can answer it for you. Madame Sophia sent you here, didn’t she?”
“She gave me your address, but…”
“I knew it,” he interjected, shaking his head in disgust. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
Chloe pulled out the chair and sat down next to him. “It?”
“I mean you,” he muttered, then heaved a long sigh. “Look, we both know why you’re here. Let’s just skip the preliminaries and get right down to it.” He leaned forward, closing the distance between them. “Kiss me.”
Her mouth fell open. She quickly closed it again before he took it as a sign of encouragement. “Are you crazy?”
“No, just efficient. Once you kiss me, we’ll both know if there’s any future for our relationship. Although I should warn you that the last woman who kissed me decided never to let another man touch her lips.”
Trace Callahan was not only a lunatic, but an incredible egomaniac. She smiled sweetly at him. “Thanks, but no thanks. I make it a habit not to kiss a man within the first five minutes of meeting him. Just one of my little idiosyncrasies.”
“Suit yourself.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “So tell me, Miss…”
“Please call me Chloe.”
“Chloe. Do you make it a habit of going door-to-door looking for romance?”
She blinked. “I think you’re confused again, Mr. Callahan….”
“Call me Trace.” He smiled at her, but there was nothing sweet about it. His expression reminded her of a lion contemplating its next meal. “I probably am confused. In fact, you’re probably just a delightful figment of my imagination. The medication is making me a little woozy.”
“Medication?” she asked, wondering why she was surprised. There had to be some logical explanation for his odd behavior.
He winced as he lifted his bare foot up in the air. That’s when she noticed he had it propped up on a padded chair on the opposite side of the table. His big toe was swathed in white gauze so thick it looked like a lightbulb. Before she could stop herself, she emitted a snort of laughter.
His jaw tightened. “Is something funny?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, dissolving into uncontrollable, not to mention undignified, giggles. She took a deep breath and struggled to contain her amusement. “Did you hurt yourself?”
He drew himself up in his chair, obviously offended by her reaction. “My toe was almost amputated by a power saw today. The injury required several stitches.”
Chloe stared at his long, lean foot in disbelief. “You mean that was the horrendous accident Ramon was so upset about? You cut your toe?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You know Ramon?”
She didn’t like his tone. “Better than anyone. He happens to be my brother.”
Trace closed his eyes. “That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“You’re a D’Onofrio. That explains why I’ve felt uneasy ever since you walked through the door. Wherever D’Onofrios go, disaster follows.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of an exaggeration? Not all D’Onofrios are troublemakers.” Most of them, she admitted to herself, but not all.
“Tell that to my toe.”
“Let me see it,” she said, standing up and walking over to the chair that held his injured foot. She reached out one hand to unwrap the gauze.
“Don’t touch it!”
“I just want to take a look,” she replied, ignoring his protest.
He grabbed her wrist.
“Are you a doctor?”
“No, I’m an interior designer. And in my professional opinion, white gauze doesn’t go at all with this seat cushion. Didn’t the pharmacy have anything in lavender?”
“Very funny.”
“They say laughter is the best medicine.”
“I prefer Novocain. Unfortunately, it’s wearing off, so I’m not the best company right now. Maybe you could come back tomorrow. Or even better, next year.”
Some men just couldn’t take a joke. “I’m afraid what I have to say can’t wait until next year. It’s about Ramon. He’s very upset.”
“He’s upset? I’m the one who’s been mutilated.”
“Oh, come on. It’s just a little nick.” She gazed down at his foot. “I’ll bet if you took off all that gauze, it would hardly even be noticeable.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Fine. Take it off and see for yourself.”
Surprised by his acquiescence, she leaned over the chair and carefully began unwinding the gauze. All three yards of it. While she worked, she couldn’t help but study Trace’s foot. There was something almost intimate about seeing the bare foot of a total stranger up close. His was long and lean, with a high arch. The nails were clean and cut short straight across. The top of his foot was sprinkled with short, golden-blond hairs.
“Well, what do you think?”
Chloe thought she was much too interested in this man’s foot. She forced her gaze to the toe in question. A neat row of tiny black stitches arched across the very tip. “I think you’ll make a full recovery. Of course, that’s just a layperson’s opinion.” She bit back a smile. “Have you thought about consulting a specialist?”
Trace carefully set his foot on the floor, his face set in a scowl. “No, but I do have a call into my attorney. Assault with a deadly weapon happens to be a felony.”
She straightened, her amusement fading. “You can’t be serious.”
“Obviously, you’re the one who can’t be serious, since you consider this all one big joke.”
“It’s no joke,” she agreed. “In fact, I don’t find it the least bit funny that you fired Ramon over something this—” she pointed to his toe “—inconsequential.”
“I happen to like my toe,” he said through clenched teeth. “And I’d like to keep it. Which means Ramon has to go.”
Chloe swallowed hard and willed the infamous D’Onofrio temper to stay under control.
“Just give him one more chance.”
“Why?”
Because she was terrified her brother would do something crazy if he lost this opportunity. He’d been despondent ever since his fiancée broke up with him—frustrated with his job as a waiter and life in general. He wanted a challenge. Excitement. Riches. Lately, he’d even talked about following in their father’s footsteps. Ramon might not be the best waiter, or even a mediocre carpenter, but she knew for certain he’d make one hell of a lousy jewel thief. Which meant if she didn’t do something fast, another D’Onofrio would end up behind bars.
“Well,” Trace asked, breaking into her reverie, “why should I give your brother a second chance to dismember me?”
As she stared into his deep blue eyes, her stomach suddenly went all queasy on her. Trace Callahan was too self-absorbed, too stubborn, and much too handsome to understand how much this job meant to someone as sensitive and insecure as her brother. And she’d be damned if she was going to beg.
“Why?” She tipped up her chin. “Because I can make it worth your while.”
He leaned back in his chair and gave her a slow, insolent once-over. “What exactly are you offering, Miss D’Onofrio?”
“Myself.”
TRACE TIPPED so far back in his chair, he almost toppled over. He grabbed the edge of the table and pulled himself upright. This couldn’t be happening. One moment Kimberly announces she’s joining a convent, and the next moment a voluptuous, desirable woman sails into his condo and offers herself to him.
He must be dreaming. Or hallucinating. Perhaps the trauma of his accident was finally getting to him. Although, if a minor injury induced this kind of fantasy, he was almost willing to give Ramon free access to all his power tools just to see what else might develop.
Almost.
Of course, this was no dream. Chloe D’Onofrio was sitting right in front of him. In the delectable flesh. His common sense told him he could never consent to such an agreement. His body, on the other hand, was entirely ready, willing and able.
He cleared his throat. “That’s an…intriguing proposition.”
She sat down in the empty chair. “I call it good business. Tit for tat.”
He closed his eyes, wishing she hadn’t used that particular phrase. When he opened them again, she was still there, sitting with one long, slender leg crossed over the other, her short skirt barely reaching mid-thigh. He’d never seen legs like hers before. They were true works of art. And he was a devoted connoisseur. He tore his gaze from her legs. “Are you sure you’re an interior designer?”
“Positive. And a damn good one, too. That’s the reason Madame Sophia hired me to redecorate Café Romeo.” She hesitated, then one corner of her mouth tipped up in a slow smile. “Or at least, one of the reasons.”
“Aunt Sophie hired you?” he asked, reeling with this latest revelation. He’d been after his aunt for weeks to hire an interior designer so he could consult with him on some of the remodeling plans for the café. Only the him turned out to be a her. And even worse, a D’Onofrio.
She nodded and opened that sensual mouth, but he interrupted her before she had a chance to elaborate.
“Wait a minute,” he said, as the rest of her words finally sank in. “What do you mean, one of the reasons? What other possible reason could there be?”
She arched one delicate brow. “You don’t know?”
A heavy, sinking sensation filled him, but he didn’t even want to consider that possibility. So he lied through his teeth. “No, I don’t have the faintest idea.”
