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He held up his hands, palms out. “Sorry.”
Ordering her heart to continue beating normally, Izzie tossed the towel onto the counter, then crossed her arms over her chest to stare at him. “Are you trying to tell me you knew I’d be here because you knew who I was? Try again.”
Nick cleared his throat, averting his gaze. Wincing in a cutely sheepish way, he said, “No, I didn’t know you at first.”
So, he’d recognized her after she had left?
“Mark told me who you were.”
The jerk.
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. It’s been a long time.”
Not long enough to erase him from her mind, that was for sure. She’d recognize Nick Santori if she bumped into him blindfolded during a blackout. Because his scent was imprinted in her brain. And her body reacted in one instinctive way whenever he was near—a way it didn’t react with anyone else, even men with whom she’d been intimate.
He made her shaky and achy and weak and ravenous all at the same time. Always had, for some unknown reason.
“Yeah. A long time,” she mumbled, walking over to wash her hands in the small sink behind the counter.
Damn, she hated that he flustered her. She had known more handsome men. She’d been to bed with more handsome men. Maybe none who were as rugged and masculine, or so sensual. But she had dated drop-dead gorgeous actors and millionaires who wanted to notch their bedposts with a professional dancer who could kick her leg straight up above her head. None of them had ever affected her the way this one—who she’d never even kissed—did.
“I have to run, Izzie,” a voice said. “I don’t want to be…in the way.”
Izzie had almost forgotten Bridget was in the kitchen. Seeing the grin on her cousin’s face, she blew out a deep, frustrated breath. She’d intended to use Bridget as an excuse—or at the very least as a five-foot-five chastity belt, to keep Izzie from doing something stupid. Like smearing rich cheesecake filling all over Nick’s body, then slowly licking it off.
But her cousin was bailing on her, already heading toward the exit. “Nice to see you, Nick,” she said.
“How’s your family?”
They fell into a brief, easy conversation, like most people who’d grown up in the neighborhood usually did. Except Izzie—who hadn’t yet rediscovered that easy camaraderie with all the people she’d grown up with. While the two of them chatted, Izzie tried to regain her cool, forcing herself to look at this guy like she looked at every other guy. As nothing special.
Fat chance. She couldn’t do it. He was special.
It had to be because he was the first man she’d ever wanted. Never having had him made the intensity of her attraction build. With no culmination—no explosion when she finally had him and got him out of her system—she’d remained on a slow, roiling boil of want for Nick for years.
So take him and get it out of your system.
Oh, the thought was tempting. Very tempting. Part of her desperately wanted to ask him to go with her to the nearest hotel and do her until she couldn’t even bring her legs together. If she thought he would, and that he’d then forget about it, never expecting a repeat and never—ever—breathing a word about it to anyone, she’d seriously consider it.
But he wouldn’t. Not in a million years. She knew that just as surely as she knew he’d never have even kissed her when she was underage, not even if she’d leapt on him and held him captive. Which, to be fair, she had…at the wedding.
He was a Santori. With everything that went with the name. His upbringing, his family, his own moral code meant he would never have a meaningless sexual encounter with his sister-in-law’s younger sister. The daughter of his father’s friend. The girl up the block. No way in hell.
He was the kind of guy who would have to date a woman he slept with. Dating—neighborhood style—as in hand-holding and miniature golf and pizza at his family’s place and cannolis at her family’s place. The whole deal. Gag.
Not that he’d actually asked her on a date. If he did? Well… that might have thrilled her once—years ago when she had actually thought the bakery and her family and Little Italy were all the world she’d ever need. Now, however, it just made her sad, because as she’d already realized, dating Nick equaled strings. Strings could very well choke her.
“Well, see you tomorrow,” Bridget said as she walked out.
Izzie hadn’t even noticed Bridget and Nick were finished talking. Cursing her cousin for bailing on her, Izzie cleared her throat, about to tell him she had to get back to work.
He spoke first. “So, do you forgive me?”
“Yeah, sure, no big deal,” she replied, forcing a shrug.
A tiny smile tugged at those amazing lips of his and the dark eyes glowed. “No big deal? You seemed pretty mad.”
Damn. He’d noticed.
“I wasn’t mad. More…amused.”
“Sure. That’s why my chest is bruised where you shoved me.”
Her jaw dropped and she immediately began sputtering denials. Then she saw his wide grin. “You’re an ass.”
“And a shithead,” he replied, his grin fading though the twinkle remained in his eye. “I really mean it, Iz, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.” Stepping around the counter to see her better, he cast a slow, leisurely look at her. From bottom to top. Then down again. “But you have to give me a little bit of a break. You don’t look much like you did.”
“I’m not addicted to Twinkies anymore,” she snapped.
“You weren’t chubby.”
“I was the Michelin Man in pink tights.”
He shook his head. “You were just baby-faced the last time I saw you. A kid. Now you’re…not.”
“Damn right.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, still watching her as he leaned against the counter. The pose tugged his gray T-shirt tight against his shoulders and chest, emphasizing the man’s size. Lord, he was broad. But still so trim at the waist and lean at the hips. It was the hips that caught her attention—the way his faded, unbelted jeans hung low on them, the soft fabric hugging the angles and planes of his body.
It really wasn’t fair for a man to be so perfect.
“So…about our conversation last night.”
When staring at him—overwhelmed by his heat—she could barely remember her own name. Much less any conversation. “Huh?”
“What do you say? Will you give me your number?”
Oh, what she wouldn’t have given to hear those words from him ten years ago. Or hell, even two months ago—if she’d happened to run into him in Times Square and he’d proposed a sexy one-night-stand for old time’s sake. One nobody in Chicago would ever have to know about. She would have leapt on the offer like a gambler on a free lottery ticket.
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on, you know you can trust me. I’m not some stranger stalking you. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
Well, he’d known her since she was a kid. From the time she’d met him, Izzie had only ever seen the glorious, hot, sexy man. Even if he had been no more than fourteen.
“Just a night out for old time’s sake?”
He was so tempting. Because the only old times she recalled were the heated ones of her fantasies. And the incident at the wedding. He’d ended up between her legs during both. “Well….”
He moved again, coming closer, as if realizing she was wavering. Dropping his hand onto the counter near hers, he murmured, “No pressure. We could just go grab a pizza.”
She stiffened, any potential wavering done with. The last thing she would consider doing is having a public meal with Nick Santori at his own family’s restaurant. Not when her sister would hear about it and tell their parents, who’d then get their hopes up about Izzie remaining safely in the nest, as they’d so desperately wanted her to do when she was eighteen.
Leaving home after high school had been a struggle. She’d been an adult, legally free, but she’d still had to practically run away in order to pursue her dream of dancing professionally. Especially because she was the only one of the Natale daughters who’d inherited their father’s gift in the kitchen.
Probably because she loved food so much. As evidenced by every one of her porky-faced school pictures from kindergarten through tenth grade.
Her father had been crushed that she didn’t want to work with him. But she had known she had to escape—had to take her shot while she could or risk regretting it the rest of her life.
So she’d gone. She’d hopped a train, determined to stay away until she’d given her dream of being a professional dancer everything she had to give.
Making it at Radio City hadn’t eased her parents fears of her being “out there all alone.” It had actually increased them once they’d realized she was unlikely now to ever come back.
If they knew just how wild her life had been for the first few years she’d been on her own, they’d have felt justified in their fears. Like any good girl kept on a tight leash, she’d taken great pleasure in breaking every rule in the book once she was free and able to make her own decisions. Especially once she had men surrounding her and money to do whatever she wanted.
It had been wild. It had also been reckless—so in the past couple of years, she’d settled down. Stopped partying, stopped hooking up, stopped blowing every dime. She now had a nice nest egg…which she hoped to use to re-establish her life in New York. She’d been approached about going back to work at Radio City, as a choreographer this time. And she knew she’d probably get the same offer from her other modern dance company.
Or she could teach. She could open her own school…she had the money to at least give it a shot. That was among the things she’d been considering doing when she got back to reality.
Her parents, however, would give anything for her to stay here and never go back to that other life, the one that didn’t include them beyond the weekly phone call and twice-yearly visit. Openly dating a local guy—a friend of the family—would raise their hopes unfairly and hurtfully. So she couldn’t do it.
Before she could say so, however, he stepped closer. Close enough to stop her heart. “You’re a mess,” he murmured. He lifted a hand, touching a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. Closing his fingers over it, he slowly pulled, wiping away flour or cream or whatever had happened to be there.
The brush of his fingertips against her cheekbone almost made her cry. Almost made her whimper. Almost made her lean forward to press her mouth onto his.
“A sweet, delectable mess,” he added, his fingers still tangled in her hair. He touched her face, rubbing her skin as if he’d never felt anything so smooth, so soft.
Every muscle in her body went warm and pliant, until Izzie wondered how she could still be standing upright. As if sensing her weakness, he moved closer, sliding one foot between her legs, slipping one hand into her tangled hair to cup her head.
“I have to see how sweet you taste,” he muttered, sounding as helpless as she felt. “If only once…I have to taste you.”
Drawing her forward, he bent closer. Even knowing it was crazy and could go nowhere, Izzie prepared for a kiss she’d wanted for more than a decade. She’d cried over that mouth, had fantasized over those lips for more nights than she could count.
And she wanted it, God how she wanted it. Even if it was all she was ever going to get to have of him.
But rather than a simple kiss—the soft brush of his mouth on hers—he shocked her by immediately sampling her lips with his tongue, tasting her, as he’d said he must.
She whimpered, low and helpless.
“Oh, very sweet,” he whispered, licking at the seam of her lips again, boldly demanding entrance rather than asking for it with a more typical, closed-mouthed first kiss.
Izzie couldn’t deny him or herself. With a hungry groan, she opened to him, welcoming his tongue in a deep, sensual exchange that she felt from her head to the tips of her toes.
He’d thought she tasted sweet. She thought he tasted like irresistible sin. He was warm and spicy, his mouth just moist enough to whet her appetite. Just hot enough to send her temperature rocketing higher.
He sunk his other hand in her hair and held her close. Sagging against him, Izzie gave herself over to pleasure, wondering how it was possible for something to be as good as a dozen years of dreaming had promised it would be. It was a kiss more intimate than any she’d had even when making love. Because it was like making love. It was hot and sexy and powerful.
Their tongues found a common rhythm and tangled to it as their bodies melted together. Her nipples ached with need as they pressed against his broad chest. She arched harder against him, easing her legs apart to cup him intimately, whimpering again when she felt his huge erection.
He wanted her. Badly. As much as she wanted him.
The realization was almost enough to shock her into doing something stupid like ending the kiss. This was Nick—the guy she’d always wanted—hot and hard and hungry for her.
“Don’t say no to me, sweetheart,” he whispered as he finally—regretfully—drew his mouth from hers. He moved it to press kisses along her jaw, then down to the throbbing pulse point below her ear. “Say yes.”
Yes, say yes! a voice screamed.
Oh, he was so tempting. And she wanted him desperately—wanted him to pull off her clothes, back her up against the counter and make love to her right on top of it. It would be incredible, the culmination of all her dreams and secret fantasies. She could finally put an end to all the years of restless, hopeless wanting.
But it wouldn’t be the end. It would be the start of something, rather than the end of it. He’d make incredible love to her, make her come with a few more touches of his hands and a few more of those incredible kisses and she’d be alive and happy and completely fulfilled for the first time in her life.
But then he’d want to take her out for a pizza. Or get together with friends. And she’d be caught so deep in a quagmire of family and home that she’d never be able to get free of it.
“Say yes, Izzie,” he ordered, sucking her earlobe into his mouth and nibbling it—a tiny bite that she felt clear to the floor. “Give me your number and let’s finally get this started.”
Get this started. Get everything started.
She just couldn’t do it. Izzie had always been strong and determined and had taken what she wanted. But she couldn’t take him. Not now. It was much too late.
Yanking away, she winced as her tangled hair got caught in his fingertips. Her breathing ragged, her body crying out at the injustice, she shook her head, hard. Then she backed away, wrapping her arms around her waist in self protection. “No.”
He started to follow, his dark eyes glittering…predatory. “You don’t mean it.”
She held a hand up. “Yes. I do,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re closed and I have work to do in the kitchen.” Taking a deep breath and striving to keep her voice steady, she added, “I want you to leave.”
3
ON HIS FIRST NIGHT working at Leather and Lace, Nick showed up in a bad mood. He’d been in a bad mood for two days—since Izzie Natale had shot down his efforts to get closer to her.
The woman was unbelievable. Ten years ago, she might as well have taken out an ad in the Trib declaring her devotion to him. Now she wouldn’t throw dog drool on him if he was on fire.
Damn, she was feisty. Had she always been that way? He figured with Gloria for a sister she had been. But considering he’d never seen her as a woman—just as a cute, lovesick kid—he’d never noticed. Until now.
Oh, yeah, now he’d noticed. He’d noticed everything about her. And he was not going to give up on her yet. Not when she’d become the first thing he thought of every morning and the star of his dreams every night.
Especially since that incredible kiss they’d shared.
Who would ever have guessed that the cute, pesky girl with the obvious crush on him would prove to be the most sensual, kissable woman he’d ever known? He’d suspected he could kiss her for hours. Now he knew better. He could kiss her for ever.
After she’d ordered him out of the bakery the other evening, he’d decided to play dirty, going right to Gloria to ask her for her sister’s phone number. His sister-in-law had been glad to oblige. She’d also been more than candid about how Izzie had felt about him in the old days.
Not that Nick had needed her to tell him about it. He’d been well aware—as had everyone else.
“Not anymore,” he muttered as he parked his truck—which he’d purchased right after getting home a couple of weeks ago—behind the club. He frowned, wondering how much of a jerk it made him now to be disappointed that a girl who’d had a wild crush on him as a kid didn’t give a damn about him anymore. Probably a pretty big one. But he couldn’t help it.
Knowing little Izzie had been crazy about him had been a constant during his teenage years. A given. Just another part of his reality. Certainly nothing he’d ever taken advantage of or embarrassed her about. It had just been…kinda cute, thinking there was a girl out there doodling his name in her school notebook. Innocent. Simple.
Man, he hated that that girl wouldn’t even look at him now. Especially because he didn’t think he’d done anything to deserve her coldness. No, he hadn’t recognized her. But he also hadn’t recognized the kid who had delivered the newspaper and now ran a newsstand on the corner. Or a couple of guys he’d played basketball with at St. Raphael’s.
