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“It housed a family of seven before my parents died. Later it accommodated five kids, most of them teenagers. I think it ought to be able to handle two of us.” He grinned. “You don’t look like you take up much room.”
Did she understand this man correctly? “I’m sorry, I must be out of mind, because I could have sworn you suggested that I take it on blind faith you aren’t some kind of psychopath and should share the house with a virtual stranger.”
His grin faded. “You’ve got a point. If my sister pulled a stunt like that, I’d—Well let’s just say I’d be mad and leave it at that.”
“See? You making vague threats of hypothetical retribution isn’t convincing me you’re not a psychopath, that’s for sure.” Damn it, why did he have to show up today and throw a huge wrench in her plans? She needed this job, needed to work things out with him.
“If you could convince Giuseppe to foot the hotel bill for me, I suppose I could make the trip back and forth. I just don’t like to drive when I’m tired.” And by the time she was done with the physically demanding work this job entailed, she was usually so bone-weary she was cross-eyed. What if she knocked herself out to make her business work, only to wrap her piece-of-junk truck around a telephone pole because she fell asleep at the wheel?
“No. You’re working too hard already. Don’t you have any other employees or co-workers who could help you out with this job?”
How could she afford to hire anyone when she could barely keep herself afloat? Of course, she wouldn’t tell him that. “I’m giving your uncle a cut-rate price. There’s no budget for anyone else.”
“I can increase your budget.” He looked ready to whip out a checkbook then and there.
And she definitely didn’t want to get roped into that discussion.
“Look. I appreciate the offer, but I’m not trying to bleed more money from you. I just want to be able to fulfill my end of the bargain with your uncle.” Was it her fault the guy had had more than gardening on his mind when he’d hired her?
“Okay. How about this—I’ll haul a few neighbors over here to vouch for me. For that matter, you can have my license and check me out.”
Vito had to admit he respected a woman who looked out for herself. How could he have suggested for a minute that she stay in the house with him when for all she knew he was a wanted man in ten states? She hadn’t even recognized his name from his racing career, so she wouldn’t know the first thing about him.
“What do I look like, a private eye? I don’t want your license.” She brushed aside the idea with an airy wave of her hand.
Vito studied her the way he’d check out a new racecourse, seeking hidden obstacles and tricky angles. She was tougher than she looked with her wispy brown hair fluttering around her chin and her short stature. Despite her delicate features and heart-shaped face, she was a hard worker in a physically demanding job.
She was also pretty damn sarcastic.
“I realize you’re not a private eye. Don’t you have any friends who are cops? Or you could look up my name on the Internet and make sure there aren’t any stories about me getting arrested or groping unsuspecting landscapers.” Women couldn’t be too careful these days. How many times had he told his sister Giselle that very same thing? “Do you have any family in the area? Anyone who can watch your back while you’re out working?”
Who made sure she arrived home every day? In her line of work, she must meet a lot of strangers.
She frowned, those narrow arches of her eyebrows flattening into one line of dark scowl. “I imagine your job is far more dangerous than mine. And I certainly don’t need my family to help me run my business.”
Touchy subject, apparently. Vito made a mental note to revisit the topic at another time.
Wait a minute. Had he really just planned for future personal discussions with Christine Chandler, prickly gardener and owner of a very tempting pair of legs?
Bad idea, given his brief time in the States and his dating code of ethics. He made it a point not to get involved with women who weren’t looking for the same things from a relationship as him. And he could almost guarantee that this woman who put down roots for a living wouldn’t be romanced by the idea of a fast fling.
Time to rein in those wayward thoughts about her sexy legs and the enticing contrast between her nurturing profession and her tough personal side.
“So what do you suggest?” he asked, the oppressive heat robbing him of alternative ideas for their dilemma.
“The house is very big,” she admitted. “And it’s not like I spend all that much time in it.”
Vito about fell out of his chair. She’d been driving such a hard bargain about the house issue. Was she actually relenting? No matter what she said to him about not trying to angle for money on this job, Vito would make sure Giuseppe gave her some sort of bonus for all her overtime hours and having to deal with the inconvenience of him showing up. That was only fair compensation.
But given her prickly independent nature, Vito would make certain any bonus looked like it came from Giuseppe and not from him.
“I’ve got a lot to do while I’m in town, too,” he lied, certain he’d find something to keep him occupied so that he didn’t scare her off a job that was obviously very important to her. He had some game software he’d been trying to develop over the past few years.
Besides, despite the stern reminder to himself about the whole dating ethics thing, some deep-seated guy instinct reminded him that Christine was one of the most intriguing women he’d been around in a long time. After the artifice of too many Barbie-doll babes in his world, he couldn’t help but appreciate the way Christine seemed so genuine. So real.
“Fine.” She gave a brusque nod and rose to her feet, putting him at eye level with her hips. “How about we go see a few of your neighbors tonight. If they can vouch that you’re really the owner of this place and—to their knowledge—a good guy, I’ll get back to my work here and we’ll just try to stay out of one another’s way in the house.”
Even the thrill of an open track couldn’t compare to the unexpected adrenaline surge her declaration inspired. He’d probably slept in closer proximity to strangers in nearby hotel rooms than he would with Christine in the sprawling ranch house, but that didn’t stop his adolescent excitement at the sleepover plans.
What if she exited the shower in just a towel? Or forgot to put on a robe when she prowled around the house for a midnight snack? The possibilities were endless. And Vito couldn’t believe that all of those goofy scenarios inspired more interest than easy sex with the latest European model or South American heiress.
Working hard to keep the grin off his face, Vito rose to his feet and reminded himself he was a gentleman.
Damn it.
“It’s a deal.” He replaced the wrought-iron patio chairs and stepped around the mountain of bags containing the foreign-sounding substance named peat moss. Venturing closer to Christine, he extended his arm and told himself being a gentleman could be a good thing. For starters, it made him positive that his neighbors would have only great things to say about him.
“Why don’t we go see Mrs. Kowolski first?” He pointed to the house next door, knowing damn well the widow who ran a catering business out of her home rarely left her kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry because I’ve never once been to her house when she didn’t force me to eat something.”
Ignoring the arm he offered her, she jumped off the patio instead of taking the two low steps down. “Great. I’m starving.”
Christine was already trekking across the rough patches of torn-up lawn in the direction he’d pointed, tanned calves flexing as she navigated the awkward terrain with ease. Vito followed her, reminding himself that American women were a whole different breed.
Independent. A little stubborn, maybe. And very, very sexy.
His appetite was definitely calling to him by now, and he didn’t think Mary Jo Kowolski’s cookies were going to do a damn thing to satisfy the hunger.
3
ENSCONCED in Mary Jo Kowolski’s kitchen an hour later, Christine began to wonder if she would be able to finish transplanting the other fire bushes before the sun set. She’d somehow walked into a massive PR campaign for Vito since Mary Jo was launching into yet another tale of his youth as she refilled Christine’s glass of raspberry tea.
“And then there was the time he organized the neighborhood go-cart drag race. Did he tell you about that, Christine?” Round-cheeked and smiling, Mary Jo had to be approaching sixty, but her bright red T-shirt reading Bloom Where You’re Planted and her masterful organization of ten different things cooking in her ovens made her seem younger.
“Mrs. Kowolski, Christine and I hardly know each other,” Vito reminded her, swiping a lemon cookie off a tray she’d just taken from the oven. He tossed the hot treat from hand to hand, a ritual Christine suspected was his method of helping it cool off. “We should probably be going so that Christine can—”
“Not one of the Cesare kids will call me Mary Jo to this day. Can you imagine? It makes me feel a hundred years old.” Mary Jo waved hello out the kitchen window to an older lady walking a white terrier and then shoved a plate in front of Vito for his cookie. “Anyhow, Vito was always the quiet one compared to his brothers who can all talk your ear off.”
Christine thought that was saying a lot since Mary Jo seemed fairly verbal herself.
“But he was serious about racing from the time he was knee-high to a grasshopper,” she rattled on, moving like a whirlwind through the big country kitchen decorated with lots of cows and painted milk cans. “And when he was probably about twelve he posted flyers all around Coral Gables about his drag race. He charged an entry fee and used it to buy trophies. Even the local cops showed up to watch the race.”
“Did he win?” Christine munched on her scallops wrapped in bacon and decided being a caterer beat landscaping hands down.
Sparing a glance for Vito who had been giving her apologetic smiles every few minutes, she noticed he was hanging his head.
“Oh, no.” Mary Jo turned on a big electric mixer in one corner of the room and let it do its noisy job while she simply raised her voice to be heard over the racket. “He got beaten soundly by the Baker boys up the street, but the neighborhood kids loved the event so much they made it an annual thing for the next four years, and after that Vito never lost, did you, hon?” She reached over the kitchen island to pat Vito’s cheek as if he was still ten years old, then turned her mixer back off. “It’s good to have you home. And I’m so glad we’ve got a couple of months to work on keeping you here. I can’t wait for your sister’s wedding.”
Vito slid off the tall chair perched at the kitchen island. “It’s going to be great to have the family together again. I couldn’t stay in town long after Renzo’s wedding this spring, so it will be nice to have more time to see friends this trip.”
Christine finished her tea and licked her lips as she rose, wondering if she could find an excuse to drop in on Mary Jo again. The food she normally ate on her work break was more in the peanut-butter-and-jelly vein.
Moving the lemon cookies to a cooling rack with the smooth efficiency of a seasoned pro, Mary Jo winked at Vito. “I can’t wait to meet the man you finally deemed good enough for your little sister. Did you tell your friend Christine about the time you followed Giselle to her prom and then hid in the bushes when she went parking with her date?”
“That story got really blown out of proportion.” Vito backed toward the door as if to flee, but Christine thought she had time for a final Vito story.
She remained rooted to the spot.
“Apparently he neglected to tell me that one. Can you possibly spare another cookie, Mary Jo?” Even after the plateful of scallops, she was dying for a sweet. And the kitchen smelled so lemony good.
“I always have plenty,” she insisted, dealing out another red ceramic plate and three cookies faster than a Vegas card sharp. “In fact I’ll pack up a box for you to take home while I tell you about poor Giselle’s prom night.”
Christine snagged one of the warm cookies while Vito groaned behind her. She was finding it increasingly difficult to reconcile her initial impression of him as Mr. Flashy in his European suit and expensive gold watch with the same person Mary Jo Kowolski kept talking about.
“Well, none of the Cesare boys liked anyone to date their sister. I can’t tell you how many young men I saw approach their house once Giselle turned sixteen, but those brothers sent all of them away because none of them was good enough for her as far as they were concerned.”
“Mrs. K., that’s not totally true—”
Mary Jo shook a finger at Vito and smiled. “You had your chance to share the story, but you didn’t. Now it’s my turn.”
Christine wondered if anyone ever got a word in edgewise around Mrs. Kowolski.
“Anyhow, we were all surprised when Billy Spears asked Giselle to the prom and she said yes. I had my doubts about whether or not Giselle would actually make it out of the house that night, but sure enough, I saw her leave just as I was putting the finishing touches on a friend’s wedding cake.”
Christine understood all too well how difficult it could be to have overprotective older brothers breathing down your neck. She’d grown up with two brothers determined to keep her safe, especially after their father walked out, which meant they usually scared off all prospective boyfriends.
No wonder she found herself rooting for Giselle and Billy.
“And then, what do I see out my kitchen window?” Mary Jo pointed with a thumb over her shoulder to her view of the sidewalk and the Cesares side yard. She removed a huge silver bowl from underneath the electric mixer and moved it to another counter where she’d set out her cookie sheets. “Huey, Dewey and Louie, better known as Vito, Nico and Renzo, all pile into the family car to follow them.”
“We were going to a party,” Vito interjected. “Both Marco and Giselle had gone out, so we felt entitled to a night on the town, too. We weren’t following my sister.”
Mary Jo gave him a brush-off smile as if she didn’t believe a word. “Still, Vito and his brothers came back a few minutes after Giselle pulled into the driveway with her date and—”
“We knew when she was supposed to be home and we were running late,” Vito explained, cramming his words in on top of Mary Jo’s.
She paused in the process of dabbing globs of cookie dough on the baking sheets. “And when he found his little sister necking in the car, he probably took ten years off Billy’s life by personally hauling him out of the vehicle.”
Vito shook his head as if still disgusted with the incident that was probably nearly a decade old. “The punk was all over my sixteen-year-old sister and gunning for first base—in my driveway, no less. I was damn proud I handled the matter with no bloodshed.”
Thinking she’d probably tormented Vito enough with this walk down memory lane, Christine scooped up the box of cookies and drifted closer to the door. “In other words he took the whole protector thing pretty seriously?”
Mary Jo winked. “I think he still does.”
Vito was already outside holding the door for Christine.
She hoped he didn’t think she needed any chivalry. She’d left home the moment she turned eighteen just so she could be her own person and make her own mistakes.
Which, of course, she’d done in spectacular fashion. She’d thought she was being so smart and conservative by getting to know Rafe online before she let herself get swept away by his sensitive notes and romantic poems. At least she hadn’t jumped straight into bed with him, right?
Ha! She would have been a lot better off having a fling than getting engaged to a man who already had a wife and had lined up seven other sucker fiancées.
“Thanks for the cookies, Mrs. K.” she called, stepping outside into the Florida twilight.
“Nice meeting you, hon,” the woman hollered back as the screen door slammed. “Come back anytime!”
“Sorry about that.” Vito paused when they reached the street. “I didn’t mean to spend so long at her house, but she’s a really nice lady even if she likes to trot out all my secrets.”
“I bet that’s not all your secrets.” Christine savored the marginally cooler air now that the sun was setting. If she hadn’t known better, this time spent with Vito could almost feel like a date. Good thing she wasn’t such a starry-eyed romantic anymore, right? “I’ll wager your lifestyle abroad is a far sight more colorful—and secret—than your life over here.”
God, that sounded like a come-on. Giving herself a mental shake and a stern reminder of where fanciful thoughts had led her the last time, Christine decided to make tracks back to her sweaty physical labor before she started thinking about other ways of getting sweaty and physical with the undeniably delicious Vito.
Turning her gaze back to the torn-up Cesare yard, she promised herself she’d ditch Vito and all thoughts of a sexy interlude ASAP.
VITO STARED DOWN at Christine in the rosy light of sunset and wondered how many more neighbors’ ancient stories he’d have to suffer through before he could go home.
With her.
“I refuse to answer that until you tell me something about you.” In fact, he wasn’t budging until he knew more about this woman full of contrasts. Her pixie figure versus her very healthy appetite was the most recent of his intriguing discoveries about her. “You know all the dirt on me now, but I don’t know the first thing about you other than you run your own business and you don’t like anyone to handle your petals too roughly.”
He didn’t know what demon within made him add in that last part. He had the feeling he shouldn’t be flirting with her if he wanted to convince her they could successfully share the same house for the next six weeks.
But she didn’t blush or look the least bit flustered. Instead, she jammed her box of cookies under one arm and faced him head-on. All business.
“Fair enough. I’m a Tampa native but I went to college in L.A. I wanted to put as much distance between me and the overbearing men in my family. But now I’m back in the same state as my older brothers and I’m determined to develop my own business independent of anyone’s help—financial or otherwise.”
Was it his imagination, or did he detect a note of warning in her voice? And how had she come to be so damn prickly at such a young age? She couldn’t be much older than twenty-five.
She waved to a little girl pushing her way down the sidewalk on a scooter before she took up her story again. “My five-year plan sees All Natural thriving as an independent success while my ten-year goals include opening offices in other Florida cities. Either that, or I might just open a nursery of specialty plants you can’t find anywhere else. I don’t date much because I work too hard and I spend the majority of my waking hours with dirt under my fingernails.”
He found it interesting she opted to slide in her dating stance. Another warning, no doubt.
“Just out of curiosity’s sake, are men in the five-year plan?” Not that he was jockeying for position or anything.
“Men aren’t even in the long-term planning unless I get really lonely. And even then…Well let’s just say I don’t need much in that department to tide me over.” Glancing around the neighborhood, she peered back at Vito’s ranch house. “And I think that bit of sharing probably evens up the score don’t you? I really need to do a few more things around the yard before it gets totally dark.”
Letting her off the hook for now, Vito definitely planned to ask her about her opposition to dating sometime down the road. Her stance surprised him since he had her pegged for more the home-and-hearth type with her green thumb and nurturing career.
But he had to admit, her anti-relationship views opened up some very intriguing possibilities for them this summer.
“Don’t you want to go talk to a few more neighbors?” Vito had seen Mrs. Hollenbeck walking her dog on the street earlier. She’d vouch for him in a heartbeat, assuming she’d forgiven him for feeding Fluffy pizza the one and only time he’d done any dog-sitting. How was he supposed to know Fluffy had wheat allergies?
“Are you kidding? I just got your whole life story from Mary Jo.” Christine hurried back over to his yard, her low-cut work boots moving silently over the dark ground, her hair fluttering around her chin with the help of a welcome breeze. “I’m confident there’s not a chance you could be a homicidal maniac without her knowing all the details. Even if you did have a dark and wicked side, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to exercise it for fear of jeopardizing lifetime access to the best cookies in southern Florida.”
Setting her box of sweets on the tailgate of the rusty pickup truck parked under the carport, she circled around to retrieve a few tools still lying around the property.
Vito ducked into the carport to turn on a couple of floodlights and then followed her across the yard, enjoying the view from behind. “The people around here are pretty nice. They were all really good to the family after our folks died. Mrs. Kowolski fed us for a week before Giselle decided she wanted to take up cooking. Nico grew pretty talented in the kitchen, too, but me and Renzo—forget it. We would have been living on Cap’n Crunch without some help.”
Giselle’s exploits as a superstar chef were a welcome topic of conversation normally, but Vito didn’t want to overload his guest on his first day back in town. She probably knew more than she ever wanted to know about the Cesares.
