Romeo, Romeo Read online

  “Nick? Are you asleep?”

  “No. Sorry, I zoned out.” He pulled her closer and kissed what he thought was her forehead, though it was hard to tell with her hair falling over her face.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Christ, could he be a bigger schmuck? He'd had amazing sex with her and afterward all he could do was lay there and stew. Way to go, Romeo.

  He pasted on what he hoped was a convincing smile, rolled over on top of her and, without meeting her eyes, gave her a kiss that she returned with enthusiasm and heat. Oh, man, the woman could get him hard with one kiss.

  “Yeah, something is definitely wrong. I have to go to work, and I'd much rather spend the day making love to you.”

  “Mmmm, that wouldbe nice, since I'm supposed to be traveling today and not expected at the office until tomorrow.”

  “Oh, really? Well, let me see what I can do about getting out early. You go back to sleep and take advantage of your day off.”

  “Okay. I guess I am a little tired.” She yawned and snuggled down into the soft feather pillows.

  Nick got out of bed and told himself he had it good. A beautiful woman wanted his body on a temporary basis, just as he wanted hers. They liked each other, and they had a lot of laughs. He should enjoy being together until it stopped being fun, her brother visited and outed him, or she found out who he was, whichever came first. He'd been upfront with her—well, about everything except who he was and what he wanted, namely Premier Motors. And really, was keeping something from someone a lie? He heard Father Francis' voice in his head telling him that a lie of omission was every bit as serious as any other lie.

  He got into a hot shower and wished Father Francis would keep his words of wisdom to himself. He'd been wishing the same thing since he was a kid, and it hadn't worked yet. Father Francis was overperceptive and always had reason to say, “I told you so.”

  Nick took care of the three Ss, dressed quietly, fed Dave, and fixed Rosalie coffee. It was the least he could do for skipping what should come after great sex—the cuddling, the recap, and the stuff women want to hear. He set the coffeemaker to brew in a few hours, pulled out a bag of bagels, and set it out for her, hoping she'd take the hint and eat.

  “Aw, the hell with it.” He wrote a few things down, called for Dave, and they left for work.

  Coffee. There was nothing like the smell of coffee brewing to put a smile on Rosalie's face first thing in the morning. Well, except for sex. Exceptional sex.

  She found her sleep shirt thrown over the treadmill with the remnants of her favorite boy shorts. She stretched, feeling pleasantly achy and more relaxed than she could ever remember. It sure beat the disappointment that had always followed a first time before—not that there had been many, but she was beginning to see a definite pattern evolving.

  Making love to Nick was different. It required no learning—it came naturally. Even kissing was seamless. There were no bumping noses, no clinking teeth, and no cold fish lips. It was a choreographed dance of mouths and bodies, the likes of which she'd never experienced before. It made a girl wonder what else she'd been missing all these years.

  In the bathroom, Rosalie was surprised to see guy stuff on the counter. At least, Nick was neat. There was no gross shaving cream mixed with hair in a ring around her sink and no toothpaste spit on the faucet. He didn't have much. His razor, deodorant, shaving cream, and aftershave were on the other side of the double sink from the tumble of baskets filled with her assorted accoutrements.

  She didn't know why she hadn't noticed his things before. Maybe this was the first time she'd felt well enough to concentrate on anything more than breathing and moving at the same time. Plus, Nick was unobtrusive. In the bathroom at least… come to think of it, unobtrusive is not a word she'd use to describe Nick. His things were unobtrusive, but Nick? No way.

  Rosalie took a sniff of his aftershave. Without Nick, the scent wasn't the same. Not that it was bad, but being on Nick made it so much better. His toothbrush hung next to hers. His tube of toothpaste, squeezed from the bottom, stood beside hers in the water glass.

  She braced herself for the panic, but it didn't come. At least all his stuff wasn't there. She puttered around the bathroom for a while, put on one of those green-goop masks she never took the time to use, and while that set, went in search of coffee.

  The scene that greeted her in the kitchen made her laugh. The mask was drying and felt tight; when she laughed, it cracked. She probably looked like The Bride of Frankenstein. A sticky note attached to a bag of bagels said “EAT,” another note on the coffeemaker said “DRINK,” and one attached to the phone said “CALL ME.” The phone rang.

  “I thought I was supposed to call you.”

  “Most children do call their mother, but no, not you. I have to find out that you have pneumonia from a cafone as he throws me out of my own daughter's apartment. He's an animal!”

  Note to self: Always check caller ID before answering the phone. “Good morning, Ma. I'm fine. And how are you?”

  “Who does he think he is, and what's all this about you having pneumonia? How dare you not tell me? I thought it was a cold. Then I called and called, and you didn't answer your phone. I kept getting the message machine that always hangs up on me before I finish. I had to call your office and hear that you were out of town from your girl.”

  “Ma, Gina is my assistant, not 'my girl.' I left town unexpectedly, and only got back late last night. I still haven't had my coffee. Is there something you need?”

  “Rosalie, what are you doing with your life? You had a good man who wanted to take care of you, to marry you, to make babies with you. And what do you do? You break his heart and take up with a good-for-nothing cafone. Do you want I should die of a heart attack before I ever hold a grandchild?”

  “Ma, isn't it a little early to start planning your heart attack? You're barely middle-aged.”

  “Your sainted grandmother, she died at sixty-two.”

  “Yeah, but she got hit by a bus. That doesn't count.”

  “Her vision went with age. She never saw it coming. God rest her soul.”

  “So make an eye doctor appointment. Think of it as preventive medicine. Besides, Annabelle is getting married. You'll have grandbabies before you know it.” Then maybe you'll stop bothering me. “Why don't you call Richie and ask him when he's going to start producing the next generation of Ronaldis?”

  “Men can have babies anytime. Look at Charlie Chaplin. Women, the eggs get stale and then they don't work so good.”

  Rosalie couldn't believe she was having this conversation. But then, most conversations she had with her mother left her asking one question: Why?

  “Ma, why don't you and Papa take a vacation? You can go down to Florida and visit with Aunt Anna, go on a cruise or something. Get out of the cold.”

  “What? So you can run your life into the ground? No, I stay where I'm needed.”

  “Driving me crazy is not a necessity. It's an option.”

  “Besides, your father, he's working late a lot. He's got a big project, and well, he's busy.”

  “What do you mean, he's busy? He does home remodels. No one works late on a home remodel. Owners don't want to listen to hammering while they're eating, not to mention when their children are sleeping. Are you sure you heard him right?” By now, the mask was flaking off her face, and pieces were floating around her like green snowflakes. Her skin felt so tight, it hurt.

  “Look, Ma, I've got to go.”

  “Okay, Rosalie. I'll see you on Sunday. Are you going to bring the cafone!”

  “His name is Nick, and he's not a cafone. But no, I'm not bringing him.”

  She didn't argue, which was unlike her, and she let out a plaintive sigh.

  “Watch yourself with this Nick character. He's a good-looking man, but he's got the devil in those eyes.”

  Her mother would be singing a different tune if she knew who the cafone with the devil in his eyes actually was. “Ma, we'
re only dating. It's nothing serious. I'll see you Sunday.”

  Rosalie went to chisel the mask off her face, hoping there would still be skin left when she finished, and couldn't help thinking about Nick. At first, Nick keeping his identity under wraps had seemed okay. She understood that he was protecting himself by not telling her who he was. He didn't know her then, but it wasn't as if he didn't know her now, after everything they'd been through. You can't spend twenty-four hours a day together for an entire week and not know each other. Rosalie was sleeping and having the most intense, incredible sex with a man who didn't trust her enough to tell her his real name.

  Nick had meetings, signed contracts, and worked with his accounting department, the sales manager, the service manager, the parts manager, and the auto body manager. He felt as if he was hyperaware, hypersensitive, and moving at hypersonic speed.

  Lois kept shooting him strange looks, but she hadn't said anything. What was there to say? She couldn't complain that he was too productive, when she'd been giving him a hard time about not working enough. He didn't know how he could have been expected to work while

  Rosalie was sick. He hadn't been able to think of anything else. Now that she was back in town and healthy, who could blame him for trying to finish up early? All he could think of was going home and making love to her again.

  Dave groaned and rolled over with all fours in the air. Nick had learned that was a sure sign Dave wanted a belly rub. He slipped off his loafer and rubbed Dave's stomach with his foot while he finished making notes about the year-end reports. As the numbers stood, this had been his best year and that was saying a lot. Previous year earnings had been up almost ten percent over the year before.

  His phone vibrated. He checked the caller ID and recognized Rosalie's number. It was after eleven. At least she'd slept in.

  “Hey, you're up.”

  “I am. Thanks for breakfast.”

  “You're welcome.” He had to bite his tongue to keep from asking how she was feeling.

  “My dog is missing. Do you happen to know where he is?”

  “I brought him to work. He likes it here, and I didn't want you to have to get up and take him out.”

  “Are you going to bring him back, or is he to become a permanent resident of Romeo's, like my car?”

  “Think of the hassle parking is when you don't have a driveway. The savings in tickets alone—”

  “Fine, I give up. As long as it's safe, and I can get to it.”

  “It's safe, and I can guarantee you access twenty-four/seven.”

  “And Dave?”

  “What can I say? He likes coming to work. I like having him around, and Ty likes walking him. He's getting good exercise, and he loves Ty.”

  “Fine, but you'll bring him home later, right?”

  “Of course. Besides, I have unfinished business with you. I'm going to be here another few hours, but I should be back by four. Are you up to taking a run to Chinatown? We can walk around and grab dinner. I promise to have you home and in bed early.”

  “You do, huh? Well, okay. I haven't been to Chinatown in eons. Maybe we can stop in Little Italy for dessert.”

  “Sounds good. We'll see you in a few hours.”

  Nick ended the call with a smile on his face and tackled the rest of the pile that filled his in-box.

  “Lee? We're home.”

  “Hi, big boy! Come to Mama.”

  Nick let Dave off the leash, and the dog ran to Rosalie. If only she greeted him the same way. Nick waited for Dave to get his fill of kisses and “Did you miss me's?”

  Rosalie gave him a shy smile. “Hi.”

  All he got was a “Hi?” What's wrong with this picture?

  Nick shrugged out of his jacket, threw it on the couch, and moved within touching distance. “Try to contain your excitement. No need to gush all over me.”

  Rosalie held his gaze, tipping her head back until they were a hair's breadth away from touching. “I wouldn't want you to get a big head.”

  “No chance of that as long as I'm with you.” Nick gave her a slow smile and cupped her cheek before kissing her, an easy brush of lips that had her reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. Never one to resist a willing woman, he pulled her closer and kissed her again and again. “Hi, yourself.”

  He stepped back before he forgot his plan to take her out. “Are you still up for Chinatown? If not, we can go someplace around here.”

  “Oh, no, you're not skipping out on our date.”

  Nick picked up her coat, held it out for her, and wrapped a colorful scarf around her neck. “Do you have your gloves?”

  “Nick, one conversation with my mother a day is my limit. I've been a grown-up for a long time.”

  “Point taken. Are you feeling up to taking the subway in, or should we drive?”

  “Subway works for me.”

  There was something about riding a subway with a guy that was so high school. The whole experience made Rosalie feel young and pretty. Especially when that guy was holding the overhead handle with one hand and had the other wrapped around her waist, her back pressed against his front. His bedroom voice whispered in her ear. His breath fanned her cheek, and naughty thoughts ran through her mind. She wished they were in an empty car instead of a standing room only tin can during rush hour.

  Nick growled at a man who bumped into her when the train lurched forward. She had nothing to hold onto and didn't want to touch the guy in front of her, so she turned and held onto Nick.

  Rosalie had never ridden the subway without holding onto either a pole or the overhead strap. No, that wasn't true. She had when she was a little kid, and she'd gone into the city with her father. He'd let her stand and hold onto his leg. She remembered feeling as if nothing bad could ever happen when she was with her dad. She was getting that same feeling with Nick.

  All of a sudden, the train felt too crowded, the temperature too hot, and Nick's arm around her too stifling. At the next stop, when she tried to move away, he tightened his hold. She pushed his arm away, stepped back, and grabbed a pole as people shuffled out.

  She didn't know if it was the crowd, the heat, or what. She did know she wanted off the train. Nick's stare burned through her. Intense. Demanding. She felt it as sure as the cool metal she was clinging to. She studied the signs above the windows and then glanced outside. Finally, Canal Street. She caught her breath and waited for the doors to open. Nick's hand slid across the nape of her neck. His thumb caressed her skin.

  “You okay?”

  She swallowed hard. “Fine.”

  And like that morning when she'd asked him the same question, they both knew the answer was a lie.

  In temporary relationships, while you might be unable to hide that something was bothering you, you had the option to ignore it entirely. The lie was tantamount to an unanimous vote to adopt the “Don't ask, don't tell” policy.

  If Nick had wanted to tell her why he was near panic that morning after they'd made love, she'd have been glad to listen. Rosalie asked once, but it would be against the rules to bring it up again. She knew he was fighting the urge to break the rule, but he knew damn well if he did, it would leave him open to having to answer her question from that morning.

  Rosalie climbed the stairs to Canal Street, and the comforting smell of Chinatown wrapped around her like a Polar fleece blanket, soft and warm. The sound of a mother scolding her daughter in Chinese, kids playing stickball in an alley, and the squawk of live chickens floated over the hum of street traffic. She took a deep breath. The smell of Chinese food made her mouth water, and the cold air erased the last of her unease. Nick held her hand and stuffed their joined hands into the pocket of his jacket.

  They walked down Canal toward Bowery, checking out the shops that carried everything from Chinese herbs and live chickens to knockoff purses and top-of-the-line electronics. When they came to Mulberry Street, Nick stopped.

  “What do you feel like eating, Chinese or Italian?”

  N
ow as an Italian, Rosalie ate Italian food all the time, but it was also her absolute favorite comfort food. She'd been in Michigan for over a week, and they wouldn't know good Italian food if it sat on a plate and served itself. She felt as if she was going through withdrawal.

  “Italian.”

  Nick smiled. “A girl after my own heart. Come on, I know this great little place down off Prince Street. You'll love it.”

  He was right. The place was great. There were six or eight tables, and the owner sat at a corner table, drinking coffee and chatting with the clientele. A wall of old brick ran the length of the restaurant on one side, a golden painted plaster wall on the other. Ornate artwork hung everywhere, giving the room a relaxed, cluttered, homey look. Rosalie sank into the chair Nick held, took the menu from the waiter, and perused it while Nick ordered wine.

  The food was exceptional, the atmosphere relaxed, and before she knew it, two hours had passed.

  They were sipping their second cup of demitasse when she asked, “What exactly do you do with Dave when you're at work?”

  Nick laughed and sat back in his chair, rocking on two legs. “Lois bought him a bed, so most of the day he sleeps. He's got Lois conned. She keeps dog biscuits in her drawer, and every once in awhile, he walks into her office and puts his head on her desk and does that eyebrow thing that turns her into putty.”

  “He can spot a sucker a mile away.”

  'Ty comes by after school and walks him, or maybe it's the other way around. They hang out at the park or run parts down to the body shop and pretty much wear each other out. By the time we get home, Dave is so tired, he eats, does his thing, and then crashes.”

  “Does his thing?”

  “Yeah, you know, his thing. The thing the law requires us to pick up.”

  She laughed. “Oh, that thing.”