TOO HOT TO HANDLE Read online

  "I hear you."

  "Now, you know Mona's gonna be here sniffin' out those rocks tomorrow, so you better talk to your mother about this before Mona does. You don't want her to hear that you're engaged from Mona. That'll hurt her feelings, you know?"

  "Okay. I'll talk to Mum."

  "Ira's gonna want to deal in cash. I'll make sure I got enough in the safe tomorrow. You can pay me back after you get that new high-falut'n job. And if this thing with you and Annabelle don't work out, get the damn ring back. You don't need to be padding no chick's jewelry box. You get what I'm sayin'?"

  "It's going to work out, Vin. I—"

  "I know, I know. You love her."

  "I do."

  "And there's no way I can talk you into waitin' on this?"

  "No."

  "Okay, I hope you know what this is gonna cost me."

  "I'll pay you back."

  "It's not the money. Nick is gonna fuckin' kill me."

  "Nick needs to mind his own business."

  "Now don't be givin' Nick shit. He's worried about you. We all are."

  Vin stood and raised his glass. "Well, I wish you all the luck in the world. You're gonna need it."

  Mike drained the last of his drink and set the glass on the desk before he stood. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

  Vin grabbed Mike into a tight hug and slapped his back. "Now, get your ass over to your mother's place before it gets too late. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Mike followed Vinny through the kitchen. "Nino, pack up a few cannoli to go. Mikey here is going to see his mama."

  Nino made up a to-go package and handed it to Mike. "You say hello to your mama for me, eh?"

  "Sure, Nino. Vin, thanks again."

  Vinny smiled at him. "Now get the hell outa here. I got work to do."

  Vinny was right. He needed to tell his mother. It didn't mean he looked forward to it.

  All his life, it had only been him and Mum. She liked Annabelle. She certainly raved about her enough after their lunch together. But she'd only met Annabelle twice.

  He hoped she wouldn't have the same reaction to the news that Vinny had. Even more than that, he hoped she wouldn't cry.

  Mike could handle any emergency you could throw at him, but he couldn't handle his mother's tears. Happy, sad, made no difference. His mother crying just wigged him out.

  Mike used his key and let himself into his mother's apartment. "Mum, I'm home." He set the cannoli on the dining room table and went into the kitchen to get plates.

  "Michael, what are you doing here? I thought you'd be with Annabelle on the last night of your vacation."

  She kissed him and then wiped the lipstick off his cheek. He wasn't even sure she actually had lipstick on, but she rubbed his cheek whether it needed it or not.

  "Did you have a good time? Is everything okay?"

  "Yeah, it was fine. We had a great time. That's why I stopped by. You want some tea? Vinny sent over some cannoli."

  His mother filled the kettle while he pulled out the cups.

  "You had a nice time, but instead of staying with Annabelle, you went to Vinny's and then came here?"

  "Mum, I'm going to ask Annabelle to marry me." Oh man, he knew it. She teared up. "Please don't cry. You know I can't stand it when you cry."

  She turned her back to him and fussed with the teapot. "I'm not crying. I think it's wonderful. Sudden, but not unexpected."

  If she was crying, at least she had the decency to pretend she wasn't. It still bothered him, but not as much as when she was out-and-out crying.

  "So, this is okay with you?"

  "Michael, you're in love with the girl. I think it's wonderful. You were always one to make a quick decision. I'm not surprised. I wish you and Annabelle every happiness."

  "Thanks, but I haven't asked her yet. I'm not sure she even wants to get married."

  "She's in love with you. You're a wonderful man. Why wouldn't she want to marry you?"

  "I don't know. This weekend was incredible, and we had a great time, but I think something was bothering her. I'd catch her looking at me, and she seemed … I don't know … sad, I guess."

  "So talk to her. Find out what's wrong."

  "We're having dinner together tomorrow night. I went to Vinny's to see if he could hook me up with one of his friends in the diamond district."

  "There's no need for that. I have a ring I've been saving for you. It was your grandmother's. It's beautiful. I have it in the safety deposit box at the bank. I'll get it for you and take it to have it cleaned on my lunch hour tomorrow."

  "You never told me you had Grandmother's ring."

  "It was from your father. He'd given it to me as a promise ring … I hadn't thought to mention it. You were never serious with anyone before. I put it away years ago. I guess it slipped my mind. It's a beautiful ring, though. Annabelle will love it."

  "Are you sure about this? You know you can have it reset."

  "I'm not the diamond type. You know that. If I'd wanted to have it reset, I would have done it ages ago."

  Mike hugged her, and she waved him off. "You go call Vinny and tell him to cancel that appointment. And make sure you thank him, too."

  "I will."

  Mike never knew his mother had a ring given to her by his father. It made him feel a little weird, but it would save him a fortune. So who was he to question it?

  He and his mum had tea and cannoli and made plans to meet the next afternoon.

  Chapter 15

  Mike met his mother the next day at the jeweler's where she'd had the ring cleaned. When she opened the box, the size of the stone astonished him. It was as big as, if not bigger than, the rock Nick had bought Annabelle's sister, and Nick had money to burn. Mike didn't know anything about diamonds, but this one was brilliant. He couldn't imagine how much it was worth. To think all the times his mother had struggled to put food on the table and pay the bills, she'd never sold it. Amazing.

  "I told you it's perfect for Annabelle. She can carry it off. I always felt as if it wore me rather than the other way around."

  "You wore it?"

  "Yes, for a time, when I was pregnant with you. I wore it and a wedding band."

  "Oh."

  He put the ring on the tip of his finger and watched how it caught the light. She was right. Annabelle would love it. It was unusual, big, bold yet delicate, just like her.

  "It's amazing. Thank you."

  "Why are you thanking me? It's rightfully yours. It's all you have of your family heritage."

  "It's not much of a family, but it's a great ring."

  "I suggest you get it appraised for insurance purposes. But you can have that done when you have it sized for Annabelle."

  "Right." Mike nodded. He was nervous as hell.

  He checked his watch. "I have to go. I'm meeting Mr. Ronaldi at two."

  She kissed his cheek and then rubbed off the lipstick. "You'll be fine, Michael. Just remember one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "She's lucky to have you, just as you're lucky to have her. This isn't a one-sided relationship."

  Mike hoped not. "Love you, Mum. Thanks again … and I'll call you … you know, later."

  "I'd be surprised to hear from you before tomorrow. Have a wonderful night tonight. Make it one that neither of you will ever forget."

  "Okay."

  "And Michael, remember this is something she's going to tell your children and grandchildren about. Don't propose in a way that would force her to lie every time your daughter asks how you proposed. Make it special."

  "Right … special." Shit, this was more complicated than he thought it would be.

  Mike parked Nick's car in front of the Ronaldi's house. The front door flew open before he hit the first step. Mrs. Ronaldi waited, smiling, holding the door.

  "Michael, so nice of you to come. Here. Come in, come in."

  He followed her inside. "Thanks, Mrs. Ronaldi. I'm supposed to meet your husband. Is he home yet?"

  "He
's changing. Sit, sit. Can I get you a coffee? Espresso?"

  "No thank you, I'm good." Mike had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to say to Annabelle's mother. His mind was a total blank.

  She motioned for him to sit on the couch in the living room. When he did, the air escaped from the plastic that encased it.

  Mrs. Ronaldi sat in the chair beside the couch. "Did you have a nice holiday?"

  He wiped his damp palms on his pants. "Yes. I took Annabelle out to the Hamptons for the long weekend. We stayed at Nick's place. It was really relaxing."

  "I hope she took good care of you. Both my girls are wonderful cooks."

  "Actually, I usually do the cooking. It's a hobby of mine. I don't think I've given Annabelle much of a chance to um … show off."

  "You cook?"

  "Yes, I learned when I worked at DiNicola's. I don't get to cook nearly enough. Annabelle doesn't seem to mind my taking over the kitchen, though."

  "Oh, well. I guess if it's your hobby, eh? It's a good thing then."

  "Yeah, it's all good."

  Mr. Ronaldi thankfully came down. "Maria, get the man a drink."

  Mike stood to greet Mr. Ronaldi. He had the same good looks Annabelle's brother, Richie, had with a bit more meat on his tall frame—and a lot more muscle. Mike wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley. "Mrs. Ronaldi already offered. I'm fine." Mike shook his hand. "Thanks for meeting me, Mr. Ronaldi."

  "I'm having a beer. You wanna change your mind?"

  Mike cleared his throat. "Fine. A beer would be nice. Thanks."

  Mr. Ronaldi turned to his wife. "Well, you heard him. Go get us our drinks."

  Mrs. Ronaldi scurried away, embarrassed. Mike couldn't help but feel sorry for her. He couldn't believe the way Mr. Ronaldi spoke to his wife, but ignored the urge to tell Mr. Ronaldi where to get off. It probably wasn't a good time, especially considering the question Mike came to ask.

  "Mr. Ronaldi—"

  "Paul. You call me Paul."

  "Fine, Paul. I came over today because … I love Annabelle, and I want to marry her. I came to ask for your blessing."

  Something crashed in the kitchen. Mike jerked his head toward the noise. It was probably a couple of beers.

  "You didn't knock her up, did you?"

  "No, sir. I love her, and I want to marry her. If she'll have me."

  Mrs. Ronaldi ran out with the beer, shoving Paul's at him. "Of course she will have you. A nice doctor like you, so well mannered and handsome, why wouldn't she have you? You're Catholic?"

  "Yes, ma'am, I'm Catholic."

  "Good, then there's no problem."

  "I hope you're right." He turned to Mr. Ronaldi. "Do I have your permission to marry your daughter?"

  Mr. Ronaldi looked him up and down. "Yeah. You can marry her. You better take good care of her, though."

  "Yes, sir. I will."

  Mr. Ronaldi raised his glass. "Salute, and good luck."

  Mike sipped of the cold beer. He could really use it. The luck that is. He hoped proposing to Annabelle would be less nerve-racking than asking her father for his permission had been. Somehow, he doubted it.

  Mike did his best to come up with a romantic way to propose to Annabelle. Unfortunately, romance wasn't his forte. The best he could do on short notice was a nice romantic dinner.

  He went shopping and bought a few filets mignons, mushrooms, a good Marsala wine to use in a mushroom and wine reduction, and everything else he'd need. Lord knew, he couldn't count on Annabelle to have anything on hand in her kitchen. He bought candles and prayed that Rosalie had left candlesticks. There weren't any in the market, and he didn't have any at his place either.

  Mike hurried to Annabelle's and let himself in. If he wanted to have everything ready before she got home from work, he needed to move fast.

  After taking Dave out for a quick walk, Mike got down to work. He set up his little hibachi in the garden, started the coals, and locked Dave in the apartment to make sure he didn't go sniffing around the fire.

  Once the coals were heating, he searched for candlesticks. He checked every cabinet in the kitchen to no avail before moving to the den, which was now filled with boxes he'd never seen. There was an armoire hidden behind a pile of boxes. He hoped it contained a set of candlesticks because he really didn't have time to run to another store. A large three-foot-by-five-foot canvas rested against the armoire, its back facing out. He looked for a better place to rest it, but the room was so cluttered, he found none. Heck, maybe he should hang the damn thing because there was no floor space left to speak of. Beside the canvas were the remains of the crate it must have been shipped in, as well as a pink and purple polka dot toolbox with Wayne's name stenciled on the side.

  He opened the toolbox, took out the hammer, a picture hook, and a nail, and after finding a stud in the middle of the wall, he drove the nail in. The canvas already had a metal wire and had obviously been hung before. Maybe it was something Annabelle brought home from the gallery. She probably didn't want it hanging in the den, but she wasn't there for consultation. If she wanted him to move it later, he would. But for right now, it was better to get it up off the floor before it was damaged.

  Mike lifted it over the stacked boxes, turning it carefully so as not to knock any of her things over, and was surprised to see it was a painting of a naked guy. He couldn't help but notice it was a naked guy with a little dick. Not that he usually checked out guys' dicks, but it was literally right in front of his eyes.

  He cursed as he tried to get the wire on the damn picture hook. Finally it caught. Mike straightened the canvas a little and stepped back to see the whole picture so to speak.

  Mike couldn't believe his eyes. It was a painting of him … but not. Christ, whoever painted this needed to have his eyes examined. The nose looked just like his nose before he'd broken it, the mouth was all wrong, and damn, he certainly didn't have a little dick. Even the eye color was wrong. It wasn't him. He looked for some clue as to who it was, and all he saw was Annabelle's signature and the year it was painted.

  She'd painted it four years before they'd met. It couldn't be him. It was a relief to know she didn't think his dick was that small. But shit, who was this guy? And why did he look so much like him? And what was she doing with a naked guy who looked like he could be his twin?

  That bad feeling Mike had since he and Annabelle left the Hamptons was so strong it threatened to crush him. The front door opened and closed. Annabelle greeted Dave and called Mike's name, but he couldn't take his eyes off the painting.

  He didn't turn to face the open doorway; he knew she'd found him when he heard the sharp intake of breath. Any hope that this was some kind of joke dissolved with her slow exhale. He turned. Annabelle stood holding on to the doorframe like she needed the support. He could really use some too; support that is. The shock and horror on her face gave him the feeling that the bottom had just dropped out of his plan for the night and for the rest of his life. Christ, he was nervous before—now he felt sick to his stomach. Annabelle looked pale, but worse, she looked guilty as hell. "Who is this painting of?"

  Annabelle grabbed the doorjamb tighter; the tone of his voice was so cold, as cold as the look in his gray eyes. In every nightmare she'd had about his reaction to the moment he found out the truth, his eyes were never like that. She'd never felt such distance between them. When she moved toward him, he held his hand up to stop her.

  "Just answer the damn question."

  "Please don't look at me like that." The vein in her forehead pulsed double time. She tried to blink away the tears welling in her eyes. Mike never blinked. This was it. This was the end. Oh God, it hurt. It was all she could do to stay standing. She wanted to curl into a ball to protect herself from the cold pain in his eyes. Instead, she covered her mouth with a trembling hand, either to cover a sob or to keep herself from blurting out the truth.

  She nodded and took a deep breath. "I was going to tell you today. I would have told you as soon as I found ou
t, but I didn't want to ruin the weekend you'd worked so hard for." She looked away; she couldn't watch him, and she couldn't bear to see the hate in his eyes. "Michael, I never lied to you, not about anything. I want you to know that."

  Mike let out what sounded like a growl. "Yeah. Okay. Sure. Would you please just say what you need to say?"

  "I love you." She wiped the tears running down her face. She had a hard time breathing. She wrapped her arms around herself and kept going. "Becca came to visit. I thought she came to help me unpack everything I've had in storage." She gestured to the boxes everywhere. "I left to meet your mother for lunch. Remember?"

  Mike remained silent, and Annabelle didn't have the guts to look at him. "I found out that Christopher Larsen is your father. I didn't know before then. I swear. I ran home to Becca to tell her. She knows. The painting is of Chip. He posed for me. It was done a few months before we found out the cancer had come back. Chip and Becca are twins. Becca's your sister."

  "You called me Chip that night at the wedding."

  Annabelle nodded. "I thought I saw a ghost."

  "That's why you went home with me. Because I looked like him?"

  "I don't know, maybe at first. But Mike, that's not why I kept seeing you."

  "And you expect me to believe that? Especially since you've been so honest with me about everything else."

  She nodded and looked at her feet. This hurt so much more than she could ever have imagined. "It's the truth." Oh God, part of her wanted to run to him and beg him to stay. She envisioned throwing herself at him and hanging on as he tried to escape. No, she wouldn't beg a man to stay with her again. She'd begged Chip every day as she watched him wither away, refusing to fight for their relationship or his life. "I'm sorry. I really am."

  Mike nodded. "Yeah, me too."

  Dave stood beside her, Mike's underwear hanging from his mouth, looking from Mike to her. He whined and butted his head against her thigh, almost knocking her over.