TOO HOT TO HANDLE Read online

  "It's about time. Now that you've entered the realm of the sexually satisfied, aren't you glad you didn't marry the scum-of-the-earth mortician?"

  "What if it's a fluke? What if it's because I had too much to drink, or maybe I dreamed the whole thing?"

  "Or maybe you found a god in bed? Stranger things have happened."

  "Not to me."

  "Yeah, sweetie, I know. But it's not as if you've been with a ton of guys. Two is not a large enough population from which to form an educated hypothesis. And, as much as I loved my brother, he was spoiled and kinda selfish, so he probably wasn't the most considerate lover. I know he wasn't a considerate boyfriend. And then there was Johnny. Need I say more?"

  "No."

  "So, when are you going to see this sex god again?"

  "This afternoon. He's coming over for an early dinner." She turned on the food processor and hoped it wasn't the only thing she'd be able to turn on. She pulsed it a few times. As the machine whirled, she drizzled olive oil into the bowl, finishing off the artichoke heart pesto.

  A quick glance at the clock told her that Mike would be there in ten minutes.

  "Ah." Becca broke the silence. "So are you going to seduce him and see if he's as good when you're sober as when you're drunk?"

  "Becca, I'm no seductress. I don't know how to do that."

  "Honey, girls who look like you don't have to do anything but show up and look welcoming. I'm sure he'll take care of the rest."

  "You think?"

  Chapter 3

  Mike spent the twenty-five minute trip from Coney Island to Park Slope lecturing himself about proper first date behavior. He'd purposely emptied his wallet of condoms so he wouldn't be tempted to attack Annabelle again. However, all the good intentions in the world hadn't stopped him from mentally ticking off every pharmacy between his place and Annabelle's during the ride.

  It would have been a lot easier if she'd agreed to go out to dinner. Even without condoms, Mike wasn't sure how much control he'd have in the same room where he'd all but ripped off her clothes less than twenty-four hours before. Shit, he'd been half hard all day. As it was, a picture of her sleeping beside him wearing nothing but a sexy blue garter was permanently burned in his memory. He'd carry that vision to his grave.

  Mike didn't know what Annabelle was making for dinner, so he stopped at Nick's cousin's restaurant, DiNicola's, to pick up wine.

  "Hey, Vinny, you here?" Mike strolled through the double swinging doors into the restaurant's kitchen and was assaulted with the scent of garlic and onions sautéing in olive oil—one of his all-time favorite smells. Mike might be Irish by birth, but his taste buds never got the message. He'd grown up working at DiNicola's and eating as much Italian food as possible.

  Vinny, wearing his usual chef's garb of a splattered white jacket and black-and-white checked pants, took his attention from the stove. "Of course, I'm here. The question is, why are you?"

  Vinny poured two huge cans of tomato puree into the stockpot along with about a gallon of wine before pouring himself a glass and turning the bottle toward Mike. "You want?"

  "No thanks. I came to pick some up. I've got a date."

  Vinny's unibrow rose. "Who you going out with? I thought that blonde doctor chick dumped you for the head of cardiology?" A knowing smile crossed his face. "Oh you got a date with Nick's new sister-in-law, what's-her-face. I saw you leave with her last night. How'd you manage that? Nick didn't date her before he dated Rosalie, did he? That would be real awkward at family get-togethers, if you know what I mean."

  Mike leaned back against the stainless steel counter and crossed his arms. "I am capable of getting a date Nick hasn't already dumped, you know. I asked Annabelle out myself. I don't need him to get me a date." Actually Mike had called her, and she'd asked him out, but he wasn't about to tell Vinny that. "I don't know what she's cooking, so I thought I'd grab a couple bottles of wine. Do you mind?"

  "What the fuck do I look like, a feak'n liquor store?" He nodded toward the wine cellar. "You gonna get it? Or do I have to?"

  Mike walked past him and smiled. "Thanks, Vin, I owe ya."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll put it on your tab. You got money for flowers? That Annabelle, she's a classy chick. I've got some scratch if you need it." He reached into his pocket and took out a thick billfold.

  "Thanks, but I'm good." Mike went into the wine cellar and grabbed a bottle of red and a bottle of white. He returned and bagged the wine at the carryout station.

  Vinny came out of the walk-in refrigerator carrying a tub of sausage. "Grab the meatballs, will ya, Mikey?"

  Mike retrieved the tub of meatballs and set it on the stainless steel counter.

  Vinny took his cleaver and cut the sausage into separate links. "You wanna eat before you go in case she don't cook too good? Or are you going there for more than food? I saw you leave with her last night. Did you get lucky, Mikey? Did you get some of that?"

  Mike was used to being razzed by Vinny, and it'd never bothered him before. Today he had to fight off the urge to tell him to mind his own business. Mike usually gave Vinny shit about vicariously enjoying the fact he and Nick had a sex life—something that most married men envied. But even though Vinny and Mona had been married since before the earth cooled, Mike still caught Vinny copping a feel as Mona walked past in the kitchen. Hell, he even caught them getting busy in the wine cellar one day before his shift. Something he wished he could erase from his memory bank.

  When Mike didn't answer, Vinny smiled. "Oh man. What's with those Ronaldi women? They got wine-flavored nipples?"

  Annabelle had something all right—something that had Mike counting the minutes until he'd see her again. He checked his watch.

  Vinny laughed. "Go, go. I know that look. I saw it often enough on Nick when he started seeing Rosalie. Have a good time, Mikey. And bring her in soon so Mona can get a better look at her." Vinny reached over and grabbed Mike's arm before he finished nodding his agreement. "I got some rubbers in my desk if you need 'em."

  Mike tried not to laugh. Vinny had been preaching safe sex to him and Nick since before they could shave. Some things never changed. He was tempted to throw all his good intentions out the window and take a handful, but he stood strong. "No thanks." He held up the wine. "This is all I need for the night. I'm gonna see if I can make this last for more than a few weeks."

  "You like her, eh?"

  Mike nodded.

  "So you're what? Not interested in sex all of a sudden?"

  Mike laughed. "Oh no, I'm plenty interested, but I want her to know that's not the only thing I'm interested in."

  "Hold on there, Dr. Mikey. You using that reverse psychological shit? You what? Pretend you're interested in what she's saying instead of just gettin' laid, and then when she realizes you don't wanna have sex, that's all she'll want? That actually work for you?"

  "Vinny, I am interested in what she has to say. We didn't talk very much last night—"

  "Too busy gettin' laid, eh?"

  Mike didn't even dignify that with an answer, but his guilty conscience gave him more than a moment of discomfort for exactly that reason, and because he hadn't realized she was more than just tipsy. She must have been in order to have slept with him and not remembered who the hell he was. So, okay. Tonight he'd make it up to her. He'd be the perfect gentleman.

  "Thanks for the wine, Vinny. Give my love to Mona."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get outa here. I got work to do."

  Mike stopped at Carmine's flower shop to buy Annabelle roses. Not red roses. He didn't want to scare her off. He picked out yellow roses with coral tips. He wasn't sure what significance yellow roses had, so he asked the clerk, who instead of answering, stared at him as if he'd asked if he could have fries with that. He could call his mother. She'd know, but then she'd also know he was buying roses for a woman, and she'd give him the third degree until he promised to bring Annabelle over for supper. He was better off taking his chances.

  Mike took
a deep breath, climbed the brownstone steps, and buzzed her apartment. Two men, one of whom held Dave's leash, opened the security doors. Dave ran out. Mike braced himself moments before the mutt jumped on him and placed both paws on his chest.

  "Hi," the smaller guy said, struggling to pull Dave down. "Sorry about that."

  Mike put the roses under his arm so he could pet the dog. "Hey, buddy. How you doing?"

  "You must be Mike. I'm Wayne and this is Henry." Wayne pointed to the taller man beside him.

  Mike nodded and shook Henry's outstretched hand. "Hi." The other guy, Wayne, was staring at Mike's crotch. He looked down to make sure his fly wasn't flying at half-mast, or worse, open. Nope, everything was covered. Henry must have noticed Wayne's stare, since he elbowed Wayne hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

  Since Wayne was now unable to speak, Henry took over. "We live upstairs and are good friends of Rosalie and Annabelle."

  "Mike Flynn. Nice to meet you."

  Henry grabbed Wayne's arm and pulled him out the door. "We were just going for a walk in the park and borrowed Dave for the evening. Have a nice time tonight."

  "Thanks." Mike turned toward Annabelle's door just as she opened it.

  Wow, she looked almost as good dressed as she did naked. She answered the door barefoot. Her toenails were painted coral, and a thin gold chain encircled her delicate ankle. He followed what seemed like a mile of leg, past two perfect knees to tanned, toned thighs worthy of a standing ovation. His eye hit the hem of a coral v-neck T-shirt dress that Mike was sure didn't scream sex until she put it on. She'd pulled her riot of black curls up in a twist held with ebony chopsticks. A few unruly curls escaped to frame her face.

  Annabelle didn't wear makeup, well, none that he could see anyway. Her tanned olive skin glowed. When she bit and then licked her full bottom lip, every thought Mike had about keeping his hands and the rest of his body parts to himself evaporated.

  She wrung her hands and then bit her lip again. Her bright blue eyes met his. Instead of doing what he should have done, like give her the roses and say hello, he tossed them on the table, placed the wine beside them, and kissed her until they were both breathing heavy and the chopsticks hit the floor.

  His hands skimmed over her ass, which seemed to be bare of anything except his hands and, of course, the dress. He was about to pull her dress up to see if he was right when reality smacked him in the head. He hadn't even said a word to her.

  Things were going according to plan seduction-wise, and Annabelle was thrilled to be getting tingles in all the right places, too. Maybe she hadn't imagined the orgasms. Maybe the sex wasn't too good to be true. She was just giving herself up to the possibility that Mike was indeed a sex god when he pushed her away and stepped back.

  Damn, she'd been congratulating herself on her apparent seductive prowess and for planning a dinner that could sit for however long and be thrown together in ten minutes.

  Guys got hungry after sex, and if she was lucky, Mike would be very hungry. Later. Much later.

  "I'm so sorry."

  She did a double take. "What? What are you sorry about? Coming over?"

  "No. God no." He scrubbed his hand over his face, picked up the hairpins, and handed them to her before he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  Some seductress she'd turned out to be. Maybe she hadn't done enough to him. But gosh, once he started kissing her and running his hands down her body, any rational thought about what her hands should be doing took a backseat.

  "I upset you. I'm sorry I took advantage of you last night. I didn't mean to. Honestly."

  Annabelle raised her head. "Hold on. If someone was taken advantage of last night, it was you. Not me. No one takes advantage of me. Ever." At least not ever again.

  He had the audacity to smile. "You make a habit of taking advantage of poor, unsuspecting men?"

  No fair. One smile and all that good, righteous indignation disappeared without a trace. "No, I wouldn't call it a habit … yet. But I have to admit, it's growing on me."

  His smile was crooked in a really sexy way. It reminded her of someone. Not Chip. Chip's smile had been perfect, almost fake-looking. She used to tease him about being a poster boy for toothpaste commercials. She couldn't figure out who it reminded her of, but at the moment, she had more important things on her mind—like how to get her seduction back on track.

  Annabelle thought back to all the movies she'd watched. Most of the characters didn't have any trouble getting men in bed. Hell, sometimes they just asked for it. She didn't have the nerve. Of all times for Becca to be wrong. She said all Annabelle would have to do was look welcoming. Ha!

  She didn't know how she could look any more welcoming without answering the door naked. Though the way his eyes were looking at anything but her, even that wouldn't have worked.

  The door swung open, hitting her in the back. Rich, her big brother and new resident pain-in-the-ass, walked in like he owned the place. All six feet three inches of him seemed to fill the room. His short-cropped brown hair stood up on top as if it were styled, although he never had to run a brush through it. A girl could hate her brother for his perfect hair and long, thick black eyelashes. Especially as blue as his eyes were. Right now, they held a Dennis the Menace quality.

  Rich was still angry that she had gotten Rosalie's apartment before he could snatch it up. Lucky for her, Rich had kept his plans to leave his position as a professor at Dartmouth for a professorship at Columbia a secret, or she would have lost the apartment to him for sure. Her parents would have insisted Rosalie turn the place over to him. After all, Rich, the eldest child and only son of Paul and Maria Ronaldi, held a special place in their hearts. If her parents had anything to do with it, Rich would become the only living saint. Even Rosalie couldn't compete with Rich, the anointed one.

  "Thanks for letting yourself in, Rich. What are you doing here, and where did you get my keys?"

  "I'm just checking up on you. I was worried when you didn't show up for Sunday dinner. And as for the keys, I've had them since I stayed here with Rosalie over Christmas break. So, are you sick, or are you pouting because it wasn't you walking down the aisle yesterday?"

  Just when Annabelle thought things couldn't get any worse, Mike stepped out from behind the open door.

  "Hi, Rich." Mike shook his hand. "Nice to see you again. I'm afraid it's my fault Annabelle didn't go to dinner. I've been keeping her busy." He put his arm around her and drew her close.

  Rich puffed up like the big blowhard he was. "Busy doing what?"

  Could a person die of embarrassment? The only thing more annoying than Rich's saintly status was his position as the world's most irritating and overprotective big brother. Annabelle stepped between the two men, and with both hands on Rich's chest, pushed him toward the door. Hard. He didn't move.

  "I've been fixing dinner, not that it's any of your business."

  Rich raised an eyebrow but didn't question her response, thank God. All she needed was Rich to start telling disaster stories about her kitchen exploits. Taking off his leather jacket, he winked to let her know he had something to hold over her head.

  "Good, I'm starved. You know I can't eat dinner at one o'clock. That's about the time I get around to eating breakfast when I'm not teaching. What are we eating?"

  "You? Nothing, since you're not invited. What's wrong? Does your girlfriend think your once-happy long-distance relationship has become too close for comfort now that you're only a subway ride away?" She turned to Mike. "Rich didn't bother telling anyone, including Gina, his girlfriend, about his plan to leave New Hampshire and move back to Brooklyn."

  Rich gave Mike a hard look. "So, what are you doing having dinner with my little sister?"

  Annabelle growled and wished she had a handy two-by-four to clobber her overbearing brother. "Richard Antonio Ronaldi, who do you think you are? I invited Mike. Besides, who I have over to my own home is no concern of yours."

  Mike, with his arm still around h
er, slid his hand from her shoulder to her wrist, then back, sending sparks flying through her system. Damn Rich.

  "No, it's all right." Mike let her go and moved away. "I just got here. See, I haven't even had a chance to give Annabelle her flowers." He picked up the roses he'd thrown on the table before he kissed her and handed them to her. "These are for you. Thanks for inviting me."

  She accepted the roses and threw Rich's jacket on the couch. Mike smiled at her, and if she read that smile correctly, it said, let's placate the jerk, and maybe he'll go away, but it also held a look of relief. She was usually good at reading people, but Mike's mixed messages were confusing.

  Annabelle held the roses to her chest and took a good long sniff, trying not to swoon. No one had ever bought her roses before—not even for an anniversary. Chip said he was allergic to flowers, but Becca said he was allergic to spending money on anyone but himself. Annabelle hadn't minded that he was frugal—but she really appreciated that Mike wasn't. She wanted to savor the moment and bury her face in the beautiful blossoms, but with Rich there, it would be embarrassing.

  "Thanks. I'll put these in water. Mike, why don't you bring the wine into the kitchen?"

  "Okay. Great."

  Mike was both relieved and frustrated by Rich's presence. On one hand, it would certainly help him keep his hands to himself, but then it looked as if Annabelle had her own agenda, and hands-off was not part of it. He had a feeling that her agenda would be a whole lot more enjoyable than his. And if she wasn't worried about things moving too fast, he could learn to live with it. Yeah, no problem there.

  It looked as if she'd gone to a lot of trouble. The apartment was definitely staged for romance—the lights were low, the table set for two. Sultry jazz played in the background, and the scent of garlic swirled in the air. Everything was perfect for dinner and … dessert, except for Annabelle's brother in the living room. He'd put a real damper on the dessert part of the evening.

  Mike followed her into the kitchen, trying not to notice how the skirt of her dress hugged her extraordinary ass without even a hint of a panty line—she either went without, or she wore a thong. The fact he'd stopped himself before he could find out did nothing to keep his blood pressure from shooting into the danger zone. He tried to ignore the way her calf muscles tensed with every step and how sexy that ankle bracelet was. He was so busy ignoring things that he walked into her when she stopped to open a drawer. His arms went around her to keep from knocking her down. The way she stood with her back against his front, her scent engulfing him like a riptide over a drowning man, made him wonder if he'd survive. The odds weren't in his favor.