Apparently he liked living.
They’d just sung a painful rendition of “Happy Birthday” and Shelly was cutting the cake—chocolate with white frosting, with purple and yellow pansies on top. No candles. Though his mom was feeling much better, she was still weak and her lungs weren’t back to normal yet. She was such a fighter, though….
Joe’s throat swelled up as he looked at her and recalled how puny she’d been in the ICU. Tonight her cheeks were pink and her spirits high.
“Biggest slice goes to the birthday girl,” Faith said, coaching Shelly.
“Carmen gets this one. Two big sugary flowers.”
Faith took the plate, grabbed a plastic fork and carried it to Joe’s mom. She helped Carmen prop herself up again so she could eat, and then she perched on the arm of the couch, watching Carmen closely in case she needed help.
Joe tried to act nonchalant, sitting on a folding chair on the other side of the room, but he wanted nothing more than to take Faith in his arms and kiss her in gratitude. Gratitude and other stuff, as well.
She’d dressed casually tonight, in dark blue jeans so tight they looked like leggings, a Kelly-green silk tank top and killer silver heels. Her ears, wrist and neck were adorned with trendy silver jewelry that jingled when she moved. He was dying to hold her.
Troy’s phone rang and he excused himself to the kitchen.
“Here’s a piece with extra frosting for you, Joe,” Shelly said. “You need something to sweeten you up. You’re quiet tonight.”
“He’ll try to tell you it’s a deep intellectual quiet, no doubt,” Ryan said, grabbing his own slice of cake and digging into it as if he hadn’t just eaten enough slow-cooked ribs for a football team.
“No need for me to say it.” Joe took a bite of cake, and once again, his eyes went to Faith. He couldn’t keep them off her. He didn’t know how this night was going to end, but he had to get her alone somehow.
She looked up at him then, laughing at something his mom had said, something he’d missed because he was lost in fantasies of Faith. Her gaze met his and the heat in it made his body react.
“Ryan never quite mastered the ‘stay quiet to keep them wondering’ philosophy,” Jorge said. “We never wonder what’s on his mind.”
“We sometimes wonder if
anything
is on his mind,” Joe said. He ducked when Ryan tossed his fork at him with a howl.
“You men are too loud—your mother needs peace,” Shelly said, scraping some extra frosting off the knife and licking her finger. She carried a slice of cake to Faith and sat on the chair next to the couch with her own piece.
Joe’s mom shook her head. “It’s wonderful to have the noise. This place gets so quiet sometimes. I hope Faith doesn’t run away scared, though.”
Carmen smiled warmly at her, and not for the first time, Joe was relieved he wasn’t the one who’d brought her here. His mom seemed to like Faith, and he didn’t want to disappoint her when things couldn’t work out between them. Better that she never know there was any kind of attraction between them. The whole family held few expectations for Troy to ever settle down, so having him bring in a woman was a whole different ball game.
Troy ambled back in then. He went over to Faith. “I’m afraid I have to take off unexpectedly,” he said, mostly to her. “Got a client who’s in trouble. I’m sorry to bail on you, Faith, but I’m hoping my honorable stepbrother can take you home to the island for me.” He shot Joe a look, and Joe instantly understood. It was a ruse. Troy’s way of stepping aside.
Faith looked alarmed as she glanced from Joe to Troy.
“I’m really sorry,” Troy said. “I’ll owe you one.”
Joe held his tongue to keep from saying
the hell he would.
“It’s okay,” Faith said. “As long as Joe doesn’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Joe said.
At all.
“Thanks, bro. I’d say I owe you a favor, too, but…”
“Get out of here,” Joe muttered, checking his watch.
It was almost ten o’clock. Getting late for his mom. They should be able to say good-night soon without letting on that he couldn’t wait to get Faith alone.
He sat back to wait—impatiently—for the moment they could leave.
The simple gesture sent a thrill through her. They hadn’t touched all night. Being with him in a casual nonwork setting without letting on they were anything other than coworkers—for several hours… God, she’d longed to touch him. Her fingers had itched with the relentless urge.
They’d never held hands like this before, just walking along, side by side, hanging on to each other as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if they didn’t have to dance around their attraction. His hand was big, like the rest of him. Rough. Strong. Multitalented, she thought, pursing her lips to repress a private grin.
“What’s stranger than starting the evening with one man and ending it being ditched by him and rescued by his stepbrother?”
“Don’t forget being thrown in with the crazy Mendoza-Vargas family.”
“Trust me, your family’s got nothing on mine when it comes to crazy.”
“Troy orchestrated the whole night so we could be together, you know?”
Faith paused, touched. “Really?”
“It’s why he’s still breathing.”
She laughed and they continued walking. “That’s really sweet of him. Where are we going?”
“Not
that
sweet.”
Instead of continuing to the foot of the driveway where his SUV was parked, they’d taken a brick path around the side of the house. Wide steps led downward, presumably to the backyard.
“To my secret hideaway.” She could hear his smile. There was no light back here and the moon was buried by clouds, cloaking them in relative darkness under looming trees.
A secret hideaway sounded…promising.
She hadn’t planned to see Joe tonight, but now that they were together, she could think of all kinds of ways she’d like the evening to end. When he took out his keys and unlocked the basement door, though, she felt slightly disappointed.
“Cars?” she asked, taking in the three-bay garage beneath the main house when he flipped on the lights.
“More than just cars,” Joe said, his voice coming alive. “Classics.”
She walked to the closest one. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but this looks particularly unclassical.”
It was a heap of junk, with dents in the back, mismatched paint on the driver’s door, a broken headlight.
“You’re not looking at it right,” Joe said, coming up behind her. She felt his heat all along her body and, swear to God, her knees went weak.
Faith turned to look up at him, so close her head brushed against his chin. His spicy, clean, man smell teased her nose, and she longed to bury her face in his chest. “How should I look at it?”
“As potential.” With his hands at her waist, he guided her past the middle bay of the garage, which was full of workbenches and tools, to the far one. “To look as sexy as this.”
An old-model red car with black stripes on the hood was backed in, the rear end jacked up slightly higher than the front, the paint shiny.
“Nice,” she said, walking toward it and peeking in the driver’s window. “Much more classic looking.”
“
Nice.
You say that like only a woman could.” Joe laughed. “This represents over two years of my life.”
“Wow.” She started to run her hand along the side, but he caught it in his.
“Your rings could scratch the paint.”
Faith tried not to laugh, because she could tell he was dead serious. “Sorry, boss.”
“You did not just call me that.”
“I meant car boss. Not fire boss. So are you going to tell me what this is, exactly?” Without touching it, she gestured to his pride and joy.
“It’s a 1965 Super Sport Chevelle with a…you don’t care about the engine, do you?” He broke off, with slightly less enthusiasm than he’d started with.
“
Care
isn’t the right word. Know a thing about…no. But I’m duly impressed, anyway. You did what to this? Started with a heap like that one over there and made it pretty?”
He laughed again. “That sums it up well.”
“Can I open the door?” she asked.
“Sure.”
He reached in front of her for the driver’s door, but an idea had blossomed in Faith’s mind. She opened the door to the back.
Without waiting for his reaction, she slid in on the leather seat. The old-fashioned, wide bench seat. “Nice in here,” she said, running her hand over the smooth leather. “Roomy.”
Joe bent over at the door, hands braced on the roof. “It’s never looked quite as nice as it does now.”
“Yeah?” She leaned back across the seat, resting her elbows behind her, her feet still on the floor by his legs. “How about now?”
“I’ve always liked black leather, but…green silk and denim is fast becoming my favorite.”
“Sometimes it’s even better to touch, rather than just look.”
He ducked his head inside and covered her body with his, one hand on the seat by her head and the other on the floor. “You have a naughty side to you, Faith Peligni.”
“You seem to bring it out of me, Captain Mendoza.” She put her arms around his neck and drew him to her.
He kissed her hard, urgently, revealing to her he’d been as frustrated all night as she had.
“Any chance of someone coming down here?” she asked when they took a breath.
Joe shook his head and nipped at her lips. “They never come down. This is my space.”
“I like your space.” Faith touched her finger to his moist lips, and he caught it with his mouth. The move was erotic, intimate.
“I like you
in
my space.” He pressed his lower body to hers, showing her just how much he liked it as he kissed the side of her neck, just below her ear.
Faith slid her knees up to bring their bodies closer.
“As much as I’d love to have you with nothing but those do-me shoes on, you have to take them off,” Joe said. “Don’t want to ruin the leather.”
Grinning, Faith slipped the four-inch heels off. “Or scratch the paint.”
He kissed the grin away, intensely, his tongue seeking hers, tangling with it. One hand slid under her top, to her flesh. Trailed down, under the edge of her jeans. “These have to go,” he said, unsnapping them. Working the zipper down.
The heat built in Faith fast, and she needed him to quell the ache. She wriggled beneath him, working her jeans off with her thumbs. His body was in the way, so she switched her efforts to his fly. He lifted, giving her access—to unzip, touch him, run her fingers along the length of him. Joe moaned and backed out of the car enough to take over removing her pants.
“It’d be faster to cut these off,” he said, heat in his eyes.
“Patience. Virtue. Yada.” Faith arched her hips upward and did what she could to help him.
“You turn into cliché girl when you’re naked.”
“You talk too much when I’m naked.”
He dropped her jeans on the floor of the garage and eyed her dark purple thong. Bending over her again, he kissed her inner thigh, then worked his tongue under the thin strip of satiny material.
Joe teased her with his mouth as she ran a hand through his hair and tried to breathe. She thought she would die of wanting when he finally peeled her panties down her legs. The coolness of the leather under her barely registered.
Faith arched upward as he drew maddening circles with his tongue, inching closer to the part of her that ached most for his touch. At long freaking last, he covered her with his mouth, and she nearly shot through the ceiling, so electric was the sensation.
She pulled him upward, shaking with need. “Want you inside.”
They both worked at his jeans and the boxers beneath them. When they were down on his thighs, he gave up and pressed himself between her legs.
“Faith,” he breathed into her ear. “We need to use something.”
Her mind was fuzzy and she struggled to think clearly. “Timing is okay.”
“You’re sure?”
“Very.”
That was all he needed. He entered her, eliciting an unfamiliar sound from deep in her throat.