Ringing in Love (16 page)

He knew exactly what to make: his mother's Bolognese sauce. It would take a few hours to simmer while they drank wine and talked. Once the sauce was finished, the pasta would be quick to cook and a salad easy to put together. A bit of wine, an antipasto plate, and the menu was complete. Dessert? He had something in mind for dessert that didn't come from the grocery—or any other—store.

Fortunately, his house cleaning service had been there on Friday so the place was neat, the sheets and towels fresh, and even the windows clean. All he had to do was get the sauce started, arrange a few candles, and cue up Andrea Bocelli on his music system, and his home was ready. He shaved again and changed from jeans to black pants with a white dress shirt. Now all he needed was the woman.

• • •

Catherine hadn't been this anxious about a date since high school. She was so nervous that she changed her top twice before the time Jack was to pick her up, because she was sure she'd pitted out the two rejects sweating. She tried to blame it on the summer heat, although in her heart she knew it wasn't anything a change in the weather could fix. Twice she'd broken out in a cold sweat thinking about what she'd set herself up for. She'd been so sure she was ready to do this, have her fling. And not with just any man. The king of the deep end of the dating pool she'd told Melody she didn't want to be in. But here she was about to go off the high dive right into it.

It was enough to make anyone sweat.

The cream-colored silk shirt she had on now would probably not make it through the evening either. She was about to change for the third time when she saw looked at the clock. Her ride would be there any minute. She'd have to take a chance with the silk.

Grabbing the messenger bag she decided would be a more subtle way to carry a few toiletries and clean underwear than some sort of overnight bag, she went downstairs where she added the bottle of wine she was taking as a host present and waited for Jack to arrive. She'd resisted the chauffeur service when Dominic suggested he send his car to pick her up. She preferred the freedom to leave whenever she wanted. But Dominic had convinced her to let Jack drive her so she wouldn't have to search for a safe place to leave her car in a neighborhood where parking was tight and car vandalism not unusual.

Sitting in her living room, she wondered if delivering a woman to Dominic was part of Jack's job description and no big thing.
Maybe he's done this before. Maybe when he said Dominic didn't go out much he meant he entertained at home a lot. If she asked, would Jack tell her about them?

Stop. She was not going to go
there
, to the stupid place where she'd been last night. She was an accomplished professional, not some teenage virgin. She was going to Dominic's for what
she
wanted.

• • •

Jack pulled up in front of another new-looking building, similar enough in design to Dominic's office building for her to wonder if the same architect had designed it. The street-level floor was all glass, with panels of etched abstract designs every yard or so providing light from the outside as well as a degree of privacy for the residents as they walked through the lobby. There were large, green plants placed between the etched-glass panels. The prominent security desk in the center of the white marble lobby staffed by a stern-looking guard was softened somewhat by the oversized color photographs of the city on the wall behind it.

Before she could ask Jack where she was to go he said, “Penthouse, Catherine. The security guard will get the elevator for you.”

The penthouse. Naturally. Where else would Dominic Russo live?

In minutes, she was whisked up to another marble lobby. Dominic was waiting, a welcoming smile on his face. Obviously the security guy had called and let him know she was on her way up.

He took her hand and drew her close for a lingering kiss, then took the bottle of wine she offered, thanked her, and led her into his apartment. The room she entered managed to be both visually stunning and comfortable—cozy, even. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls, as in his office, brought light into an open-plan living room and dining room. The interior walls were painted a toasty warm tan. In strategic places on the hardwood floors were large Persian carpets in browns, deep reds, and blues. Two armchairs upholstered in a nubby-looking, dark blue fabric and a brown leather couch were grouped close to a small fireplace set into the corner between the living room and dining room so it was visible from both. Pillows were thrown casually on the couch and the chairs. One wall was hung with art. Another was covered in bookshelves with chairs grouped in front.

The dining room was small, furnished with only a sideboard, table, and chairs. It looked inviting, the table set for two people, with a low-hanging light fixture now turned to dim and candles down the center waiting to be lit.

On a cocktail table in front of the couch, a plate of appetizers was set out, along with a bottle of wine and two glasses, waiting for them. Soft music was playing. It was a scene set for seduction.

“Your apartment is beautiful.” She walked over to the window. “And this view of the city is spectacular.” Looking back over her shoulder, she asked, “Do you own anything without a great view of Philly?”

“Not if I can help it. Looking out at the city is one of the perks of urban life I wouldn't want to live without.” He picked up the open bottle of wine and held it up. “Can I pour you a glass of wine?” She nodded and he poured two glasses. When he'd handed one to her, he raised his, touched it to her glass, and said, “
Salute.
To us.”

She took a sip then turned back to the window again.

In the reflection of the glass, she could see him watching her. “The view's not
that
riveting, is it
cara
?” he finally asked.

Without facing him she said, “I'm a little overwhelmed, I guess. This is the most perfect apartment I've ever been in.” Now she turned to him. “The perfect apartment, drinking the perfect wine with the sexiest man in the city, which is a bit intimidating. Then realizing that you and my brother have the same taste in music for seduction, which is a little weird.” She took another sip of wine before continuing. “I'm not sure what to say.” She shrugged her shoulders to finish the sentence.

He tossed the pillows from the couch onto the floor, pushed a lampshade crooked, and threw a magazine onto a side chair.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Making the apartment a little less perfect for you, so you're comfortable.”

“See, this is what I mean. You think a crooked lampshade is what less than perfect is.”

“You mean it isn't?” He was mocking her, she knew.

“Of course it's not. You'd have to replace all the furniture in here as well as the artwork to make it less than perfect. And you know that. Not to mention you'd have to paint over the windows so you couldn't see the view.”

“I'll mess up the living room and paint over the windows for you. I'll even run out and get cheap wine. But you just gave me a second compliment I'd like to keep. I've never been compared to Prince William and called the sexiest man in the city in one twenty-four hour period. I like it.”

She laughed. “Enjoy the compliments if they mean so much to you. And please don't change the wine. It's delicious.”

“So, paint the windows. Keep the wine. Enjoy the compliments. How about the music? Should I praise your brother's taste in music or change it because it feels weird?”

“The music is fine, and I'll pass along your admiration to my brother the next time I talk to him.” She sipped at her wine again.

“I wasn't trying to make a statement with the music,” he said. “And, to be honest, as much as I like them, I probably don't deserve the two compliments.”

“I'm not sure you deserve them, either, now that I think about it. It was probably the wine talking.”

“That's better. The Catherine Bennett I've gotten to know is reemerging from her slumber.”

“Admit it. You set this scene so I'd be impressed.”

“I'm happy that you like being here, but it's not a scene. It's home. I rarely invite anyone in except family. When I entertain, it's in restaurants. I protect this place like I do the roof garden. It's a place to relax, and this,” the sweep of his arm took in the whole room, “this is comfortable for me, but I'd like you to feel at ease here, too.”

She ignored the last comment, not sure it was a good idea to tell him how much she wanted to be comfortable in his apartment. Not sure admitting it to herself was a good idea.
“Did you do it yourself or have help?”

“It's all me. No consultants analyzed my color palette or feng shui-ed me, if that's what you mean.”

“Not that there's anything wrong with consultants.”

“Hell, no.” He motioned her to join him on the couch. “I hope people don't ever start objecting to consultants. How else could I have bought this place if people objected to consultants?”

She laughed and nodded. “My point exactly.” After she settled on the couch, he sat down close enough to her that she could smell whatever the scent was she'd been riding with in the elevator for months. She could feel the heat of him, she swore, even with the air conditioning running. To divert herself from thinking about either of those sensations, she said, “Dinner smells wonderful. It reminds me of my mother's cooking.”

“I'm not surprised. We probably grew up with similar smells coming from the family kitchen. I made one of my mother's specialties—Bolognese sauce.”

“My mother's is lasagna. I swear, no one in the world, even anyone in Italy, makes it better.”

“You've been to Italy to compare?”

“No. I'd love to take Noah there some day, but it's never worked out. Have you been?”

“Several times. I still have distant relatives there.”

“I imagine I do, too, although from the number of relatives I have here, it's hard to believe there are any left in the old country. The village couldn't have been that big.”

As they continued to talk, Dominic took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Halfway through her first glass of wine, she realized her shoulders had relaxed, her jaw had unclenched, and the frown lines between her eyes didn't feel so apparent. It was the wine, she was sure.

Right. It couldn't be the rhythmic stroking of her hand by the incredibly attractive man sitting opposite her. It couldn't be the clean, masculine smell of him or the warmth of his smile, the nearness of him. No, of course not. It had to be the wine.

“Catherine?”

It was obvious he had asked a question, but she had no idea what it was. “I'm sorry, I was woolgathering. What did you ask?”

An eyebrow went up, as did one corner of his mouth. “I don't usually lose a woman's attention for at least an hour. This time it took me only twenty minutes. I'm not sure if I'm getting better or getting worse.” Before she could comment, he said, “Don't tell me. I'm not sure I want to know the answer. However, I would like to know if you'd like more wine.”

“Thank you, but I think I'd better pass for now.”

He poured himself a half-glass more. “Speaking of questions, you never answered mine.”

“I thought you said you didn't want me to say if you're getting better or worse. I
was
paying attention to that.”

“Not that one. The one about how you like to be seduced.”

A surge of electricity went through her. Every cell in her body seemed on alert, waiting for what he would say—or do—next.

“I … um … I don't … didn't know how to answer. It's been so long since anyone has tried, I've forgotten, although the scene you've set—ah, your home—is pretty good.”

“So, I've made the right start. Nice to know.” He took the half-empty glass of wine from her hand and moved even closer, cupping his hand behind her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair. “Let's see what I remember from my research last night.” He began to feather kisses from her temple down to her ear and neck. As he did, he pulled her closer to him. Her arms had a life of their own, it seemed, because without any thought on her part, they wrapped around his shoulders, pulling her body the rest of the way to his, until she was pressed against him and could feel his heart beating against her.

When he moved back to her mouth, the soft, feathery kisses turned hotter, deeper, more demanding. His tongue commanded hers; he nipped and sucked at her lower lip. She could barely breathe. The air in her lungs was gone; blood from her brain seemed to have disappeared, too. All she could feel was the need to have him touch her everywhere. His hands moved with assurance down her body as she arched toward him, and he responded by caressing the underside of her breasts. It was not enough to soothe the ache in them nor to satisfy the want in her body.

He broke from the kiss finally, as out of breath as she was. Touching his forehead to hers, he said, “You know I want you.”

She nodded her head.

“Do you want me?”

“Yes, oh, God, yes.”

He stood and pulled her up from the couch. She followed him, praying she knew where they were going.

It had taken a will of impressive proportion, but Dominic had kept physical contact with Catherine to a minimum that afternoon. He knew that once he started he wouldn't want to stop. But making love in the middle of the roof garden wasn't what he had in mind for their first time, although the idea had merit for sometime in the future.

He'd been right to wait. The kiss in the living room just now proved it. After her response, her body molded to his, there was only one thing he wanted to do, one place he wanted to be. Where he'd wanted her to be for months—his bedroom.

The semi-sheer curtains over the window were already pulled so they wouldn't be awakened at sunrise the next morning. Now they served another purpose, creating an atmosphere of sensuousness as a filtered light played over the room. As dim as the light was, there was more than enough to see desire in the dark eyes Catherine raised to him when he took her in his arms. For a few moments, he stood with her in his embrace, inhaling the scent of her, sweet, tangy, and aroused, and enjoying the feel of her soft curves against him. But it wasn't enough. Nothing would be enough tonight except everything.