It was past time those fantasies became a reality.
After that, she told herself, surely they’d fade into the background. After that, she could get some real work done.
Assuring herself she was on the right course, Gabriella reached lower. Shane’s cock filled her hand. His moans filled her ears. His warmth touched her all over. Just as she’d remembered, his body felt hot and taut and incredible. Touching him had some kind of . . . effect on her. Being near him was like being drugged. All Gabriella could do was want him, dream of him, and remember how wonderful it had been between them.
She wanted more of that. More of
him
. Right now.
As someone who’d (almost) always gotten what she wanted . . .
“Get on the desk. I’ll be on top.”
His smile made her wetter all on its own. “Not this time.”
To demonstrate what he meant, Shane caught her around the waist. Yelping in surprise, Gabriella found herself whirling in midair, feeling dizzy and electric and yearning. She landed.
On her desk. Naked. Taking full advantage, Shane put a hand on each of her bare knees. Delivering her another wolfish grin, he dropped to his knees before her, then spread her thighs.
Gabriella guessed what he intended a heartbeat before it happened . . . and that still didn’t prepare her for the jolt of pleasure she felt when his mouth touched her. This time, she really
was
electrified. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t resist. All she could do was melt against Shane—writhe against his talented tongue, his sensuous lips, his hands and his heat and his moans of pure pleasure. They matched hers.
“I
love
this,” he said hoarsely, glancing up from his position between her thighs with a look so affecting and so pure of elemental affection that Gabriella melted even more.
I love you
, that look seemed to say again. But a second later, Gabriella forgot that look, carried away on a fierce wave of orgasmic pleasure that made her shout helplessly. The sound of her cries echoed off her office walls, probably reverberating toward the pizzeria’s busy kitchen, but Gabriella didn’t care.
She needed
this
. She needed Shane. Now more than ever.
Reaching for him, Gabriella had every intention of returning the favor. Kissing Shane . . .
there
. . . had never held greater appeal. But she lolled, languidly, for an instant too long.
“
I’ll
be on top,” Shane informed her, giving her a heartfelt, passionate look. “And
you’ll
enjoy it.”
“Yes, sir,” Gabriella managed to pant. “I want to.”
She’d never spoken truer words—especially not once Shane pressed her down atop her paper desk calendar, shoved aside a few intrusive notebooks and a cupful of pens, and then situated himself above her. Full of anticipation, Gabriella looked up at him. A sense of rightness, of desire, of
affection
struck her.
“I missed you, too,” she confessed, echoing Shane’s earlier statement. Why could she only admit it while they were naked?
His passionate gaze softened. “You can have me anytime.”
“But I want you
all
the time.” Gabriella stroked his back, trying to bring him even nearer to her—trying to merge with him and disguise her own deepening feelings as uncomplicated lust. She clutched his backside. “I want you inside me, right now.”
Something dark and desirous swirled in his gaze, answering her. Shane seemed triumphant to know that she wanted him.
He also seemed . . . awestruck. How could that be?
Gabriella never found out. Because in the next instant, Shane surged forward. With a slick, gliding motion, he filled her completely. Gabriella let her head loll back, feeling her eyes drift shut.
Yes
. Nothing had ever felt this perfect.
She was already nostalgic for when it would be over.
“I want you to come again.” Shane stopped thrusting long enough to kiss her. Tenderly, he stroked her face. “And
I’m
giving the orders this time. You have no choice but to obey.”
On a disbelieving smile, Gabriella opened her eyes. “Nice try. But that won’t work. If I were on top, maybe. But
this
—”
Several long, moan-filled, and shuddering moments later, she had to eat her words. Because somehow, Shane did make her come.
Again. With a full panoply of breathy cries to prove it.
If her crew hadn’t heard
that
, they were dangerously hard of hearing. They
did
tend to play loud music during setup....
“God, you’re
magnificent
.” Holding her in his arms afterward, Shane slumped in a depleted heap atop her. A goofy grin lit his face, making him seem boyish. Undefended. “Whatever you were doing with your hips there, right at the end—”
“Good?”
“
Unbelievable
,” he corrected with another kiss. “You sent me right over the edge. And you know it.” Another smile, followed by a shiver of erotic remembrance. “You know it damn well.”
“Well, it’s only fair . . . given what you did to me.”
His smile broadened. “I think you howled like a wolf.”
“I did not!” Teasingly, Gabriella smacked his shoulder. She couldn’t believe how comfortable she felt with Shane. Why had she resisted this? This was great. Resistance was futile. “But
you
quacked like a duck at one point. It was . . . memorable.”
“It was imaginary, you mean.” Calling her bluff, Shane pushed himself on his elbows. “No one can do
that
to me.”
“
I
could,” Gabriella boasted, then fibbed, “I already did.”
“Well, if we’re telling lies today”—Shane eyed her—“I’m going to tell a really tall one and say that
wasn’t
the best sex of my life.”
Gabriella scoffed. “They can’t
all
be the best between us.”
“With you?” He stroked her cheek. “They definitely can be.”
Immeasurably moved by Shane’s version of desktop pillow talk, Gabriella relaxed against him. “You’re fantastic, too.”
“I’m pretty sure I have splinters in both knees. Worth it, though.” He gave her a ribald grin. “This desk of yours must be an antique. A
dangerous
antique. We might need tetanus shots.”
Hurt that he’d poke fun at her pizzeria’s dilapidated furnishings, Gabriella stiffened. “Hey. This is a
traditional
desk,” she informed Shane. “It belonged to my dad, before—”
Before my showdown with him happened. Before I skipped town in a huff. Before our pizzerias got attacked, before Dad got high blood pressure from the stress, before things snowballed
.
But Gabriella never had a chance to express any of that.
“Whoa!” Shane levered off her. “Getting busy on your dad’s desk is a bridge too far for me. That’s a mood killer.”
“Sorry.” Gabriella eased herself upward, too. Gingerly. She might have been a
little
too enthusiastic with Shane. She found her underthings and started getting dressed. “I’m afraid my dad’s imprint is all over this place, though.” Her tank top. On. Her chef’s pants. On. Her clogs. On. But her romantic mood was wearing off. “So if you’re skittish about tradition, antiquated restaurant equipment, or peppermint starlight candies—”
“Candies?” Quizzically, Shane looked at her through the neck of his T-shirt as he pulled it over his head to hide his amazing torso. He’d already donned his chef’s pants. “Really?”
“My dad loves them,” Gabriella explained, carried away on a sudden burst of reminiscence. “We buy starlight mints for the pizzeria, to give away to customers with their checks, but my dad liked to squirrel away extras. I’m
still
finding caches all over the place. In the storeroom. In the walk-in. In here.”
“He has a major sweet tooth, then.” Shane looked around, as though expecting Robert Grimani to arrive any second. “That makes pizza a funny choice. But it
does
explain Pinkie.”
“She’s my cousin.” Now that they were dressed, Gabriella felt oddly resistant to confiding in him further. It was as if her workaday armor were clinking back in place. “Her mother is my dad’s sister. All of us make pizza for one reason.”
“Tradition,” Shane guessed with a grin. He reached for her hand. “It must be . . . nice, to have that as a family.”
“You sound unconvinced.”
“Tradition is just a concept to me. I haven’t seen my birth parents for twenty years. They fell off the radar a long time ago. We weren’t close with any of our relatives.” Shane looked away, seeming pensive. “I don’t usually talk about them.”
Gabriella could understand why. “Well, if it helps, you can borrow
my
traditions while you’re here.” She squeezed his hand, wanting to ease the pain she saw in him. “Next week. Sunday gravy. Spaghetti, pork braciola, meatballs . . . the works. All the homemade ciabatta you can eat and as much red wine as you can hold. My parents’ house in southwest Portland. Be there.”
Shane frowned. “I don’t want your pity.”
“You’ll want my mom’s Sunday gravy and meatballs.”
With uncharacteristic tentativeness, Shane gazed at her.
A knock at her office door startled them both.
“Gabriella!” Bowser shouted. He pounded harder. “Get out here! The oven is jacked. It won’t heat up. Service is fucked!”
Seized with panic, Gabriella stared at the door. At the pizzeria, their two double-decker ovens were crucial. If one of them was malfunctioning, she could lose half a night’s covers.
And earn herself a boatload of unhappy customers, too.
“Stay here,” she told Shane in a no-nonsense tone. “Don’t come out until the coast is clear. Okay? I’ve got to go deal with this.”
Then she gave him a kiss, made sure her clothes were on straight—bottoms on the bottom and top on the top—ducked out her office door without opening it too far, and hurried away.
Left behind, Shane was straitjacketed by conflicting emotions.
On one hand, he didn’t want to take advantage of Gabby. They’d just had a remarkable time together. They’d come together without pretense, without reservations, and without stopping. He’d
needed
her like never before. Everything about her moved him. Touched him. Affected him. Always for the better, too.
On the other hand, Gabby had just inadvertently given him carte blanche to stay in her office, alone, while she was distracted with a pizzeria emergency. The fixer inside of him practically grabbed some fireworks and started a damn parade.
Acting on autopilot, Shane went still. He listened to the hasty conversation outside. He was able to catch enough of the exchange between Bowser and Gabby to get the gist of what was going on. In a pizzeria, an oven breakdown was serious. Everyone would be distracted for a while, dealing with the problem.
Shane’s problem, just then, was reining in his fixing instincts. Because as he swept Gabby’s office with a trained eye, he glimpsed more than just tossed-aside office supplies, battered furnishings, and the evidence of a midday rendezvous. He saw account books. He saw supply orders. He saw invoices with miles of red ink and a creaky Ice Age computer on its last legs.
It was no wonder Gabby was struggling to save her family’s pizzeria, Shane analyzed. She was using caveman methods in a jetpack age. Her love of tradition was getting her killed.
If it helps, you can borrow my traditions while you’re here
.
Struck by the memory of Gabby’s generous invitation, Shane made himself move. He needed to compartmentalize this. He needed to bring separation to his dealings with Gabby, the warm and irresistibly smart-mouthed woman he slept with, and Gabriella, the driven and out-of-her-depth traditionalist who couldn’t stop searching for starlight mint candies long enough to face facts.
Campania was doomed. Shane could see it. She couldn’t.
His new mad mopping skills were great, but they wouldn’t rescue the pizzeria from creditors or keep its supply chain intact in the face of credit problems. Only cash would do that.
Short of a major cash infusion, the Grimanis’ pizzerias weren’t going to be in the black for a while yet. If ever.
Musingly, Shane leafed through Gabby’s account books, confirming his suppositions with every entry he examined. She thought she needed more customers, more business, more covers each night to save her. Shane knew she needed to think bigger.
She needed a corporate investor to save her family’s pizzerias. If Campania and its sister pizzerias survived even a
little
bit unbroken, it would be because Waltham Industries kept them alive as corporate-run, secretly franchised entities. It wouldn’t be because one determined woman sold a few more pepperoni pies—because one woman forestalled the inevitable, one bite at a time. There was no way Gabby would have preferred complete closure to partial surrender, Shane reasoned. Even as stubborn as she was, she was also an inveterate realist.
Shane would be
helping
her most by turning over her pizzerias to his father’s company, he understood as he studied Gabby’s bills and payments and bank balances. He would be helping her most by working behind the scenes to thwart her most destructive impulses—impulses like clinging to the past, sticking to outmoded rules, and elevating the chain of command until it became something that destroyed her crew from the inside out. Because Gabby’s troubles with staffing didn’t owe themselves to a poor supply of restaurant workers. They stemmed directly from Gabby’s inability to let loose, let go, and
trust
.
Trust
, the way she’d trusted Shane to make love to her atop her desk, splinters and all. Making love to her had turned his heart upside down. It had left him stuck for words for the first time.