Page 57 of 4 Weddings and a Feud

“Target has a clearance rack? I thought the whole damn place was a bargain bin.”

“Elitist. I’ll take you with me sometime. We’ll hit the skincare aisle. You’ll be amazed at the value.”

“It’s a date. And so is dinner tonight.” His turf, his rules. He’d wrest back control of whatever emotion had knocked him off his game.

ChapterTwenty-Three

Mary walked out of his kitchen with a plate of cookies and set it down in front of him. “Dessert,” she announced with a smug expression.

“Anginetti? I haven’t had these since my nonna died.”

“Mine used to make them too. I’m so thankful I got her recipe before she passed.”

“And yet you’ve never been to Italy?” His gaze fell on the Venetian glass vase on his kitchen island. It was so showy on its own he never bothered to fill it with flowers.

“No.” She looked away.

“I’ll take you. When the Richardson wedding is done.” Where had that come from? He never took dates on his trips. He preferred to sample the local offerings. He had plenty of memories of curtains dancing in soft Tuscan breezes as moonlight glimmered on the olive skin of stunning women who laughed at his rudimentary Italian. It was like collecting souvenirs without having to find a place to put them when he returned home.

Why did the thought of taking Mary to Italy, of showing her his favorite places, make waking up alone in a beam of Italian sunlight on rumpled sheets seem lonely and pathetic?

Her incandescent smile fell. “I couldn’t leave my work that long. Or my brothers.”

“They’re grown men. They should be taking care of you.” Then, under his breath, he added, “I know I would.”

He had to shake this off. None of it—inviting Mary to Italy, being disappointed when she refused, that fluttery feeling in his chest—was like him.

He picked up a cookie and stuffed it into his mouth. Sweet almond burst on his tongue and rocketed him back thirty years to the warmth and security of his nonna’s cramped kitchen.

“You like it?” Mary asked. “I know you don’t like anise, so I used?—”

He gripped her wrist and pulled her down into his lap. He kissed her hard, pushing his tongue and the taste of almond into her mouth.

She sagged against him, tangling her fingers into his hair. He didn’t let her go until they were both breathless. That was all this was. Sex hormones were fucking him up. He needed her body. He shifted into a familiar gear.

“The cookies are delicious. But I have something else in mind for the next part of the evening.” Smirking, he reached for the tiny shopping bag he’d retrieved from the sideboard while she was in the kitchen. He offered it to her.

“Somehow, I think I’m going to wish I’d skipped dessert when I put this on.” She reached into the bag and pulled out the pale pink silk nightie so light he’d had to check it was still nestled into its bed of tissue paper. Her lips parted as the silk flowed over her hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything this soft before.”

He swallowed. “Put it on for me?”

She stared at it for a moment. “Okay. Have another cookie while I go change.”

“I think I want something else for dessert. We can have the rest of the anginetti for breakfast.”

Goosebumps arose on her skin. Good.

“Come on,” he said. “You can change in my bathroom.”

Taking her hand, he led her down the hall to his bedroom. As they passed the giant platform bed, she tugged him to a stop. But she wasn’t looking at the bed.

She tipped her chin at the pair of oversize cognac leather chairs in the sitting area next to the window and its view of the Strip. “Nice chairs.”

“Thanks. Though I’ve got something I think you’ll like even more.”

“I’ve seen what you’ve got,” she said. “And I like it a lot.”

Like it heard her praise, his dick stirred proudly in his pants. But he wanted to show off first. He flung open the doors to his bathroom and led her inside.

---