Head Over Heels Page 3

  He thought she was beautiful? Chunky little Polish-Italian women could usually manage to pull off cute but beautiful was a stretch. At least it had been before Rhys Vincent burst through her door. “I’m pretty much an open book. What do you want to know?”

  “What’s your last name?” he asked in a voice that was as smooth as velvet and as smoky as a belt of her grandfather’s scotch. The bottle he’d kept hidden from her grandmother.

  “Jacienski, of the Ponzini–Jacienski clan of Larson, Minnesota.”

  “Large clan?”

  “Huge. You’d need a score card.”

  He narrowed his eyes but it was a playful sort of “huh” reaction. “Minnesota? Why don’t you have an accent?”

  “I was going to be a great actress so I studied with a voice coach. I have a pretty good ear but I got tired of the traveling.”

  “You have great ears. I saw them when I caught you. Your hair sort of…” His harsh sigh echoed through the shop. “I’m usually more patient but my hands are shaking and I haven’t been able to forget…meeting you.” His eyes darkened and she could almost swear his nostrils flared.

  She couldn’t remember ever being the focus of such an intense reaction. It was scary and exhilarating at the same time. Her entire body clenched and her nipples peaked beneath her lace bra. The fabric scraped against her sensitized flesh and she sank into the pleasure of its touch.

  He blinked, his gaze riveted, and she knew he could see what was happening. He slowly set his chopsticks down. “I don’t think you have a problem with the he-man, Neanderthal thing but I should probably ask you something safe…like, where do you get your big blue eyes?” His voice shook and he raised his gaze.

  “My father, Peter.”

  “Does your mother keep him under lock and key?” He laughed harshly and seemed to be trying to regain his composure.

  “She doesn’t have to.”

  He shook his head. “How did you end up in Kansas City?”

  “The first time I got engaged, I was twenty-four. I got tired of the gypsy lifestyle and left the theatrical company I was touring with to follow Ben to Kansas City. It took me a while to realize that he expected me to be responsible for making him happy.” She shrugged. “I already had a fulltime job.”

  “Bella’s Treasures?”

  “No, that came later. I tried banking and was thoroughly miserable so I decided to be my own boss and rented the shop below my apartment.”

  “An actress, a banker and a shop owner. What do these people have in common?”

  “All of them wanted to be in charge and only the shop owner succeeded.”

  He arched a dark brow but he was grinning. “You said the first time? I assume there were more?”

  “I figured out that Micah wanted to get married to pry his family off his back. The relatives were all looking at him funny because he was in his thirties and unmarried. I opted out of being a Band-Aid for that particular problem.”

  “What problem was that?”

  “He woke up one day and decided it was time to be an adult and get married. He thought I would do very nicely. His mother already liked me.”

  “Smart woman. How long did it take you to figure out that you didn’t want to marry him?”

  “That happened right after he told me that I needed to grow up and get a respectable job. Up to that point…I’d been distracted. He was really very…umm…talented.” She still wondered how anyone who kissed as well as Micah could have such a huge stick up his ass. And kissing had only been the beginning. She wasn’t going to apologize for liking sex. There was already enough tension in the room without mentioning it—unless she wanted Rhys to drag her across the counter and fuck her in full view of the street.

  “So talent is important?” He’d gone back to slowly stirring his chopsticks around in the takeout carton. She hadn’t noticed him picking them up again but now he was making wide, slow, circular motions with them that made her think about his hand doing the same thing between her legs.

  “I can truthfully say that talent has distracted me several times in my life but I’m a little more cautious than I used to be.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. At this rate her panties were going to be sopping wet and she was going to leave a spot on the chair.

  “Is there a third?” he asked, with the same deliberate intent and she squeezed her legs together when he used his tongue to flip a chunk of chicken from between his chopsticks.

  Still flustered, she hesitated. “Not technically,” she said.

  And just like that his grin faded.

  “What does that mean?”

  She refocused on the conversation and tore her gaze away from the tip of his tongue as he swiped a tiny bit of sauce from his full, lower lip.

  “I met Martin at a small gallery opening about a year ago. He was dark and brooding and utterly irresistible. After a couple of months I found out what he was brooding about. He’d been to several doctors and they’d all agreed that his impotence wasn’t because of any physical problem.” She watched his jaw clench during her explanation.

  “Did he think you were going to cure him?”

  She shook her head. “I think desperate people do desperate things and he realized that wasn’t going to happen. I convinced him to get some professional help. He’d show up about once a week and we’d talk. Sometimes we’d talk so long he’d end up spending the night on my couch. Then about two months ago, he just stopped showing up.”

  If anything, Rhys’ expression had darkened to the point of being visibly angry. “Is there something you’d like to tell me before you crack a tooth?”

  “Sorry. Guys like him just piss me off.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair and some of the heat left the room. His lips thinned and his very square jaw clenched. He wiped his mouth and stuffed the wadded napkin into his empty takeout carton. “What do you need taken down?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll prop the ladder against the shelf. It won’t fall.”

  He placed his hands flat on the counter and leaned across. “I’ll be honest with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted anyone as much as I want you. I just don’t want to be ‘revenge-sex guy’ or ‘rebound-guy’ or the guy who helps you figure out that what you really want is your last lover.”

  “I think technically that would be rebound-guy,” she said because she was nervous and she said stupid things when she couldn’t think straight. She’d never been the focus of this much bottled-up intensity. As much as she wanted a passionate fling with a lust-crazed lover this was new territory and she didn’t have a map. But she could understand not wanting to be used.

  “I apologize for jumping to a conclusion that I had no business—” He shook his head. “What do you need taken down?” She opened her mouth and he growled, “You are not getting on that ladder again.”

  “My Valentine decorations,” she said, pointing to the hatboxes with reproduction Edwardian Valentine cards glued to their fronts. They’re on the very top shelf, next to the storeroom. “

  He situated the ladder and started climbing.

  “I admire a man who’s willing to battle cobwebs and lace doilies to make me happy,” she said, watching him balance three full hatboxes and step back down. The muscles in his legs and ass clenched and her mouth watered. She was going to be a giant puddle before this was over. She hastily cleared the counter.

  He set the boxes down between them. “Anymore balancing acts I should know about?”

  She shook her head. “Not this week,” she said as he grabbed his coat and hat. She didn’t want him to go but if he didn’t there was a real threat that she’d start rationalizing a quickie, drag him into the storeroom and fuck his brains out among the clutter and cast-off furniture. There was a fainting couch but the upholstery was shot and the stuffing was marginal.

  Oh damn. She’d been without sex way too long.

  He turned the handle and the door popped open. “I know I locked this.”

  She shrugged. “I
have to use the deadbolt if I want to lock it securely.”

  He frowned. “Were you afraid of being in here alone with me?”

  “Not for the reason you might think,” she said, smiling because the thought worried him enough to ask. And he did look worried. “You’re almost too good to be true and I don’t want to screw it up.” He shut the door, deliberately and she cringed. “I open my mouth and—”

  He crossed the shop in quick, deliberate strides, closing the distance between them.

  “Open your mouth, Bella,” he whispered, lowering his head. His soft command swept through her and brushed away any doubt that this was what they both wanted.

  Even in the impossibly high stilettos she had to stand on tiptoe until he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her closer. His mouth was warm and sweet, restrained for the second it took her to accept him and then he claimed. His hands were everywhere, around her, caressing her.

  She pressed against his erection, hot and ready. The upholstery on the fainting couch in the storeroom wasn’t that bad. She could throw a blanket over it. Or she could lead him upstairs to her delicate, wrought-iron bed. And they could make the bed shake and the windows rattle.

  She drew back and took a deep breath. She wanted to reach down and touch all that pulsating energy wedged between them but he pulled away, his fingers trailing down her arms.

  “Do you care about any of them enough to want them back?”

  Still dazed by his kiss, she shook her head. “I didn’t care enough about any of them to consider how terrific make-up sex would be,” she said, still fixated on his mouth.

  He looked stunned for a moment then shook his head. “Let’s not make that our first time,” he rasped, drawing her out of her trance. He pushed his arms into his jacket, put on his hat and slung his scarf around his neck. “I can’t believe there isn’t someone in your past smart enough to want you back,” he said, pinning her with a heated gaze that just missed being a glare.

  He unceremoniously grabbed her for another lingering kiss, cradling her head in his big hands and taking her mouth as if he were staking his territory. And then he was gone.

  She watched him cross the street between lights, still hungry for his touch, another kiss. Rhys Vincent had to be the most passionate man she’d ever met. Lust was definitely part of the equation—and he wanted her.

  Chapter Four

  The last week had been hell. Rhys wanted nothing more than to see Bella but he’d been giving statements to the IRS all week and placating major donors of the Vincent Foundation. The audit was nothing more than a random investigation into a non-profit organization. Protecting his grandfather’s dream was a solemn trust he’d taken seriously since being appointed CEO. He couldn’t leave it to anyone else.

  He’d toyed with the idea of taking her out for lunch today. For about thirty seconds. He wanted her all to himself for a little while without a witness to a lingering touch or the heat it generated.

  It wasn’t that the press dogged him. The IRS audit hadn’t been made public but there was always a chance that someone would see them out and say something Ronnie might hear. She was seesawing between anger and depression these days and anything could set her off. There wasn’t any point in rubbing her nose in the fact that he wasn’t going to sleep with her. Or that she was inadvertently responsible for him meeting the woman he did want to sleep with. Brian wasn’t in much better shape and he was tired of being between two angry people.

  Rhys parked his car, chuckling as he marveled at Bella’s sense of whimsy. He could see the front of her shop across the street. Instead of standard hearts, Bella had chosen pink and white foil-wrapped chocolate boxes displayed on a small dressing table draped in flowers and pearls. The opposite window was a tableau of comic relief with a seductively posed mannequin wearing an obviously fake leopard-skin coat, dark glasses and sporting a cigarette holder as she reclined on a tattered red velvet chaise.

  He balanced the bag containing the quilted food carrier and a lemon tart and slipped a bottle of wine under his other arm. He couldn’t wait to see her smile.

  She was laughing with a wiry young man as she totaled up two pink melamine cups and a glass juicer that could have come from his grandmother’s kitchen. He heard the words props and photo shoot. The guy was bartering to include Bella’s shop in a flyer advertising an upcoming art show in exchange for his purchases.

  He set their bagged lunch on the red stool he’d dragged from its place beneath the little porcelain work table.

  “Another drive-by lunch,” she threw over her shoulder as she headed for the door. She locked it behind her customer and turned the closed sign around. “What’s the occasion?”

  He’d been so distracted watching her denim shirt seductively slide over her beautiful round butt and black leggings that he almost missed the edge in her voice and the fact that she’d deadbolted the door.

  His week had gone by so fast—all the meetings, the late nights. “Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”

  She wasn’t smiling and instead of the sexy red stilettos she wore black velvet flats. “I assumed you had second thoughts about getting involved with me.” She eyed the sack. “That doesn’t smell like Chinese food.”

  “I thought pizza would be safe,” he said, setting the quilted carrier on the table and shrugging out of his coat.

  “You’ve decided to be safe? That’s shocking,” she deadpanned. “What kind?”

  “The works—you can pick off what you don’t like. I would have called to find out your preference but you don’t have a listed number and I was too preoccupied with kissing you the last time to think to ask for it.”

  “I have a cell. It’s listed on my website.”

  “I’ll program the number in before I leave.” He glanced at the door. “I guess you’re not afraid of being in here alone with me,” he said, hoping to make her smile. It didn’t happen.

  “Not for the reason you might think,” she said softly. She was angry but beneath the anger was suspicion and doubt. And no small amount of hurt. He wasn’t normally so stupid. Hell, he’d been more considerate of the people who were screwing with his life than he had of the woman who’d consumed his thoughts every free moment.

  What the hell was the matter with him?

  He knew exactly what the matter was and there wasn’t any ducking it. Not if he wanted Bella Jacienski in his life. “I think I may have used what’s been going on to convince myself that I didn’t have time to devote to an artful seduction.”

  That got him a raised eyebrow.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s going on before you attempt the artful seduction portion of this lunch?” she challenged though she didn’t sound as upset as she had a moment ago.

  “The Vincent Foundation is being audited by the IRS.”

  He’d never seen her frown before but at least it was a full expression.

  “You have a Foundation?”

  “My grandfather made his money in the restaurant business. He didn’t think anyone should ever go hungry so he started organizing a network that would make sure that didn’t happen. Unfortunately the investigation is causing some of our major donors to think twice about contributing.”

  “How did they find out about the audit?”

  “The IRS has questioned some of them about their contributions.”

  “And you used that to convince yourself that you didn’t have time to be with me?” She shook her head. “I couldn’t figure out why you would kiss me as if you never wanted to turn loose of me and then—nothing. You just disappeared.”

  “You’re right about the kiss. I think I could probably spend years kissing you. The truth is that I’ve spent the last couple years in the company of women who were more motivated to get back at their exes than they were to have sex with me. I didn’t realize just how much of that spilled over into what was going on between us. Do you think we could start over or would you rather I just left this?” I’m not normally this stupid. Don’t say
yes.

  “Two weeks.”

  Well, it wasn’t yes. “Excuse me,” he said, trying to find his place in the conversation.

  “I might last two weeks before I jumped you. You know, just kissing you.”

  He smiled and relaxed for the first time in a week. “That would work too.”

  “Did they tell you that up front? That all they wanted was sex?” she asked, eyeing the bag that held lunch.

  “They didn’t think it would be important,” he said as he lifted the boxed dessert out of the shopping bag and set it on the counter. “Lemon tart. It seems like everyone I know is either getting a divorce or getting over a bad relationship. Sometimes, telling them no is like waving a red flag at a bull.”

  She sighed and shook her head again, this time as if she pitied him. Ordinarily it would have pissed him off but he was still focused on the part about her jumping him and she didn’t seem as angry. He wasn’t stupid enough to push his luck.

  “You were unattainable and gave them something to focus on besides their own lives. Trust me, I know of what I speak,” she said and pulled a couple of paper plates from the drawer in the little porcelain table.

  “Handy,” he said, filling both plates.

  “Sometimes I eat down here instead of upstairs,” she said, motioning to the door behind her. She dragged the stool from behind the counter and he used the one from under the table. “Did you know their exes?” she asked.

  “Most of them were friends of mine. I’m pretty sure that was part of the attraction.”

  She finally smiled. “I admire anyone who’s loyal to their friends. I have a couple that I’d do anything for.”

  “So do I.” He poured wine into the paper cups he’d brought. “I’ve waited a week to see that smile again,” he said, handing her a cup.

  “That was your choice. The question is—are you going to wait another week to see it?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want this to happen a few minutes at a time, squeezed between appointments, but I don’t see any way around it and I don’t want to give you up.”