Marc thought it interesting that she pronounced SAR to rhyme with bar, rather than say each individual letter as most unfamiliar with the search-and-rescue community would. Did she have a personal connection to a SAR worker?
He shot a worried look at Luke, and decided to deflect the question away from him. He didn’t know all the details, but knew Luke didn’t like to talk about his wife’s fatal accident. Forcing a smile, he looked over at Angelina. “I joined the mountain rescue squad after I got back from Iraq.”
“When were you deployed?”
“In 2004.”
She placed her hand on his and squeezed. He envisioned her hand squeezing him a little lower and felt his groin tighten. Shit. Having her so close again and not holding her was torture of the worst kind.
“I appreciate your serving there, too. So, how’d you get from the desert of Iraq to the mountains of Colorado doing search and rescue?”
“I was a Navy corpsman—that’s a medic for the Navy and Marines,” he explained. Most civilians didn’t know that the Navy provided medical support to the Marines, as well. “I was assigned to a ground unit of Marines and was able to make a difference for a few of them. So, I wanted to put those skills to use when I got my discharge. I didn’t want to get an indoor healthcare job, though.” That wouldn’t have been any better than being chained to the desk at his family’s resort, as he had been before he’d decided enough was enough and enlisted.
“I was born in the Italian Alps and my family now owns a ski resort in Aspen, so I just gravitated to mountain rescue when I was discharged.”
Her eyes opened wide, “You’re one of those D’Alessios! My god, that resort is one of the most exclusive ones in Aspen!”
Shit. Not another gold digger. He shouldn’t have given his full name. Marc looked away, not even trying to hide his disappointment. When he’d looked up a few minutes ago to find his angel standing at their table, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Last month, as Marc went off DMS duty the night he’d rescued her—just barely—he’d been disappointed when Adam had told him his little angel and Karla had left a couple hours earlier. Not that he’d blamed her for wanting to put the flogging experience and his club behind her as quickly as possible.
But, over the past month, she kept invading his thoughts at unexpected times. No woman had ever obsessed him so completely, day and night, not even the two he’d nearly married.
“Um, thanks, Marc. I hope I didn’t bring back bad memories or anything.”
Marc turned back to her and smiled, but Angelina had shifted her focus toward Luke. “What about you?”
The silence stretched to the point of being uncomfortable. Marc looked at his friend. Just when he’d decided he ought to change the subject, Luke answered in a low, gravelly voice.
“I lost someone in the mountains once.” He averted his gaze and twisted the wedding ring.
“I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t be able to go into the mountain wilderness again if…” her voice trailed off and he heard a catch in her voice. When he turned, tears swam in her eyes, making him wonder what loss she’d suffered to cause her that pain.
She cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry.” She reached out to touch Luke’s hand and Marc felt an unfamiliar pang of jealousy.
Mine.
Shit, not again. He’d never had a problem sharing a woman before, so why did he want Angelina all to himself this time?
Normally, Luke would have pulled his hand away or waved her off. The man hadn’t looked at another woman in seven years, despite Marc’s attempts to get him into the club on occasion. He had no interest in the lifestyle. This time, he let her hand rest over his a few moments, just staring at it as if he didn’t know what to make of it.
“Long time ago.”
Marc could see the pain in Luke’s eyes as clearly as Angelina probably could. His hurt was still close to the surface. Maybe he should talk about it more. Marc wondered what had happened, but hadn’t wanted to push him to feel things that were too painful, any more than he wanted anyone pushing him.
“If I can keep others from going through that kind of hell, though….” He shrugged, then picked up his bottle, realized it was empty, and laid it back down, staring at it.
An awkward silence passed before Marc did change the subject. “So, cara, tell us about yourself.” He knew nothing about her and had a definite interest in learning more.
“My life is pretty dull compared to yours. I graduated from culinary school last May and started a local catering business. Second generation Italian-American. I spent many summers with my Nonna in Marsala, where I learned all her culinary secrets. I specialize in her Sicilian recipes. Of course, I personalize them a bit.”
Marc held his hand over his heart and gave her a pained expression. “Please, no more, or I’ll have to kidnap you and chain you to my stove until you’ve prepared everything your grandmother taught you to make.”
He saw her pupils dilate at the mention of chains and an image flitted across his mind of her wearing nothing but a skimpy French maid’s apron, a smile, and an ankle cuff attached to the stove by a chain. Her jaw dropped open, as if she’d seen the same image. Hmmm. Culinary bondage? The thought made his cock stiffen. Fantasies of having her chained to his anything sent his cock to throbbing.
For the first time in a year, he found himself interested in playing with a sub again.
* * *
Mio Dio! What was wrong with her? She wasn’t into kink anymore, but the thought of being chained to Marc’s stove just sent the wildest image into her mind. Her nipples hardened and she watched his gaze glance down at her chest. Her face heated as she wondered what he would do to her while she was in those chains.
Whoa! He wants you in… She supposed it could only be called culinary bondage. She reached for her glass of wine and took a huge chug, then sputtered when it went down the wrong way again. Would she ever be able to drink normally around these two?
Marc’s warm, firm hand stroked her back through the open keyhole. “Cough, cara.” She did and soon had herself back under control.
Anxious to move to a safer topic, away from the potent Italian sitting next to her, she asked, “So, Luke, where did you grow up?”
“All over. My folks moved around a lot. But I lived in Texas, near El Paso, during high school.”
“Everything all right here?”
Angelina hadn’t seen Rico approach the table. He stared at her, waiting for their long-ago pre-arranged signal. She smiled and winked twice. Satisfied she was fine, he took refill orders. She noticed Marc changed from beer to Perrier.
Over the next half hour, the three spoke about a number of other topics. She and Marc did most of the talking. She found him sexy as hell, but had to keep reminding herself he was just rescuing her in exchange for an Italian meal—chains optional. Besides she didn’t plan to complicate her life with another man.
Marc reached out to brush a strand of loose hair from her face, sending her heart skittering. They may be annoying as hell, but Italian men certainly exuded sex appeal.
“Dance with me, cara.”
Angelina looked over at Luke, who encouraged them both to go. She took a sip of wine for the courage to leave her hiding place. She’d be exposed to Allen’s scrutiny on the dance floor. Marc cupped her elbow as she scooted out of the booth and he helped her to her feet. While he fed the jukebox a few coins and made his selections, she waited on the dance floor. Allen’s glare bore into her back, but she refused to make eye contact with him. She planned to make this act so convincing there would be no doubt….
The melodious strains of Dean Martin’s “Volare” filled the air, instantly bringing tears to her eyes. She’d donated Papa’s record collection to Rico for his vintage jukebox because listening to them was so painful. That particular song transported her back in time.
“Papa, my prom’s not till next year. Why are you giving me lessons now?”
“We never know how much time we have. My Papa taught your Aunt Maria, and now I will teach you.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him she probably wouldn’t be dancing to music like Dean Martin’s at her prom; didn’t want to disappoint him.
“Now, put you hand here,” he placed it in the center of his back, “and hold my hand like this.”
“Tesoro mio, what is wrong?” Marc asked.
My treasure? Pulled away from her bittersweet memories, Angelina looked up at Marc. She hadn’t felt like any man’s treasure since Papa was killed. She’d never slow danced with a man since Papa either. There had been no prom for Angelina. She realized her cheeks were wet with tears.
Marc’s hand curled under her chin to tilt her face toward his. She tried to blink away the remaining tears, but more spilled onto her cheeks. He looked over at Allen. Did she just hear him growl?
“No, it’s not him.” She waved her hands in front of her eyes, trying to dry them. Her forced laugh sounded harsh, but she needed to lighten the mood. “I’m fine. The song just reminded me of my Papa. Let’s just dance.” She tried to glance away from him, but he continued to hold her chin steady in his hand. Heat pooled in her lower abdomen.
Cupping her face in both of his hands, Marc brushed away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. After gazing deeply into her eyes, he seemed to accept that she wasn’t going to divulge any more details and reached for her hand, placing it over the curve of his butt. Much lower than Papa had shown her. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist and entwined her left hand into his right one before he pulled he closer, pressing their intermingled hands and forearms between their bodies. Very intimate for a total stranger. So why did being in his arms make her feel so safe?
As the music slowed and wrapped around her, she closed her eyes and relaxed her head against Marc’s shoulder. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he drew her even closer, whispering Italian endearments in her ear. She wasn’t as familiar with the nuances of the northern Italian dialect, but recognized enough to know he thought she was beautiful and sexy. His whiskers tickled her ear, causing yet another zing to ricochet through her body, going to ground on her clit.
Marc’s free hand slid up her back and into the keyhole opening of her sweater dress. Goosebumps broke out on her arms and her nipples hardened against his chest as his thumb and fingers stroked her bare skin. She forced herself to take a deeper breath. Good Lord, all he was doing was touching her back! What if he were…
Don’t go there, Angie! With her breasts pressed against him, she was thankful he couldn’t see her body’s response. But surely he felt the rapid pounding of her heart beating against the back of his hand, because she could feel his beating against her hand.
So right in his arms. If only this weren’t just a show for Allen’s benefit.
“That’s right, cars. Just feel,” he whispered.
Angelina stumbled and Marc tightened his arm around her. A memory having nothing to do with Papa or Marc flashed across her mind, of her being held safe and secure in the arms of her dream lover.
“That’s right, cara. Just feel.”
As they moved, the music on the jukebox didn’t match their movements, but they seemed to be moving to their own music. Marc’s hand strayed down from the keyhole to trace circles over the curve of her butt. At first, she thought he’d wanted to make Allen jealous, but then she noticed he only touched her there when her back was turned away from Allen.
When the music ended, he continued to hold her, swaying to their own music. He seemed as reluctant to let go of her as she was him.
As Dino’s “You Belong to Me” began to play, Angelina shivered at the possessiveness in the song. Marc’s arm tightened around her back and pulled her closer, but the thought of some man viewing her as his possession had a chilling effect on her. Was Marc a traditional Italian man, expecting his wife to stay home and raise babies? Mama had given up her dreams and her job to stay home and raise her five children. When Papa had been killed, Mama had barely been able to make ends meet. If Rafe and Franco hadn’t dropped out of college to get jobs to help out, the family wouldn’t have made it.
Angelina could never be that dependent on a man. She’d hold onto her independence, continue to build her career, and if that wasn’t good enough for Marc or any other man, then they could just go find someone else.
“Relax. You’re too tense.”
His words caused her to give herself a mental shake and to relax her muscles. She barely knew Marc and already she was worrying about whether he would expect her to stay home and raise his kids? She smiled. Her biological clock must be working overtime tonight.
* * *
Angelina. What a perfect name for his little angel. Dio, she felt so damned right in his arms. Again.
Marc ran his hand over her satiny skin, then trailed his fingers down the valley of her spine. Wisps of her long black hair strayed from the clip that held it captive. Longing to see her hair unrestrained as he had at the Masters at Arms club, he reached up and released the clip, letting the thick tresses spill in waves over her shoulders and down her back.
“I love seeing your hair down like this.” He slipped the clip into his pocket.
She laughed. “How would you know?”
Shit. Keep your wits about you, man. Obviously, she didn’t remember him from the club. He didn’t want her dwelling on those bad memories either. Not tonight, with Sir Asshole lurking so near. What had interested her in that man? Asshole looked as though he was well off. Was she a gold digger, after all?
Marc’s cock remembered her, judging by the way it jerked to life as he ran his fingers through the silky strands. He detected a hint of lavender—heady when combined in the corners of his mind with the musky essence he remembered so well.
Images of her tied to his bed as he fully explored every inch of her delectable body caused him more than a little discomfort. What would it be like to have her submit to him? He couldn’t help but notice how her eyes had lit up when he’d half-jokingly proposed chaining her to his stove.
He sighed. If he and Luke hadn’t stayed behind to do media interviews today, he never would have found her again. Adam had been adamant, refusing to share her confidential information without her permission. He didn’t know why she intrigued him so much, but he did want to get to know her better, what her kink was, how he could give her a better experience than the raw deal she’d gotten her first time at his club.
Marc and Luke could only stay in town until Angelina’s dinner tomorrow night, though. Not enough time to establish the trust necessary for him to have her restrained to a bed or anything else. He knew this little one would need even more time to overcome her bad experience with Sir Asshole before she’d trust any man enough to explore her submissiveness again with restraints. She’d take much more of a commitment than he’d been willing to give a woman.
Yet he wanted her. This woman had invaded his mind for the past month. Marc held her more tightly against him, guiding her around the small dance floor. After tonight, her sultry dark-chocolate eyes and delectable mouth would torture his sleep once more.
Maybe once he got through dinner tomorrow, he’d be able to get her out of his system. It had been his experience that, the more he knew about a woman, the less he wanted to stick around. KISS had always been his motto—Keep It Superficial Stupid.
She intrigued him now because he knew next to nothing about her. She was mysterious. What did he really know about her? She’d just shown up at his club with a boyfriend one night. Okay, he knew a bit more than that—like the expression on her face when she flew apart for him. His groin tightened.
He needed to put the reins on those thoughts.
But he had a real concern for her safety, with Sir Asshole so close by. They probably both lived here in town. The thought of leaving her anywhere near the abusive man set his nerves on edge, but he couldn’t exactly kidnap her and take her away to safety.
She stroked his upper back and shoulder, as if she sensed his tension and tried to knead it away. He forced himself to relax. What she ever saw in that arrogant ass, Marc couldn’t understand. She deserved a man who would devote his entire being to bringing her pleasure and happiness. Adore her. Cherish her. Love her.
Not a man like Asshole.
Or Marc D’Alessio.
But he’d still be interesting in exploring a Top/bottom relationship with her on a casual basis, if she didn’t live so far away.
“So, what holds you to this place, cara?”
She didn’t hesitate when she responded. “My family. My job. I’ve always lived here. I even commuted to and from culinary school in Boulder, except for my five-week externship.”
“Everyone grows up and leaves their family at one time or another. What else holds you here?” She stiffened. Ah, he’d touched a nerve. “Is it something…or someone?” He was nothing, if not tenacious.
She laughed a bit harshly. “Well, it’s not a man, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not looking for a serious relationship.”
Ah, we can agree on that.
“I guess if I had to say one person, it would be Mama.”
He smiled. Apparently, whatever hold Italian Mamas had over sons, their daughters weren’t immune to either. At least his own relationship with his Mama had improved since he’d been hospitalized in Germany after Fallujah.
“My Papa died seven years ago and she depends on us to be there for her.”
Marc’s heart ached for her. He pulled her closer, rubbing her back when he felt her body tense. “I’m sorry about your papa.” Angelina would have been just a teenager when he died. Marc admired her desire to take care of the woman who had given life to her. Angelina’s mama sounded as if she were much more generous with her love than his had been while he was growing up, but her mama probably wasn’t the fragile being her grown children imagined. Italian women held all the power in their families.
“How many of you are there?”
“Five, including my four brothers. I’m the youngest Giardano.”
The baby and only girl in a close-knit Italian family. Oh, yes, he’d definitely steer clear of emotional ties with this one. “Your brothers live here still, as well?”
“No, only the oldest and youngest—Rafe and Tony—are in Aspen Corners. Franco and Matt live in Leadville, just an hour or so up the road.”
Good. Angelina had two brothers in town to watch over her and keep Asshole away. But they also could take care of their mother’s needs. She wasn’t tied to this place—unless she wanted to be. Which apparently she did.
She sighed. Marc sensed restlessness in her.
“Have you ever considered moving to Denver? I’m sure your culinary skills would be in high demand.”
He felt her spine stiffen again under his hand. She pushed at his chest and stepped back. “No. I have plenty of requests to cater and plan events here.”
Easy, gattina. No need to get your back up.
Clearly, he’d touched another nerve. Then she laughed, releasing the tension as quickly as it had arisen. Her gaze bore into his chest, and she grew serious again. He pulled her back into his arms. She didn’t let him hold her as closely this time as they swayed to the music. But he was happy she’d continued to dance with him because he loved holding her in his arms. Marc let the silence rest between them, giving her the time she needed to think.
“Sometimes it frustrates me, but I just can’t leave.”
Ah, so perhaps the door wasn’t closed after all.
He smiled. If she were in Denver, perhaps she’d allow him to take her under his Dom wings and show her the ropes, so to speak. “Denver’s only three hours away.”
Marc felt her stiffen again, then she drew him closer again and tucked her face into his neck. Her breath hot against his ear, she whispered, “Shut up and dance.”
He laughed aloud. Ah, the lady has a bossy side. His cock hardened as he imagined going head to head with her. No doubt in his mind he would come out on top, though. He smiled, his hand slipping under her hair to stroke her silky warm skin at the keyhole opening in the back of her dress. He wished he had access to more than the tiny but tantalizing patch of skin on her back. He grew even harder at the memory of her sexy backside pressed against his crotch when he’d held her at the club. The need to bury himself inside her was stronger than ever.
As if coming to from a mental fog, he realized he was breaking his primary rule, one that had kept him relatively sane for that past few years. No Italian women and their emotional drama.
Angelina would be high maintenance, wanting more than he could give her. He didn’t mean financial maintenance either. Meeting a woman’s financial needs was easy. Emotional needs? Not so much.
Perhaps it was for the best he’d be leaving town tomorrow before things went further than he intended to let them. This one could be dangerous.
But who said there had to be a long-term commitment? He’d had superficial relationships with women since he was seventeen. Only two had led to anything more than sex or BDSM play—first Melissa, then Pamela—and they had been separated by nine years. He definitely wanted to be with Angelina in a superficial sort of way, though, to learn what turned her on, watch her bend to his authority in a bedroom or club scene, see her face again as she flew apart for him. But that was it.
Strictly sexual control. No commitments. No emotional strings.
He brought their joined hands up to where he could touch her breast without putting on a show for the entire barroom, especially Sir Asshole over there. The curve of her breast seared the back of his hand, making him want to touch even more of her. He reached out his fingers toward her other breast and brushed her nipple. Her sharp hiss against his neck only emboldened him. Keeping their hands entwined, he pinched the swelling bud between his thumb and forefinger. Her hips jolted toward him, pressing against his erection.
Dio, so responsive.
“Did you like how that felt, cara?”
“I…” Her breathy whisper was expelled as her chest rose and fell, making the contact against his hand even more tantalizing.
When she paused, he probed, “Answer honestly.”
She pulled away and looked up at him, her brow furrowed. “I…I think that’s enough dancing.” She backed away, toward the safety of the booth—and Luke.
Before she turned away, he saw her nipples in sharp relief against the sweater dress. He knew his own arousal was no less obvious, and saw her cheeks grow even pinker when she glanced down at his bulging crotch.
Denying her arousal only made him want to entice her to explore her sexuality even more. A challenge. He wished there was time to take her in hand and show her what her body truly craved. But that couldn’t happen—unless he could convince her to leave her safe little world here.
Marc decided to give her the space she wanted, for now, while he paid a visit to the head to regain control of his wayward cock. Lord knew she’d be safe from sexual advances with Luke. The man seriously hadn’t looked at a woman the entire time he’d known him.
But would she be safe with Marc?
* * *
Luke watched as Angel came back to the booth alone, looking flustered—and sexy as sin. She stirred him back to life as no other woman had since Maggie. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“It’s time. I’m sending you an angel…”
“So, where’d you go to college?” she asked, picking up their earlier conversation as if there hadn’t been a break.
“University of Texas—more to play football, than study, I’ll admit. Wound up majoring in studio art.” He smiled. The look of surprise on her face was one he’d gotten used to. He’d been ribbed about it since his football buddies heard what major he’d declared. “They didn’t have the industrial arts program I wanted, but I wanted to work with wood. So, I wound up learning a lot about art that I didn’t really need, or so I thought at the time. But the design, sculpture, and even the drawing classes have helped me with my current work. I do carpentry and make…specialized equipment that I design myself.” He’d better leave it at that and not embarrass her by saying he made equipment for BDSM enthusiasts.
The conversation turned to her childhood and flowed naturally. She told him about summers spent with her grandmother in Sicily. Her eyes lit up. He envied her being part of a big, extended and close-knit family. Being an only child, his had been pretty lonely. His parents had followed one pipeline project site after another, leaving him to fend for himself. His shop teacher in high school had taken him under his wing and introduced him to woodworking. Then he’d met an art instructor in college who had let Luke use the woodworking shop in his garage. When he’d met Maggie, he abandoned his studies and his woodworking for a while. But he’d managed to graduate.
He couldn’t keep his mind from comparing Angel to his wife. Both women knew what they wanted and went after it. But Maggie tended to be more introverted, interested in her research and not much else. He’d tagged along with a camera on her forays into the wilderness to help photograph her finds. She liked his artist’s eye.
Angel leaned across the table and touched his hand. “You seem a million miles away.”
Luke cringed. Damn. He’d spaced on her. Embarrassed, he sat up and said, “Sorry. Thinking about my wife.”
She glanced at his ring and pulled her hand back as if bitten. Damn. He’d forgotten he even wore the wedding band. At first, he’d kept it on because he didn’t really want any more women offering him sex to “cure” his grief. Then it had just become a habit.
Maybe even a talisman. On every rescue mission, he felt Maggie with him, guiding him to the lost and injured. He didn’t know why, but he felt a sudden need to tell Angel about Maggie.
“My wife died seven years ago.”
Her gasp of surprise caught him off guard. “My God, I’m so sorry!”
He shouldn’t have been so blunt, but wasn’t sure how to ease into the topic. “It was an…accident.” He didn’t really want to say anything more about what type of accident. But now what?
With a burst of nervous energy, Luke leaned forward. “Let’s give that asshole something to look at, Angel. Play a game of pool with me.”
He stood up to play it through. She deserved better than the deal she’d gotten from that jerk across the room, whatever he’d done to hurt her. Not only was she sexy as hell, but sweet and beautiful. He loved the way she just plain seemed to enjoy life.
Luke reached out to help her up out of the booth. He called the game. “Eight Ball.” Ignoring her ex, even though they had to walk right past him to get to the pool table, he watched her go over to the wall and choose her pool stick while he racked up the balls and handed her the cue ball. “Lady first.”
“Stripes,” she called, then proceeded to drop three striped balls in rapid succession into the table’s pockets.
Hot damn. The woman was competitive. Game on.
“Luke, I think you’ve met your match,” Marc teased as he approached them.
As she lined up a shot with the thirteen ball, Luke found himself riveted by the view of her curvaceous hips. “No problem. I’m enjoying the view.”
She glanced behind her and met his gaze, blushing.
“Can’t match my view,” Marc countered.
Luke watched Angel look up at Marc, who zeroed in on her chest as she bent over the table to line up the shot. Marc had always loved women’s tits. Her dress didn’t show much skin, but the material fit her like a second skin.
Apparently they’d flustered her with their attention, because she made her move too soon and dropped one of his solids into the side pocket instead.
“Play fair, boys.” Then a giggle burst forth and he saw a sparkle in her big brown eyes.
Luke studied the table and saw she sure hadn’t left him any easy shots. “All’s fair in love and Eight Ball, darlin’,” he said, brushing her cheek with a kiss before he stepped up to the table. Damn.
Shaking off the feel of her soft cheek on his lips, he somehow managed to sink four solids in a row, two with one stroke and two single shots. She must have realized the game was getting away from her, because Angel sidled up to him and let her fingernails dance lightly down his back.
Luke scratched his next shot. He stood and turned toward her. “Careful there, Angel. You’re playing with fire now. I play to win.”
He couldn’t resist pulling her into his arms. Her pool stick lodged between them, but still he felt her heart beating against his chest. She looked up at him, expecting him to kiss her.
But he couldn’t. He didn’t know if it was because of Marc…or Maggie. Instead, he bent down to nuzzle her neck and whispered, “He’s fuming, darlin’. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you this entire game.”