Dario Read online

  She opened her mouth, like she was ready to dismiss the complement, but I shook my head, keeping her quiet. “No matter what that asshole says or does, believe me when I tell you you’re a beautiful woman.” She started to look away, that blush deepening but glanced at me when I took her hand. “You remind yourself of that shit, every day if you have to. Say it enough to yourself and you’ll start to believe it again.”

  It hadn’t been my plan to make the woman weepy. Hell, I half expected she’d tell me to fuck off because I was being a little flirty, something I normally didn’t do with married women. But, Reagan went quiet at my words, taking the last drag of the bud before she dropped it on the ground. She kept her head lowered, eyes down toward the cement under our feet. In the light around us, all fluorescent and bright, I spotted the thick tears resurfacing, moving over her face as she cried.

  I had no business touching her. It could get me killed. Even standing here, telling her she was beautiful, hell, being even a little friendly to Reagan Shane could start a war. But she was a broken, sad thing. Forgotten and mistreated and I was a guy who’d been raised to fix things that were broken.

  It wasn’t much. In fact, it would probably mean nothing to her, but I still touched her shoulder, pulling her close and letting this crying, scared woman fall against my chest.

  “Shh,” I told her, curling an arm around her shoulders as she cried. Those thick tears soaked into my shirt, and I flicked my smoke across the pavement, bringing my free hand around her too. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  She shook in my arms, sobbing, and the thought sprang into my head, how something so delicate could get herself together, face the shit Shane gave her, and still manage to keep herself alive. She did that every day. Probably had for years. That meant she wasn’t a coward. That meant she deserved respect even if it came from a stranger like me.

  Reagan inhaled, grabbing the sleeves of my jacket under her fingers then lifted her head, watching me, going still when I wiped her face dry again. There was a glimmer in her eyes I couldn’t place and, despite her paleness, that she wasn’t the curvy, round women I typically liked, I had to admit she was beautiful. More beautiful than I first realized when I saw her in that hallway.

  She went on, looking up at me as I brushed the hair from her face, holding her close, then, when I touched her cheek, my hand against it, Reagan changed. A switch flicked on and in the half second it took for her to lick her lips, the woman launched herself at me.

  Shock, disbelief all twisted up inside me, muddled my realization when those soft, sweet lips landed against mine. I didn’t move, didn’t react, let her devour my mouth, let her grab my collar and pull me in.

  Reagan’s kiss was hungry, desperate, her teeth sliding against my bottom lip, her tongue dipping in against mine. Starved for attention. For the smallest bit of kindness. That wounded puppy was showing me her belly. I’d be half dead if my body didn’t react and it did, making me a little hard, stealing any good damn sense my folks had given me.

  She went for a deeper kiss, and the tears on her face, the fresh ones moving against her lashes, wetted my skin, and I finally pulled away, steadying her with my hands on her arms as she moved in again. “Hang on, darlin’, wait.” My breath came out in a whoosh, matching hers as I held her shoulders, watching her, not sure how to turn her down without making her feel worse. “Shit…”

  Reagan shook her head, looking away from me, her fingers covering her face liked she’d only just realized what she’d done.

  “God—” It took her a few minutes to dry her face, to get herself together enough to look back up at me. “I’m so sorry.” She used my handkerchief again to wipe her mouth before she pushed back her shoulders. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She wasn’t wrong, but I wouldn’t say that. The redness had come back across her face, though she held her chin a little higher. That small shot of confidence made her look strong, but it didn’t last.

  I had to defuse the tension, get her to laugh. “What, did you hear about me and thought I’d be down to sleep with a married lady?”

  Her laugh was brief, quick, and she kept smiling as she watched me. “I don’t know who you are. Sorry.”

  She took my hand when I offered it. “Dario Carelli.” Automatically, Reagan closed her eyes, like that information was a death sentence. It might be if Shane ever found out. “Sweetheart, I got zero plans to announce what went down tonight. My uncle wouldn’t be happy about me even being out here with you. He’d have my balls if he heard I kissed you.”

  “You didn’t, though.” She dropped my hand, holding her wrist behind her back. “That was all me.”

  “Eh, semantics.”

  She looked away, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m…stupid—”

  I tapped her finger, motioning to the large diamond on her hand. “I’m guessing that ring hasn’t ever stopped Shane from stepping out on you.”

  “Not once,” she said, her mouth curving into a frown.

  That asshole was useless and stupid, but then most cheaters were.

  “Not for nothing, if you didn’t have a ring on your finger, I’d have stopped your apology with my mouth back on yours.”

  For the first time tonight, Reagan laughed. It was loud and quick and lit up her face. It made her seem younger, even prettier than she was. “I’d let you.”

  The look she gave me then was open, honest, and I instantly regretted the spark I felt between us. It was likely I’d never feel anything like it again.

  I could have taken her away from this bougie building and her asshole husband. We could have set things up, had her lie and say she felt bad and was going home. The scenarios circled my head like a girl scout with a hula hoop.

  There was something in her expression as she looked up at me. Maybe she was devising schemes that could get us both killed too. Reagan licked her lips again and brushed a thick curl from her eyes. I caught a whiff of her perfume, and that did nothing to make me want to walk away.

  Shit. This is no good.

  Before anything else happened, I turned away, spotting a car slowing as he made for the intersection. The windows were down, and I caught the sound of an old Pearl Jam song filling up the night.

  Glancing at her, I pulled out my Marlboros, forgetting she didn’t smoke when I offered her one. She shook her head and followed the movement of my hand lighting it, the shifting of my chest as I exhaled. I finally looked down at her, disappointed that the pretty blush had left her face. “You good, darlin’?”

  “I’ll manage.” She stepped back, running the tip of her heel against the cement pylon next to the loading dock.

  “Managing ain’t living.”

  “It’s the best I can do.” Behind us the door opened, and another waiter walked out of it, pulling on the hem of his button up to untuck it as he moved past us. Reagan looked down at her watch, her shoulders lowering. “I have to go. They’ll be wondering where I am.”

  I didn’t stop her or call her back when she turned and headed toward the door. What would be the point? There was nothing I could offer that she’d take.

  Just before she made it to the door, Reagan stopped, turning toward me. “You’re the first man whose been nice to me in five years. I forgot what it felt like.” She came back to me, stopping until there was just a foot between us. She didn’t blink, barely breathed as she lifted on her feet, giving me a slow, soft kiss on the mouth before she tucked the handkerchief in my jacket pocket.

  My fingers twitched, and it took everything in me not to pull her close, not to let the smell of her hair and the softness of her mouth have me up to epically stupid shit.

  She touched my face, moving her head in a slow shake. “I didn’t think there were any good guys left in the world.”

  “Oh, I’m not a good guy,” I said through a laugh. “But sometimes I forget I’m not.”

  Reagan’s grin shifted, then disappeared when I took her hand, giving her knuckle a kiss. That spark moved
between us again, but this time she was the one tapping the brakes.

  “If I give you my number—”

  “You wanna rescue me?” She smiled, straightening. “That’s sweet. Very sweet but also really stupid.”

  “I’m not scared of fucking Liam Shane.”

  She stepped back, pulling her hand from mine when I reached for her. “It’s not Liam you should fear.” Reagan folded her arms again and I spotted the chills that dotted over her bare skin. “It’s the family.”

  “There’s no way I can let you go back in there knowing that he’s gonna—”

  “He’ll pass out on some stripper later tonight and I’ll have a few hours of peace. By the morning he’ll forget about us fighting. He always does.” She moved toward the door again then stopped, watching me in silence for a few seconds. “I’m kinda not sorry. About that kiss.” She shook her head and let a slow smile move her mouth up. “You taste good, Dario Carelli.”

  I stretched out my arms, beckoning her back in for another one. It was a tease, something she seemed to understand.

  “Maybe in another life. If I get one.”

  “I wouldn’t hate that.” Two steps toward her and I stopped, frowning when she dropped the smile. “I mean that.”

  Reagan nodded, turning away and walking back toward the door. “So did I. I meant that a lot.”

  1

  Ava

  Present Day, Cuoricino, New York

  January came with a warning I should have recognized. But the rain slushed down in sheets and water flooded the cobbled brick that lined the sidewalk, dulling my awareness. Wind and pellets of water burned against my face as I hurried to the closest awning just a few blocks from my bakery. It was the elements, that ache of wet and cold, that kept me from noticing the danger jogging just behind me.

  The brown paper bag in my arms crumbled and tore just as the high-pitched ring of my phone tingled against my fingers. The shock of its chirp had me tucking my head, landing with a slap of my back against the icy window of Aldridge’s Pharmacy.

  Only two people had my number, and one of them was in South America somewhere tracking whatever sex trafficker was foolish enough to run from him. The other had pressing issues on her mind. After all, the elementary science fair only came around once a year. Makayla would never call unless it was important.

  “Damn this rain.” I spoke to no one, busy shuffling the wet bag, my bent umbrella, and my cell in a messy swoop of movement as the ice on the window behind me bit into my back. “I’m here…hold…hang on a sec.” My breath came out in a winded mumble as I accepted the call. The bag was getting wetter despite the awning, and I angled the umbrella over my phone, which was slipping almost out of my grip when I tried to extend the bent arms away from me. “Kay? You there?”

  “Well,” she started without preamble. That beautiful face was distorted by the flecks of rain dotting on the screen and how pinched her mouth was. “I did not win.”

  “That…how…” Pushing up the bag only tore it further so I settled for a lean, my feet apart, bearing most of the weight, and prayed that nothing would disturb the tenuous hold I had on everything in my hands. “That cannot be possible,” I told the eight-year-old. “You worked so hard. Didn’t your pop get the fancy fairy lights?”

  “He did.” The huff in her tone froze me where I stood. I could just make out her deep frown and how she fingered the hair in her thick puff top knot. I was sure she wanted to look professional for the science fair. For Makayla that meant a pretty up do and pea coat jacket over a red V-neck sweater that complimented her beautiful dark skin.

  It had been a neat project. She’d executed lighting the Christmas tree with fat potatoes and insulated wires hooked up to string lights perfectly, or at least that’s what the video Makayla sent a week ago showed. Another huffing sigh and my goddaughter’s voice filled with anger. “But Lydia Anderson did an anemometer and—”

  “Straws and paper cups spinning around? Amateur!”

  “I know but her daddy brought scones and coffee to the judges and well, you know how that goes.”

  Bribery started early, and it seemed even eight-year-olds weren’t immune.

  “I’m sorry, pumpkin.” When she lowered her eyebrows and the clap of thunder overhead got louder, I cleared my throat, moving the screen closer. “You didn’t get a fair shot.” Some asshole in a red Hyundai zoomed by, shooting water onto the sidewalk, and I straightened, fingers digging into the sodden bag. “Can you hear me?”

  “Nanny, why are you outside?” Makayla came still closer to the screen, moving her gaze to my right as though there was something pressing nearer, I couldn’t see.

  The girl shook her head when I waved off the question. “I’m fine. It’s just a little rainy here. Almost like I’m with you, right? No hurricanes yet, huh? Is it cold?”

  “It’s never real cold in New Orleans. Not like it is there.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Who’s that guy?” she asked nodding her chin just as I glanced to my right.

  “Shit!” The oath came out like a rush as I jerked, not prepared when the tall man next to me slid against the pharmacy window.

  Two things happened at once—his slide landed him right against my shoulder, and we both jerked away at the same time, just as the grip on my bag, umbrella and phone loosened and the paper ripped, scattering dozens of petal, French, and basket weave cake decorating tips along with three fondant molds to the soaked pavement.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, kneeling next to me as I rushed to keep my tips and molds from rolling into the street. “I’ll get them.”

  Gripping what remained of the bag I picked up my cell, turning to face the man, my gaze sidelong and wary. I brushed the water from the screen as Makayla moved her head, trying to get a better look. “Sweetie, I’m sorry. I have a mess here.”

  “You okay, Nanny?” she asked and the tightening frown on her mouth tore at my gut. She had enough reason to worry in her young life. I didn’t want to add to it.

  “I’m good, really. Look, I’ll call you tonight, okay? We’ll talk about those cheating judges and Lydia’s lazy project.”

  Makayla’s frown eased when the man stood, reaching next to me to grab the mess on the sidewalk, his gaze glancing at the screen. “Cute kid.” He nodded at Makayla, offering her a wink that had her showing her white, mildly crooked teeth.

  “Love you, sweetie. I’ll call later,” I told my goddaughter, pushing my phone into my pocket and out of sight from this stranger.

  “Sorry. About all of this.” He stuffed the tips into the wet bag, his half grin lowering when I only stared up at him. “Didn’t mean to bump you.”

  “It’s… fine—” I started, my attention dropping to the large tattoo that hugged his neck, a span of eagle’s wings stretching on either side. In the bird’s talon was a black snake, its tail curling around the back of his neck and slipping to the other side. “I um…” The artwork was beautiful if not jarring from the size of the piece and the intricate details that only served to make him look more than beautiful.

  That alone made me shake myself. It was always beautiful men, or ones who knew they were, that caused the most trouble.

  Blinking, I looked down, ignoring the thickness of his lips and that masculine, clean scent that came from his skin as he gathered the rest of my decorating accessories and shoved them into my tattered bag.

  “Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

  “Least I can do.”

  We stood at the same time, sorting my mess and his wet fingertips slipped against my knuckles as I cupped the base of the paper bag, the only survivor of the pelting rain. “It’s no big deal.”

  “That your daughter?” He nodded to my pocket where I’d stashed my cell. When I didn’t answer the stranger shook his head, still watching me as though I wasn’t gawking at him. “She’s pretty.”

  “Goddaughter,” I said, not sure why I offered up that detail. “She’s eight.” Or that one.

/>   “Can’t say that I’ve been around many eight-year-olds, but from that frown I got the feeling she wasn’t happy about something.” He looked over his shoulder, putting his back to the window.

  “No.” My arms were heavy now, the rain that soaked my back and shoulders only weighing me down further. “She wasn’t.”

  He moved his left eyebrow up and bobbed his head, seeming to catch my silence for the dismissal it was, but he kept watching, that thick mouth ever tilted up as he glanced down at me.

  “You keep yourself to yourself,” he said, looking up at the dark sky. “I get that.”

  “Stranger danger.” I grinned, not sure where the joke came from, ignoring the way his automatic grin brightened his face.

  The clouds thickened. If I made a dash for my shop, nothing would be left of my bag and the streets of Cuoricino would be littered with silver icing tips.

  “You can never be too careful.” The man squinted, his attention on my pitiful umbrella. Stretching his hand forward, he stopped, glancing from the black umbrella to me. “Mind if I try to fix it?”

  “Uh, sure,” I said, recognizing the doubt heavy in my tone.

  “My sister broke about a dozen umbrellas when we were kids.”

  “She get out in the weather a lot?” I wasn’t really curious, but I couldn’t help liking how deep his voice was, how relaxed he seemed even though there was the smallest shake to his fingers. There was something about him that felt familiar. Like I’d dreamed him up a long time ago but couldn’t remember the details. That happened a lot. My ex had done a lot of damage and years later, I was still recovering.

  One side of the man’s mouth pulled a deep dimple into his cheek. “She wasn’t one much for storms, but she has a hell of a temper.” The stranger pushed the stretcher wide, using the tips of his fingers to smooth and straighten the bend in the wire. “All those umbrellas were easy targets when she got to throwing things.”