Breaking the Bachelor (Entangled Lovestruck) (Smart Cupid) (12 page)

Charlie took her hand to guide her onto Washington Street and toward the unmistakable red and green sign that lit up half the block. “Salvatore’s? We’re going to the pizza joint where I worked as a kid?”

“Salvatore’s, angel, your home away from home.” He leaned close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her cheek. “I love this place, and don’t pretend you don’t love it, too.”

Okay, double score.
She loved it.

Jane grinned over at him, his rough-and-tumble good looks a stark contrast to the easy romance of the cobblestone street, and damned if he wasn’t wearing the Levis. A roaming glance over his hard, angular body told the entire story. “I see you’re not exactly fighting fair.”

“You mean taking a starving, overworked matchmaker out for midnight pizza? I figured we’ve put the rules to rest for the night, so, what the hell.”

“We put the rules to rest?”

“Just for tonight.” He brushed against her shoulder and a mischievous glint in those eyes whispered,
Give me a second, and I’ll send your lacy panties up in flames
.

“Okay. Just for tonight.”

Jane felt a blush bloom in her cheeks as her pulse skyrocketed and a deep, abiding heat took residence in her southern regions. Her body was going rogue. Even worse, she felt something else twist inside her. Something more than desire. His smartass look and his leather jacket made her heart race, and yes, she still wanted to rip off those Levis, but the emotions stirring inside her went deeper.

Maybe it was the old neighborhood or feeling in touch with the carefree, follow-her-dreams girl she used to be, but she couldn’t feel the chill in the February air or hear the noise coming off the bridge. All she could hear was the blood rushing through her veins, clamoring in her mind, its heat infusing every inch of her body. Not wanting to analyze her feelings, she leaned into him as they crossed the exposed brick street into Salvatore’s, bracing against her fears.

Once inside, the warmth of the restaurant enveloped her like a bear hug. The tangy scent of San Marzano tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, and sweet, yeasty dough sizzling in the coal-fired brick oven threw her back in time. Late-night crowds tended to be slim, so the place was emptier than usual, and it took less than a minute for the owner to spot Jane standing in the doorway, almost as if he’d been waiting for her. Salvatore approached with a sly grin and wide, open arms.

“Janey, baby,
come sta, che bella
?”

Jane tamped down the guilt she felt at staying away so long and smiled at the tough Brooklyn-Italian vibe radiating from Sal’s core.

Some things never changed.

“I’m doing great, Sally,
grazie
. How you doin’?” She tossed some standard-issue Brooklynese at the New York pizza maker, a man more like a father to her than her own had ever pretended to be.

When her dad had bolted, Sal had been there to teach her how to work hard, dream big, and funnel her energy into something she loved. He helped her get into college. Kept her on the job even though waitressing fell low on the list of her God-given skills. He’d believed in her and suddenly, she felt ashamed not to have visited her old haunt for months. She loved this place. Loved Sal, and the wonderful old joint lived on exactly as she remembered.

She drew back to look at Sal’s wide face, then hugged him again. Hard. “I missed you.”

“Six months, bella? You stayed away too long.”

She kissed his grizzled cheek. “Never again, Sal. Promise.”

He nodded and leaned back. “Hey, Big Charlie, what’s up?” Salvatore slapped him hard on the back and Charlie smiled, ready to take what Sal gave and dish it right back.

“Just trying to show your girl a good time,” he said. “You know, a little romance?”

“No kiddin’?”

In the process of shrugging off her coat, Jane scrambled to set the record straight, “Wait a second. There’s no romance—”

Sal called toward the back of the joint, “Hey, Dominick. Charlie’s out with Janey!”

A stout Italian man in a pristine white apron leaned across the marble counter and winked at her. “Janey? Who the hell is Janey? You talkin’ about The Mouth?”

The Mouth. Some of the neighborhood folks had called her Mouthie because she never shut up, but Dom and Sally used the nickname because they’d never seen a girl under one hundred pounds pack away an eight slice pepperoni pizza and two Cokes.

“Okay, boys, enough already,” Jane said, smiling, “I get the message. Just bring me a pepperoni and a beer, please. I don’t know what the hell Big Charlie wants.”

“You got it, baby.” He winked at Charlie. “They don’t call her Mouthie for nothing.”

Charlie took Jane’s coat and tossed it over his arm. “I’ll just take a beer and a slice of her pepperoni.”

Jane looked over at him. “How do you manage to make everything sound so dirty?”

Hiding a chuckle, Sal handed Charlie a couple of beers from behind the marble countertop. “You know the deal,
compagno
. No credit. No delivery. No slices.”

She bit back her own smile and nodded toward the corner of the restaurant. “Can we take the Frankie table?”

“Oh,
mia bella
, Frankie’s corner is always taken, you know that.” He pinched her cheeks between his flour-covered fingers like she was still fifteen and hustling slices of pizza out the back door to Charlie and her brothers. Then, he shouted to one of the waiters near the back of the restaurant. “Hey, double-check the Sinatra table for Big Charlie.” He gave her a quick wink, loaded with implication. “Good thing your
ragazzo
knows how to make a reservation.”

Heat rose high on her cheeks and she snuck a quick peek over at Charlie. Apparently, he didn’t mind being referred to as her boyfriend, a fact that made a small thrill race up her foolish spine. And he’d reserved the Frankie table, a gesture so damned romantic, she felt moonstruck. Damn Lucifer and all his temptations.

Non disturbare l’ha coperto
.

Trouble didn’t cover it.

Jane plastered her old boss with a couple of fast kisses. Nobody got the corner table at Salvatore’s without a reservation—nobody. And even then it could be weeks. Weaving through the cozy, built-for-romance style pizzeria, she felt like a mafia princess enjoying the good old family treatment. They passed several tables covered with bright red-and-white-checkered tablecloths to the one readied in the back. Candlelight. A straw-covered Chianti bottle. Sinatra in the background. Old world Italian
la romanza
. A collection of warning bells sounded off inside her head.

“So, what do you think?” Charlie asked, holding out her chair. “Romantic?”

She eyed him warily and sat down. She’d assumed tonight was supposed to be another post-date analysis to redefine his perfect match. As much as she loved Salvatore’s and the Frankie table, a romance question felt like a setup. “Depends on what kind of girl you’re dating.”

“A Brooklyn girl.”

Beer set firmly on the table, her fingertips tapped out a nervous version of
That’s Amore
against the checkered cloth. “Yes, for a Brooklyn girl, there’s nothing more romantic than Sal’s.”

Charlie settled into the chair next to her chair. “Now you know why my last date didn’t fit the bill.”

Just as she suspected. A setup. “What are you talking about? She was from Brooklyn.”

Charlie nodded and tipped his beer in her direction. “But she refused to come.”

Her head snapped in his direction. If he was melting another woman’s panties, the way he did hers…except it wasn’t her business. Not her business. “Spare me the details.”

“To Brooklyn,” he said. “She refused to come to Brooklyn.”

Jane stared at his wicked smile and tried to breathe away the rising tide of desire suddenly cresting through her body. She gripped the edge of the table to keep from diving into his lap. How did he freaking do that? No other man’s smile made her crave an all-out, lovin’ takedown on top of the corner table at Salvatore’s. Only Charlie.

“As your matchmaker, I think you need to reconsider walking away from this match. Just because your date didn’t want pizza doesn’t mean she’s—”

“Not perfect.” The quick shake of his head was clear and non-negotiable. “She refused to cross the bridge.”

“And?”

“I love Brooklyn.”

“Exactly. Part of why she’s an excellent match.”

“Not for me.”

“Why?”

He raked his hands through his hair looking like he’d rather strangle her with them. “Because a woman who snubs her hometown will eventually snub her man.”

There was a short pause before the laughter bubbled up from her chest. She tried to stop it, but come on. “Is that some new kind of man philosophy?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone clipped. “A legitimate one.”

She knocked back a sip of her beer to keep more laughter from spilling over. “Charlie, you can’t honestly believe what you’re saying.”

“I want a woman who embraces all of who she is—including her past.” He tossed his forearm over the back of the wooden chair and pointed the neck of the green glass bottle at the movie posters lining the far wall. “Besides, she had Red Bull and movie issues.”

“Red Bull and movie issues?” She pulled up the newly-submitted Cupid Report on her Smartphone. “I don’t see any Red Bull issues, she’s an accountant.”

“Worse, a Sagittarian accountant.”

She ignored the comment. “She’s described as energetic and fun.”

“A six-pack a day Red Bull habit can be all kinds of fun, unless you want to have an actual conversation.”

“Loves movies and long walks in Central Park.”

“Like I said earlier…movie issues.”

“Movie issues? What kind of movie issues?”

He sighed. “The woman hated
Rocky
.”

“Rocky who?”

He did a double take and leaned forward in his chair. “The movie.
Rocky
. She said it sucked.”

Jane took a long, thoughtful pull from her beer. She needed to tread carefully here, because, honestly, what kind of a person hated
Rocky
? She drew in a breath and set down her beer on the exhale. “Okay, that is kind of a tough one, but logically speaking, I’m not sure Red Bull and movie issues are total deal breakers.”

His look pinned her against the back of her chair. “You love
Rocky
.”

“Oh my God, I do. I love
Rocky
.” She pressed both of her hands over her heart. “You know that I love
Rocky
.”

Charlie’s palms banged off the table. “Of course you do. Everybody loves
Rocky
because it’s a great movie about grit and determination and triumph over adversity.”

“And because it’s a love story.”

“A freaking, fantastic love story.”

She outlined a series of figures eights with the bottom of her bottle. “And the ice skating scene…so sweet and—”

“How about after the fight, when he’s searching the crowd for her with his bloody eyes. “Adrian! Adrian!” Charlie indulged his time-honored and totally spot-on Stallone impersonation by shadowboxing with his beer.

“And when she gets in the ring and Rocky asks where her hat is?” Jane reached back, pulled her hat from her coat pocket and waved it in the air between them.

“Who doesn’t think that’s romantic?”

A corner of her matchmaking heart broke a little bit right there at the table. She sighed. “Totally romantic.”

“A deal breaker.”

She let go a long sigh. “Definitely, a deal breaker.”

Un-be-lieve-able. Of all the movies not to fall for, Charlie’s date had to go and spurn a romantic masterpiece. Hell. Double Hell.

“Probably should have put that in my matrix. Must have thrown off the algorithms.” Charlie took a sip of his beer. “Ought to be in your matrix.”

She sipped her beer and considered her response. Logically, he made sense. Maybe the matrix failed to predict everything about falling in love. Could a computer application understand all the intangibles, the gut reactions and emotions? As she worked through the problem, her old boss arrived at the edge of the table holding the best pepperoni pizza in the city in the palm of one hand and an oversized bottle of Chianti in the other. She eyed the wine with some suspicion. Maybe Chianti needed to be in her matrix.

“You two talking about
Rocky
again?”

“Sal, you like that movie, right?” Charlie asked.

He set the extra-large pie and the wine on the table and wiped his massive hands on his apron. “Yeah, who doesn’t like
Rocky
? Greatest movie ever.”

As the men talked cinema, the sweet, tangy scent of the pizza filled up her senses, but with her stomach churning, her normal appetite was gone. The
Rocky
conversation with its fun-filled, competitive banter reminded her how much she missed Charlie.

Deeply and uncontrollably.

Recklessly.

She tucked a curl behind her ear, her fingers shaking. Could she be wrong about the matrix? Did her criteria lists fall short of chemistry in predicting love? Yes, she wanted to forget the rules tonight and fall for the undercurrent—hell, let’s face it, the overcurrent—of chemistry sizzling between her and Charlie.

But was chemistry…love?

The idea rattled her to the core. If predicting love scientifically was a flawed theory—if she was wrong—she’d blown it. The bet. Her criteria…everything.

Was love really all about the knockout kiss?

Sally turned his smiling face toward her, chucked her under the chin, and ruffled her hair like she was a second-grader. “
Difficoltà, che bella. Difficoltà
.”

Trouble.

Her boss walked back toward the kitchen, and she traced another set of figure eights onto the bright, checkered tablecloth.

No doubt about it, Sal.

Definitely, definitely trouble.

Chapter Twelve

@smartCupid A relationship is a two-way street. Make sure you’re both driving in the same direction.

“Ready to bowl?”

“Bowl?” Jane looked up from her half-eaten slice. Never in her life had she let pizza go to waste, especially Sal’s. She took another sip of the Chianti and tried to ignore the import of the leftover pizza.

“Bowling is on my list.” Charlie set his empty beer bottle on the table and slid the check and cash under the oversized shaker of Parmesan. “We are still working on my criteria list, right? Making the right adjustments? Date number three?” He snapped his fingers twice. “Earth to Jane.”

She blinked her way back to the table. “Yes, of course, we’re still working on your criteria. Bowling is…good. I love bowling.”

Charlie nodded. “I remember.”

“Junior high champion.”

“That’s right.” He reached across the table to gather her hands in his own and his thumb caressed the inside of her wrist. His voice was as low and as intimate as his touch. “I’m sure you’ve got one hell of an approach, an approach I will definitely love to…watch.” He leaned in, ready with a challenge. “But you don’t have a chance tonight. Not against me.”

Her pulse raced ahead of her brain, and she felt the heat building between them in a way that did not bode well for her matrix. “No lofting past the foul line. I want a clean game.”

“You are so going down.”

Damn, he knew she never walked away from a challenge. “Think so?”

“I know it
, bella angelo
.”

“Since when do you speak Italian?” Even two words impressed her, not just the sentiment, but the man had failed his prep school language class—twice.

“Hey, when in Brooklyn…”

She unraveled their fingers, set her palms flat on the tabletop, and steered the conversation back onto safer ground. “Okay, so
Rocky
, bowling, cultural compatibility. All excellent additions to your criteria list.” Right?
Right
. She pulled out her cell and typed the updated criteria.

Charlie held out his hand. “Turn it over.”

“Turn what over?”

“The phone. Give it to me.”

“No,” she said, pulling away.

But he was insistent. “Tonight, you promised to let me show you what I need, and part of what I need is you paying attention, so, hand it over.”

“I didn’t promise.” She rolled her eyes, powered down, and gave him the damn phone.

“Thank you,” he said, “Oh, and I almost forgot.” He pulled a familiar red and white bag from the pocket of his coat and handed it to her. “Dessert.”

She peeked inside the bag and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Ray’s Candy Store.”

“I’ve got a pack of the wild cherry Life Savers in my pocket if you’d rather.”

“No,” she said, her gaze automatically seeking his. “Ray’s is perfect. I love Ray’s.”

“And I love dessert.” He slid his chair close and brushed a kiss across her lips. “All kinds of dessert.”

She looked over at him, all sweet and seductive. “Good to know.”

Whether or not it was smart, she wanted to spend tonight with Charlie. Add a seventh day to the lovely, memorable six.

Tomorrow, after her emotions no longer swayed to the rhythm of Brooklyn, after she’d repackaged her feelings and tucked them safely away like the candy in her desk drawer, maybe she’d recalculate. But the thought of returning to her well-ordered, risk-free life caused a stab of pain to twist in her chest.

She wanted tonight. She wanted the knockout kiss.

She swallowed hard. “I love dessert, too.”

A smile creased across his face, and the crinkles broke out in full force. “Let’s bowl.”

…

Charlie placed a hand over his heart in as if he’d been pierced by an arrow, which he kind of had been. Cupid’s arrow. “Nothing sexier than a woman wearing bowling shoes.”

She looked up from her double-knotted rentals, grinning over at him as she finished tying up laces, and before he knew it, he was grinning right back. “The Gutter?” she teased. “I can’t believe bowling falls into your perfect date category. No wonder you’re still a bachelor.”

Hoping to rekindle her love of the game, he’d rented his friend’s nine-lane bowling alley in the trendy Greenpoint area of Brooklyn for the rest of the night. Not a traditionally romantic choice, maybe, but the place, empty except for the two of them, managed to be intimate. The lanes were open, the lights were low and the area around them was dim, soft and romantic, brightened by the strings of colored lights surrounding the red plastic chairs. Soft disco music drifted in from the speakers.

More interested in his meant-to-be tender assault on her senses than talking, Charlie came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and eased her against his body. The curve of her sweet backside melted into him as his hands lay gently on the tops of her thighs. He was going to make her see how he felt.

He whispered in her ear, his voice a low, quiet dare. “Admit it, you love bowling.”

Jane laid her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes in a small sort of surrender. “I do kind of love bowling.”

Right now, he loved bowling, too. If it were up to him, he’d take her right there in the middle of the lane. “Up for a challenge?” His hands drifted up to the edges of her hips, hips that knew exactly how to drive a man crazy.

She turned slowly in his arms to look up at him, her dark eyes flickering with a small amount of mischief and a truckload of suspicion. “What do you have in mind?”

“A little breaking of the rules?”

Jane ran her tongue across her lips. “We already agreed on the no-rules-tonight policy. Besides, what rules haven’t we broken already?”

He bent to kiss the edge of the indentation above her collarbone. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

Her body moved against his, and suddenly all he could think was, holy hell, the woman turned him on like nobody else.

She chewed on her bottom lip. “What’s the challenge?”

“Why?” Old-fashioned desire built up in his body and his cock pressed hard against the zipper of his jeans. “You up for it?”

She spun in his arms, and with a glance took in his denims. “I don’t know. But you certainly are.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“You’re the one who brought me here.” She ran her hands down the line of buttons on his shirt, spreading her fingers low on his abdomen one-half an inch above his belt buckle. “Where else are you going to take me, Charlie?”

Anywhere you want to go, angel
.

He buried his hands in his pockets, rolled back on his heels, and glanced over his shoulder. The pool table in the back looked pretty comfy.

She smiled at his lack of response and her hands fell away from his body to settle on her hips. Too bad, he’d liked them a little closer to the buckle. “What’s the challenge?”

Now for the hands-on portion of the date. “How do you feel about a little strip bowling?”

Her hip leaned in an alluring curve against the ball return. “Strip bowling? Really? Your true love needs to be a fan of strip bowling? Is this something I need to put in your matrix?”

“Might be. If we were talking about my matrix tonight, which we’re not.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “No matrix. Not tonight.”

He smiled back at her. In his gut, he knew tonight was the right time to strike—and not just at the other end of the alley. He needed to persuade her to let go, to take a chance with him tonight while the Chianti and the romance of Brooklyn co-mingled in her blood to keep her guard down. With the bet drawing to a close, his time to convince her was running out.

“Strip bowling too much of a challenge for you?” His Janey never walked away from a dare. Her DNA wouldn’t allow it.

Her brow arched as if to say, are you kidding? “No way.”

“Then let’s go,” he said, laying down the rules. ”One article of clothing for every strike.”

“What about surveillance cams?” She looked around, gave the place the once-over. “Wouldn’t want to give anyone a thrill.”

“Off for the night,” he said. “Part of my rental agreement.”

“Seems like you’ve thought of everything, big guy.”

“You are
so
going down.”

She gave him a hint of a smile. “Don’t tempt me.”

Jesus
. “No more talking. Let’s bowl.”

Jane picked a ball, a red one, which he knew she considered her lucky color, and rolled it straight down the middle of the lane. Ten pins tumbled as she turned toward him with a grin.

“Was that a strike?” she asked with a pointed look at the electronic scoreboard.

“Beginner’s luck.” He shifted his hips, unbuckled his belt and tossed it to the floor with the flourish of a guy working at Chippendales.

“Yeah, right,” she said. But the light in the back of her eyes told him that she’d liked the move. A lot. “Junior high champion. Right here.”

“Step back there, angel. Watch and learn.” He grabbed his ball, sent it flying down the center of the lane and the resounding crash of a strike filled the bowling alley.

She smiled. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Thirty minutes later, with the game a couple of spares shy of being over, Charlie was still clad in his jeans and shirt, socks and shoes. All Jane had left to lose was her dark denim jeans and a pink button-down sweater that Charlie was dying to see lying in a rumpled heap in the middle of the parquet floor. With all the teasing and flirting and touching, neither one of them could focus on the lanes, but now he was motivated. He wanted to find out what was underneath that sweater. “Last chance to back out,” he said, nodding at the score. Seemed right to offer her a chance to call off the challenge, but he knew she’d never take it. Janey was the kind of woman who never backed down.

“Not on your life, Charlie.”

He glanced back to see her draped over one of the red plastic chairs. No chance her sexy body would distract him right now. Not with the cardigan on the line.

Her chin tilted to the right, all come hither and ready, before she raised it in a challenge that told him: she was ready. Ready to kick his ass. “Last chance,” she said.

Yes, it was.

Last chance to gamble, to win the game, and his last chance to win the girl—and if winning meant a nice, long look at what was underneath all that pretty, pink cashmere—so much the better. He picked up the ball, aimed, and rolled. The crack of the ball knocking down ten pins reverberated through the empty alley. “Like I said, it ain’t over ’til it’s over.”

The way her body moved in slow motion was an unconscious lesson in sex appeal. Her fingers moved to the buttons at the top of her sweater. “You win.”

Charlie swallowed. Hard. Nothing excited him more than watching Janey move, and even though he’d already seen everything underneath those clothes, his mouth went completely dry and his palms itched to touch her. “Let me help you with that.”

In spite of the sudden friction in his jeans, he crossed the space between them in a few long strides. He moved her hands away gently and unlooped the first button, then another and another. The sweater fell away from her shoulders and Charlie got his first glimpse of the pink lace beneath the fabric. The woman was all direct and focused and ambitious, a Brooklyn girl who had a mouth that wouldn’t quit in more ways than one. Damn it, he loved every single thing about her, but it was the soft pink lace underneath, the hidden vulnerability embodied in the pale, satiny sweetness that drove him to the very end of his wits.

She grabbed a handful of his shirt and tugged him close. “Need a little help there, big guy?”

He bit back a groan. Was she trying to kill him?
Heart failure by late-night bowling and hot pink lace.
“No. I know exactly what to do to thrill you, angel. Ready for me?”

“Ready.”

He unbuttoned the rest of the tiny, shell-like buttons and pulled the prim, proper sweater away from the waistband of her jeans. He allowed his palms to move under the soft wool and follow the curve of her hips, past the inlet of her waist to the lush flesh of her breasts. He took his time. He watched her nipples harden. Heard her gentle intake of breath. “And let’s get this straight once and for all. My name is Charlie.”

“Right. Charlie.” Her back arched toward him, practically begging him to touch her.

And he couldn’t resist. He ran his fingertips across her nipples—the ones that were standing up, begging for his attention. She stifled a groan.

“Not Bartender,” he said, “Not Big Guy.” He slipped the sweater off her shoulders, pressed her down into the red plastic chair and fell to his knees onto the floor between her thighs. “And definitely not Buddy. Got it?”

“Got it.” Her golden eyes were wide and filled with pure liquid heat. Her lips trembled.

“I’m done flirting.”

“Me. Too.” Her voice was low, seductive and sweet.

His hands traveled back to her face. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“I’m waiting.”

He slipped his palms under her ass and coaxed her forward in the chair.

“Charlie.”

His gaze drifted to the sight of her gorgeous curves, rising and falling in an alluring rhythm that telegraphed the heated beginnings of her desire. He lowered his mouth to the delicate strap of her bra and pulled it from her shoulder with his teeth. Blazing a wet trail along the edges of the lace, he continued to lower the line of her bra, exposing the tops of her nipples just enough to tempt him. Jane threw her head back with a low, soft moan, and the sound tempted him upwards as she revealed the line of her neck to his desperately seeking mouth.