“Um, yeah, that’s him,” she answered. “Well, I dumped him a month ago and really don’t want to have anything to do with him. But this is a small town and… Anyway, this is my first night out since…”
Stop babbling
. Seeing Allen again frazzled her nerves more than she would have expected. All her bravado went out the window. The man had hurt her and she didn’t want him coming anywhere near her again. Before she said more than she wanted to reveal, she picked up her glass and took another sip, swallowed, then inhaled deeply. “I wondered if you would mind pretending to hang out with me tonight—just until he leaves, of course.” She didn’t want them to think they’d be saddled with her the whole night.
Oddly, being with these two strangers, she already felt safer than she ever had with Allen. That slug wouldn’t dare approach her while she was surrounded by men who could beat him to a pulp. While the image of a bloodied Allen enticed her, she didn’t want anyone going to jail—even if the bastard deserved a beating just as harsh as the one he’d given her.
Before they could say no, she rushed to assure them there was something in it for them, too. “I’ll make it up to you for giving up your evening. I can fix dinner for you tomorrow night, if you’ll still be in town. Or you can take a rain check for later. I’m an Italian cuisine chef. So, if you could just pretend…”
“He won’t get anywhere near you again,
cara
.” Marc seemed to be holding his anger on a short leash, then placed a protective arm along the back of the booth, surrounding her with his heat. Even though he didn’t touch her, she felt as if he’d just enfolded her in his arms.
Safe
.
Luke smiled, still seeming a little shaken for some reason, and said, “Happy to have you join us.” Then, he lifted his bottle to his lips and took a long draw. Probably a faithful husband nervous about what she had in mind tomorrow. His wife was a very lucky woman.
“This is really sweet of you both…”
Marc placed his right hand over hers on the table and brushed his thumb against her skin. Electricity shot up her arm, then zinged to the pit of her stomach.
“I assure you,
cara
, we are being totally selfish.”
Oh, yeah. The dinner deal. Yet another jolt of electricity brought her clit to attention. A few hours from now, she’d be back in bed dreaming of her fictional man-wolf-angel, e-reader on the nightstand. Until then, she planned to have the night of her life.
Angelina sighed with relief. She leaned over and glanced at the mirror and saw Allen and Miss Blondie sit down near the pool table. When Allen looked up, his gaze met hers in the mirror. Surprise crossed his face.
Game on
. She turned away from him and gave Marc what she hoped was her most sultry vamp look. But Allen couldn’t hear her, so she’d keep the conversation safe. “So, Rico said you guys helped rescue the teen hikers.”
They nodded, but remained silent.
Come on, guys. Help me out here
.
“Very lucky boys,” Luke said finally, relief visible in his eyes. “This one could have turned out a whole lot worse, given how long it took us to locate them.”
Sobered, Angelina said, “Thank God you found them.” She shuddered to think what could have happened and took another sip of wine, knowing how thin the line is between victory and defeat in these mountains. “So, what kept you in town?”
“Media event went longer than anticipated,” Luke said. “Otherwise, we’d have been back in Denver by now.” She had the distinct impression he’d much rather be any place other than daVinci’s bar tonight.
He stared at the nearly empty beer bottle between his hands. “It’s weird,” he said, as if talking to himself. “You hate for your pager to go off. You wish you didn’t have to go out there ever again to try and find someone who’s lost or injured. But you’re glad you’ve trained to succeed….” He paused. “Well, we succeed most of the time.” He closed his eyes in what seemed like regret before he lifted the bottle to his lips and drained it.
Angelina knew what Luke meant from the stories her father and two brothers told. The times they didn’t succeed were the ones that haunted their memories for a very long time, sometimes forever.
“I appreciate that people like you are willing to go through all the training to volunteer to do what you do.” She wondered if they knew her brothers—and fervently hoped not. She also knew that those involved in the rescue squads usually had some intensely personal reasons for doing so.
“How’d you both get involved in SAR?”
Chapter Four
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?