WMIS 08 Forever With Me (4 page)

“What she means is,” Jules begins as she gives the menu a quick look, tosses it on the table, and then leans toward me, her elbows planted on the wrought iron. “We need dirt.”

“
Dirt
?” I chuckle, and set my menu aside as well.

“We don’t know you well enough.”

“You’ve known me for more than a year,
bella
. We’ve spent quite a lot of time together.”

“You’re going to scare him off,” Natalie says in a sing-songy voice, glaring at Jules, making me chuckle. These two are funny.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Jules rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to scare him off.”

“Depends on where this is going,” I reply dryly, but can’t keep the smile from my face.

“You’re so handsome,” Natalie says, and smiles softly as she watches me. “I love your dimple.”

“Now you just want something.”

“He’s gotten good at the brother thing,” Jules says to Natalie, making my heart stop.

I hope so.

“So, we’re your sisters,” Natalie says as Jules nods. “And we love you.”

“I love you, too,” I murmur, already softening. My God, if I’d grown up with them, I would have been wrapped around their fingers from the moment I laid eyes on them.

Who am I kidding? I
have
been wrapped around their fingers since I laid eyes on them. Both of them, along with all of the women in this amazing family.
 

“You know that anything you need is yours. Just say it.”

“Oh, you’re sweet,” Jules says, as the waitress sets waters on the table.
 

“Yes, he is,” the waitress says and winks at me. “Is he available?”

“Well—” Nat begins, but I interrupt her.

“No.”

“Too bad. Sorry it took me a minute, the patio is always busy when it’s nice out like this. What can I getcha?”

We order drinks and when she’s gone, I gaze back and forth between the girls.
 

“We really did just want to chat and see you,” Natalie says, and lays her small hand over my arm. “We don’t get much alone time with you.”

“And we need dirt.”

“Jules!” Natalie laughs in frustration.

“What kind of dirt do you want?”
 

I sip my water and choke when Jules replies with, “Are you fucking anyone?”

“Are you trying to kill him?” Natalie demands, and pats me hard on the back as I cough.
 

“What the hell?” I ask, and push the water far away from me. I think I need something much stronger and reach for the wine list, satisfied when I see Mama Salvatore wines listed.

“Well, you’ve always been very hush-hush about your sex life, and I know you’re not celibate, so I want to know.” Jules shrugs as if this is the most normal conversation in the world, and Natalie offers me a smile, but doesn’t try to deter Jules from her line of questioning.

“I don’t think I’m going to have this conversation with you,” I reply slowly.
No way, no how
.

“Why?” Jules asks with a tilt to the head.

“Because you’re my
sisters.
”

“Yes, but we’re adults. We have sex. We both have babies, for the love of baby Jesus.”
 

Natalie nods and thanks the waitress when she delivers our drinks. I order a glass of the merlot from my vineyard and we order our entrees as well.
 

“Let’s change the subject,” I suggest.

“Killjoy,” Jules mutters, making me laugh.

“How are things with Alecia?” Natalie asks.

I’m just going to be reminded of Alecia everywhere I go today.

“There are no things with Alecia,” I reply.

“Oh, there are things,” Jules replies smugly. “I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

I frown, but before I can reply, Natalie says, “And we know you’ve asked her out.”

“Which she’s declined,” I reply.
 

“So?”

Why doesn’t everyone understand that no means no?

“I was taught to politely retreat when a lady says no,” I say and sip my wine.

“But you only asked her out for, what, dinner?” Jules asks, clearly confused.

“Yes, I believe I asked her to dinner. Three times.” I cringe and shake my head. “A man can only take so much rejection from one woman.”

“But what else did you do?” Natalie asks.

I pause and frown at her. “What do you mean?”

“What did you do to show her that it wasn’t just a matter of wanting to get in her pants?”

What am I missing?

“Dinner doesn’t necessarily mean
get in her pants
.”

“Sure it does,” Jules says with a wave of her hand.
 

“For example,” Natalie continues, “back in the day, Luke would have my coffee delivered to me. He still does sometimes.”

“Oh, and remember when he left all those flowers on our front porch after he screwed up that time?” Jules says with a laugh.

“Yep,” Nat says with a smile.
 

“For me, it was the chocolate cheesecake,” Jules says. “Nate always had chocolate cheesecake in his apartment—our apartment now—because he knew I loved it.”

“Really? Coffee and cheesecake were the ways to your hearts?” I laugh, but Jules punches me in the shoulder. “Ow!”

“You’re not listening! It’s not about the coffee and the cheesecake.”

“It’s the fact that they paid attention to the little things,” Natalie agrees. “They didn’t just say, ‘Hey, baby, wanna go to dinner and then go to my place and fuck like rabbits?’”

“Even though we totally fuck like rabbits,” Jules adds.

“They
showed
us that they were interested in
us
.”

“And this worked for you.” My voice is full of sarcasm, but what they say makes sense. All I’ve done is ask Alecia out when we were both at a family function, usually while she was working. I’ve never taken the time to make an effort.

Not that I’ll admit that to these two.

“So, what are you going to do?” Natalie asks.

“Who says I’m going to do anything?”

Jules punches me in the arm again.
 

“Do that again,
sorellina
, and I’ll take you over my knee.”

“Don’t think you can charm me with your fancy Italian words,” Jules replies, clearly not afraid of me.

“But what did you say?” Nat asks, leaning toward me. It makes me laugh that whenever I use Italian words they want to know what they mean.
 

“I said
little sister
.”

“Aww,” Nat says. “I love that.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s sweet,” Jules says impatiently. “But what are you going to
do
?”

“I’m going to pay for lunch and go home.”

“We’ve failed you,” Jules says, and her lip quivers as if she’s going to cry.
 

She’s not fooling me.

I laugh as the waitress delivers our sandwiches and Jules wipes imaginary tears off her perfectly dry cheeks.
 

“Do the other brothers fall for that?”

“They did when we were kids,” she replies and grins as she pops a French fry in her mouth. “I used to produce real tears too.”

“We just want you to be happy,” Natalie says. “Honestly, we do. We love you.”

“And we love Alecia. We see how you look at each other.” Jules, perfectly serious now, cups my face in her hand. “Give it some thought. Alecia isn’t the kind of girl you can just ask out for dinner while she’s working a baby shower.”

Natalie slides a card across the table at me with a small smile. “Just in case you need her phone number and address.” She winks and exchanges a look with Jules.

“She puts her address on her business cards?” I scowl down at the card. If so, she and I are going to have a talk.

“No, I wrote it on the back,” Nat replies.

“So, do you like the Mariners?” Jules asks.

“Changing the subject now, are we?”

They both grin while chewing their food.
 

“Yes, I like the Mariners.”

“Good. We’re all going to a game in a few weeks.”

“We are?”

“Yep,” Jules replies. “Adult night out. No kids.”

“You should invite Alecia.” Natalie suggests. “How do I say
big brother
in Italian?”

Dio
, they make me smile.

“
Grande fratello.
”

She smiles and repeats it back, butchering it, but I don’t care.
 

Nothing ever sounded so sweet.

***

I drove all the way home and paced around my office for an hour before leaving again, plugging Alecia’s address into the GPS and heading toward her place, making a stop on the way. With the horrendous Friday traffic, it takes me two hours to reach Ruston Way, the street she lives on. She lives on the water with an incredible view of the Puget Sound and Mount Rainer, with miles and miles of walking paths that meander past restaurants and piers leading to her building.

I park and sit for a moment, second-guessing this decision. But I can’t shake the look in her eyes right before she left Blake’s office today, or the knowledge that she had a shitty day.
 

She had a headache.
 

It may not be welcome, but I’d like to help her feel better.

When I reach her door, I ring her doorbell and wait. Just when I’m beginning to think she’s not home yet, her door opens and she frowns up at me, confusion filling her amazing brown eyes.

“Dominic?”

“Natalie gave me your address,” I reply softly. She shed her suit jacket and heels, but she’s still in her skirt. Her white blouse is tucked into it, molded around her full breasts and showing off her small waist and round hips.

My cock stirs in my trousers, but I take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand.
 

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m fine—” she begins, but she winces and presses two fingers to her temple. The headache is still hurting her. “I have a bitch of a headache,” she admits.

“I have provisions.” I hold up the bag in my hand and offer her a smile.

“Why?”

Good question.

“Because I didn’t like seeing you in pain earlier today, and I have a feeling I was a part of that.”

She smirks and backs away from the doorjamb, allowing me inside. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”

“Am I wrong?”

She shrugs and leads me past a small, clean kitchen into her living area. Her unit faces the water, and the view is breathtaking.
 

“Have you taken anything for it?”

She sits on the couch and closes her eyes. “I forgot that I’m out of Advil, and I just didn’t have it in me to go out and buy some.”

Poor bambino
.

“Where is your linen closet?”
 

She points to the hallway and I go in search of a washcloth. When I find one, I return to the kitchen and soak it in cold water, fill a glass, shake out the Advil I brought with me, just in case, and return to her. Her eyes are still closed. Her hair is still up.
 

My fingers have been itching to mess her hair up for months.

Instead, I sit next to her.
 

“Here, take these.”

“Do you have to yell at me?” she asks with a scowl.

“I’m whispering,
cara
.” I offer her a smile and the Advil, along with the water.

“Why are you holding leaves?”
 

“They’re lilac leaves.” I line the folded cloth with the leaves and take the glass from her. “Lean your head back on the cushion and close your eyes, please.”

“Why do you have lilac leaves?”

“It’s going to help. It’s an old Italian remedy for headaches.”

She does as I ask, leaning back against the soft cushions of her sofa and closes her eyes. I lay the cold cloth, leaves against her skin, over her forehead and eyes and press firmly.

“Ohhh,” she breathes. I can’t resist touching her, so I brush my knuckles down her cheek and murmur to her.

“This will help,
cara.
”

“My name isn’t Cara,” she whispers, making me chuckle.

“
Cara
is Italian for dear or darling,” I reply with a smile.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she says. “We have an appointment on Monday, right?”

“Yes. But don’t think about work right now. Just relax.”

We sit in silence for a long while as I continue to press the cloth against her head and skim my fingers along the skin of her face, her neck, tucking strands of hair that have dared to come loose behind her ear. She relaxes, the tension leaving her body visibly. When the cloth warms from her body heat, I return to the kitchen to run it under the cold water again and then sit with her once again, pressing it to her head.