"I am good-natured," Joe shouted, while the veins stood out in his neck. "And sweet-tempered. And whatever else Nonna told you. I am all of those things. I always have been. I was born that way."
"There's no need to try and convince me. Plenty of people are already debating the topic."
Joe's head shot forward. "People are debating my disposition?"
"Oh, for goodness' sake! You know what I'm talking about. " Angrily she shook herself loose of him, or he let go of her, whichever. Either way, it was a relief not to have his fingers pressing into her flesh. How could a man who wasn't really a man be so strong? How could he have kissed her and turned her into melting butter? "One thing's for sure, Romano. You most definitely were not born with a pleasant temperament."
"I was, too," Joe said, and hated himself for sounding like a six-year-old.
"You weren't." She stepped back, massaging her elbows and glowering. "I not only believed your grandmother, I bought into the stereotype that all gay men are sweet and kind. Even the ones who don't like to cook!"
"That's crap! Being gay has nothing to with ... " Being gay?
Joe could feel the blood draining from his head. Gay? Was that what she'd said? "Gay?" he wheezed. His mouth twisted; he told himself to be calm. He'd misunderstood her, that was all. "You don't think I'm ... you can't possibly believe I'm ... "
One look at his paper-white face and Lucinda wished she could call the words back. She had the feeling that the trouble she'd found herself in just a few hours ago was nothing compared to this. Maybe he wasn't "out." Maybe he wasn't happy having people know the truth about him.
How come she hadn't thought of that?
"Look, Mr. Romano." Her voice was hoarse with nerves and she cleared her throat. "Honestly, it's none of my affair what your personal preferences are. If you're still in the closet, you can count on me to keep--"
"I'm not in any damned closet."
His voice was a low growl. The color was returning to his face but too rapidly, as if the blood were erupting from an underground geyser.
"My nonna couldn't have said- She couldn't think-" "I'll keep your secret, if that's what's-"
"Hot damn!" Joe spun away and dug his hands into his hair. Then he swung back towards Lucinda, his eyes wild.
"Does she really think that's the reason I haven't married?
Because I'm-I'm-" "Gay?"
''I'm not. Dammitt, woman! Not that there's anything wrong with it, but I'm not!"
Lucinda stiffened. "You don't have to take that tone with me. You may be an arrogant, mean-tempered, unpleasant, hateful, no-good rat, but I told you, your personal life is your affair."
"You're damned right it is," Joe shouted. He clenched his jaw, shut his eyes and counted silently to ten before he looked at her again. "Look," he said very calmly, "I don't know where my grandmother got this idea, but I assure you, I am a perfectly normal man. I like women. I love women. I don't want to boast, but half the good-looking females in this town can vouch for my-my virility."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Romano."
Joe did another mental ten-count, went to twenty, and wondered what the penalty could be for murdering your own grandmother.
You can vouch for it, he almost said to Lucy, but what would that get him? He was a regular guy but she-hell, he'd done his best to forget what she was, although how a woman could come to life in a man's arms when her tastes ran to--ran to ...
He really didn't want to think about that.
Joe grabbed his shirt from the floor and tugged it down over his head.
"Look, lady. I'm straight. I always have been, and I have to admit, I don't understand anybody who's into something different. It's not natural. It's not normal. The male of the species, the female of the species ... " Whoa. He was getting lost here. He took a breath. "What I'm trying to tell you is that I think any other arrangement is crazy. Not that I'm condemning you for your preference, of course."
Lucinda blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I'm heterosexual," he said, jabbing his thumb into his chest. "But what you are is your own concern."
"Huh?"
"It's what you are, and that's all there is to it." "I'm a cook, is what I are. Am."
Joe's mouth took on a cynical twist. "Sure."
"I don't like the way you say that," she said coldly. "I am a cook, no matter what you think." Lucinda put her fists on her hips. "In fact, it will give me great pleasure to wave my graduation certificate under your nose as I go out the door because, just between you and me, Romano, you know what you can do with this job."
She turned and began marching from the room. Joe strode after her.
"That's fine," he yelled as she made her way up the stairs, "because I don't want a woman like you around. You're either the world's clumsiest stripper or its most lethal cook. And forget what I said about it being okay for you to be what you want to be. Truth is, I know it's not politically correct to condemn anybody for anything in today's crazy world but frankly, Miss Barry, I think that babes who are into other babes are-"
"What?" Lucinda spun towards him, her face white. "What did you say?"
"You heard me. Go on, get the P.C. police, for all I give a damn." Joe looked away in disgust and started towards the kitchen. "Nonna," he muttered, "Nonna, you just wait until
Oof!"
Lucinda's balled-up fist got him right between the shoulders.
Joe swung around, grabbed her, and shook her, hard .
. "Listen," he growled, "I'm tired unto death of ... " The rush of angry words stopped. He looked at her, really looked at her, this woman his grandmother had wished on him. He looked at her shocked expression. At her emerald eyes, her soft mouth. He thought of the feel of that mouth under his. Of her sighs and moans. Of the heat he'd discovered when he'd touched her ...
And he knew. She wasn't gay, any more than he was.
"You aren't," he said softly, "are you?"
Lucinda knew it wasn't really a question. She shook her head.
"No." She looked up into those dark blue eyes and felt a little breathless. "And you aren't, either."
Joe's smile was lazy and wicked. He dipped his head and kissed her. It was a long, slow, deep kiss and when, at last, he took his mouth from hers, both of them were breathing hard.
"Any questions?"
Lucinda touched her finger to her lips. "Just one." She cleared her throat. "How could you have thought I was-that I was ... ?"
Joe's easy smile vanished. "The same way you did," he said grimly. "Because of my dear, sweet, innocent, meddling grandmother.' ,
CHAPTER SIX
LUCINDA wasted a few seconds trying to find her voice.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. My grandmother made up a story, spoon fed it to each of us, and sat back to see what would happen."
"No. I don't believe it. I can't believe it! That sweet, charming little old lady ... "
"That sweet, charming, little old conniver, you mean." "But why? Why would she do this?" Lucinda took a deep breath and told herself to stay calm. "She seemed so-so sane."
"She is sane. Her mind would put Machiavelli's to shame." "Well, maybe she's becoming senile. I had a great-aunt once, my great-aunt Harriet, and she-"
Joe threw up his arms. "I don't give a damn about your great-aunt Harriet," he snarled. "We're talking about my nonna. And trust me, she's not senile. She's not crazy." His jaw tightened. "She's a meddlesome old witch, is what she is."
"Meddlesome?' '
"That's right, honey. You want me to spell the word? Meddlesome. M-e-d-d-"
"You know, Mr. Romano, if you'd stop being such a smart-ass ... " Lucinda blinked. Where had that come from? "Smart-ass" was not a word in her vocabulary but then, neither were some of the other things she'd called this grim-faced, tight jawed male pacing around the room. No question about it. The man brought out the worst in her.
Joe stopped and swung towards her. "Oh, don't stop now."
He smiled cold
ly. "You were saying that I'm a smart-ass."
"I was simply pointing out that we might be able to figure out how this happened, and what to do about it, if you'd stop being so sarcastic."
His smile tilted, grew even more frigid. "There's nothing to figure out, Nonna's done this kind of thing before. Well, not with as much style, but this isn't the first time she's tried to play matchmaker."
Lucinda stared at him. "Matchmaker? You mean-you mean, that's what she was doing? She thought that you-that you and I-"
"Preposterous, isn't it?"
Joe jammed his hands into his pockets, kicked a chair out of the way and resumed his march around the kitchen. His aim was off; his foot hadn't hit the chair squarely and now his big toe stung-but that was okay. Considering the enormity of his irritation, a little pain for somebody, even himself, seemed good.
"It's more than that." Lucinda made a sound that might have been a laugh. "It's impossible. You and I ... ?"