"So you keep telling me."
A moment passed. Then Lucinda folded her arms. "Well?"
Joe folded his, too. "Well, what?"
"You made your point. Your grandmother believed you."
"So?"
"So, aren't you going to phone her and tell her it was all a hoax?"
"A lesson, not a hoax." Joe lifted one hand, checked his nails, flashed a seemingly lazy smile. "Either way, I'm not calling her yet."
"Fine." Lucinda started past him. "That's your business. She's your grandmother and it's your life, and it doesn't matter to me one little bit how you-"
His hand clamped around her wrist. "Just where do you think you're going?"
"Upstairs to pack." She smiled tightly. "I know this will come as a shock, Romano, but I'm leaving."
"No." Joe's tone was still pleasant, almost thoughtful. "No, you're not."
"I most certainly am. And you'd better let go of my wrist."
"You really think that's it?" Joe didn't ease his grip on her. If anything, he tightened his hold and moved closer, so close that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "You use my innocent grandmother to set up a scam-"
"Innocent?" Lucinda laughed. "She's as innocent as a used car salesman."
"And you'd probably know all about used car salesmen, new car salesmen, out-of-town salesmen, hell, salesmen in general. Wouldn't you, honey?"
"Let go of me, dammit!"
"You used her, so you could invade my home-"
"Invade your...? Oh, please! What are you, huh? One of those conspiracy nuts?"
"-invade my home, damn near incinerate it, and now you think you're going to pack your G-string and sashay off into the night?"
"For the thousandth time, I don't have a- Oh, what's the difference?" Lucinda blew a strand of hair off her forehead. "Yes, that's precisely what I'm going to do. Pack my G-string, walk out of this insane asylum and pretend I never met anybody named 'Romano.'"
"So, you admit it."
"That you Romano's are crazy?"
"That you do what I said you do, for a living."
Their eyes met, his as coldly blue as the sky on a midwinter morning. Of course not, she thought of saying. I don't do those things. I never even knew anybody really did do those things, until last night.
But why should she defend herself to this man? She'd already done that, almost begged him to believe her, and where had it gotten her? No place, that was where. Not that she cared. Mr. Almighty Romano was nothing in her life. An hour from now, she probably wouldn't even be able to conjure up his face.
To hell with explanations and with him, Lucinda thought, and tugged her hand free.
"I don't have to answer to you or anybody else." Her voice was icy and calm. She hoped so, anyway. "My life, and my choices, are my own."
"Why?" A muscle knotted in his jaw. He stepped closer; despite herself, she stepped back but her spine hit the banister. There was nowhere to go, no choice but to face him down. "Why?" he repeated, his voice low and rough. "If you can make your own choices, why choose to flaunt yourself in front of men?"
Color stole into Lucinda's cheeks. "I just told you, I don't owe you any explanations, Romano. My life-"
"Is your own. Yeah, so you said." The muscle danced in his jaw again, flickering tightly just beneath his skin. "Is it because you get a kick out of turning men on?"
"That's none of your business."
"It sure as hell is. You made it my business, lying your way in here."
Lucinda rolled her eyes. "Are we back to that? I didn't lie.
I didn't do anything but accept a job-a job your sainted grandmother offered to me."
"Leave her out of this:'
"I'll be happy to leave all of you out of this. Just let me get up the stairs. Five minutes from now, you'll never know I was here."
"Does it give you a kick?" Joe reached out, touched a callused finger to her cheek. She flinched back but the tip of his finger stayed, slowly following the line of her cheek down to her throat. "Flaunting yourself in front of strangers, I mean. Exhibiting yourself that way."
"Yes," she said, slapping angrily at his hand. "That's right it gives me a kick, knowing men like you won't ever get the chance to do anything but watch me-what did you call it? Sashay around in my G-string?" Her smile glittered. "You can look, Romano, but you can't touch. That's what turns me on."
The change that came over him was swift and frightening. His features hardened, and she knew, instantly, she'd pushed him too far.
"You're a liar," he said, and before she could protest, he reached for her and drew her towards him.
Her heart thudded.
"Stop it!" She grasped his arms, tried to hold herself rigid, but he was far too strong. Inexorably, inch by inch, he pulled her closer until she was pressed against him. His body was hard, powerfully male; she could feel his swift arousal nudging her belly and her pulse began to race. "Romano, you're not going to prove anything by acting like a thug-' ,
"Maybe flaunting yourself for men who can look but not touch turned you on in the past." His smile was quick and dangerous. "But that isn't what turned you on in my arms this morning."
"That," she said, trying to sound scornful.
"Yeah," he said roughly, "that."
His hand swooped down, cupped her breast. His thumb rolled lightly across the center and instantly, before she could draw a breath, she felt herself ignite, felt her nipple bead and harden under that insolent caress.
"You see?" His other arm swept around her, his hand splaying in the small of her back, and he pulled her tightly against him. "You can't hide what you feel, Blondie. What I make you feel."
"You're wrong." Her throat was dry; she could feel the breath rasp in her lungs but she forced herself to look up at him and meet his eyes with her own. "It was an act, Romano. Acting as if I'm turned on is what I do, remember? And I'm good at it."
"I'll bet you are, honey." His smile was quick and knowing. "But the heat of your skin was real. So was the way your mouth trembled under mine."
"I told you, it was-"
She cried out as he dipped his head and bit gently at her bottom lip.
"You were wet for me," he whispered. "Wet, and hot, and ready..."
"That's a lie," she said as he cupped the back of her head with his hand, "dammit, it's-"
Whatever she'd been going to say was lost against his mouth as it closed over hers.
His determination was reflected in his kiss. His mouth took. Demanded. Sought dominance, and offered nothing in return. Lucinda tried to twist her face from Joe's. She struggled. She fought...
And his kiss changed.
He angled his mouth over hers; his lips softened and clung. They moved against hers, brushed hers like satin whispering over silk.
Don't respond, she told herself, oh, don't. She was being kissed by a man who knew all there was to know about women. This was seduction, nothing else, an exercise designed to prove his maste
ry of her.
Don't, she thought again... and sighed against his mouth. Joe slid his hand down her spine, then up, curved his fingers around the nape of her neck, tilting her head back. His other arm tightened around her. He held her as if she were something precious. As if she were the only woman he'd ever wanted.
As if she'd been meant only for this moment, and for him. He made a sound, something between a groan of anguish and one of need. His mouth brushed hers again with. light, feathering strokes; his teeth teased the fullness of her bottom lip.
"Lucy," he whispered, "open for me."
She told herself he was crazy. That she'd never kiss him that way. But she did. She parted her lips, let him dip his tongue into her mouth, and the taste of him filled her.
Someone moaned. Someone whimpered. Was it she?
Lucinda didn't know. She couldn't think, didn't want to think. She only wanted the kiss never to end as she wound her arms around Joe's neck and kissed him back.
He said something. She couldn't understand it-were the words Italian? But oh, she understood the way he lifted her to him. The way he slid his hands down her sides, caught her skirt and raised it. She felt the slide of his rough fingers against her naked flesh. Felt the rush of hot, wet heat that gathered between her thighs.
Lucinda gasped. She shifted her weight. She hadn't intended to do that, hadn't meant to lean into him...
Don't lie to yourself, Lucinda.
That was just what she'd intended. She wanted this. All of it. Joe's arms, holding her tight. His erection, hard against her belly. The whisper of his breath on her mouth, the taste of him on her lips. The feel of his fingers there, yes, there, just there, teasing her.
Most of all, she wanted him.
Now. Right now. Right here. Their clothes, lying tangled on the floor. His arms, lifting her, carrying her to the sofa. His weight, bearing her down.
"Joe," she whispered, "Joe, please..."
And he dropped his arms to his sides and let go of her. For a moment, for an eternity, Lucinda was too stunned to understand what had happened. She only knew that she'd lost the hard support of Joe's body; the protection of his embrace.
"Please, what?"
His tone was polite, as if he'd asked her the time of day.
She blinked her eyes, forced them open. Her legs felt as if they were going to buckle and she staggered, clutched the banister behind her ...