The leap onto the stage. The quick move, grabbing her and hoisting her free of the box.
And then, that kiss.
That kiss. Not just a kiss. A long, deep, hot kiss. And for no good reason, except that she was there and so was he.
.Well, yeah. There'd been a reason. It had to do with the stunned look in her eyes, and the soft feel of her in his arms. The smell of her, too. Gardenias, maybe. Or roses. The old-fashioned kind.
"Hello, honey," he remembered saying, and then he'd given her the kind of long, appreciative look her face, her figure, her sexy outfit demanded ...
Until he got to her feet, and those shoes. Those homely, sensible, I'm-not-what-you-think-I-am shoes. He'd wanted to laugh. To tell her that a woman with her looks could wear clogs, for all he cared, and she'd still look like-
Like what? a clear, calm voice in his head had said.
Like a woman who needed to be kissed, he'd thought in response.
That was when he'd kissed her.
If only he could stop the action right there. Just stop it, cut it, edit it out like a bad piece of videotape ...
Joe sat up. There was no getting away from the memory, the part he'd never live down.
The part when Blondie, without a moment's hesitation, balled up her fist and caught him with a right, just behind his ear.
"Double damn," Joe muttered, and swung his feet to the floor.
The other guys had loved it. The leap. The kiss. Her swing.
His yelp of surprise. Her squirming out of his arms and rushing off-stage with the little guy in the white suit running after her ...
Oh, yeah. He'd made an ass of himself, all right.
"Bozo and the Bachelor Party," Joe said, and huffed out a breath.
"Way to go, Romano," somebody had yelled.
"Drunk as a skunk, huh, Joe?" some other wag had shouted. He'd let them think so. It made things easier on the old ego if people thought he'd had one too many, but the truth was,
he hadn't. A glass or two of wine at Nonna's and a bottle of beer at the party weren't enough to turn a man's brains to mush.
By the time they'd served what they'd humorously called a midnight supper at the bachelor bash, he was hungry. But, after one cautious, awful bite, he'd put down his fork. Whoever had hired the caterer deserved to be ridden out of town on a rail.
Joe sighed.
After the night he'd had, was it any wonder his head hurt?
First that unwanted gift from Nonna. Then a shot to the head from Blondie, although it really hadn't hurt anything but his ego. You'd think she'd been wearing a nun's habit instead of a handful of stretchy stuff sprinkled with glitter ...
The phone rang. He grabbed it and growled hello before its vicious trill could puncture his eardrums.
"Joe, my man. How're you doing?"
Moving nothing but his eyes wasn't easy, but Joe managed.
According to his alarm clock, it was just after seven.
"You'd better have a good reason for calling me at this hour," Joe said sourly. He winced at his brother's chuckle. "And hold down the noise, okay?"
"I guess that answers my question," Matt said. "Big night, huh?"
"Long night. " Joe winced and snatched the phone from his ear. "What's that noise? Sounds like a semi, blasting an air horn."
"It is," Matt said cheerfully. "Susannah and I are on our way to the airport. We're flying to New York for a long weekend."
'Yeah. Great."
"You could manage to sound a little more enthusiastic." "That's about all the enthusiasm I can work up in the middle of the night."
"It's not the middle of the night." "It is, for civilized people."
Matt laughed. "See? I told Susie it wouldn't be a good idea to drop by."
"Damned right. I've killed people for less."
"Yeah, I told her that, too. So we decided we'd phone to wish you a happy birthday in advance."
"A happy ... " Joe raked his hand through his hair. "What is this, a family project? First Nonna, now you."
"Nonna told me about the gift she gave you."
Joe heaved a sigh. "She did, huh?"
"She means well," Matthew said, and chuckled.
"It isn't funny."
"At least she seems to have backed away from the Get Joseph Married plan."
"The good news and the bad news," Joe said, and sighed again.
"Well, happy birthday, baby brother."
"Thanks. And remind that gorgeous wife of yours that I'm available any time she's ready to admit she made a mistake."
"Keep dreaming."
Joe laughed. "Have a good time in New York," he said, and hung up the phone.
Okay. He felt a little better now. Still, he moved gingerly as he headed for the bathroom. A pair of aspirin would improve things.
Cautiously, he fingered the skin behind his ear where Blondie had hit him. A grin crept across his mouth.
Who'd have thought such a delicate-looking woman could have clobbered him like that?
Delicate, was right. Almost fragile. There hadn't been much of her, when he'd held her in his arms. Well, that wasn't true. She was small, and slender, but the package was nicely put together.
High, round breasts. A waist his hands could almost span.
Good hips. A sweet, firm little butt. And long, long legs. He let his eyelashes droop to his cheeks as he thought about those legs, how it would feel to have them wrapped around him in a moment of blind, blazing passion ....
"Oh, for God's sake, Romano," he muttered.
He stepped into the shower, turned the water on and gasped as the icy spray beat down on his head and shoulders. After a couple of minutes, he adjusted the temperature to something more reasonable.
That was better. Much, much better. So he'd acted like a jerk. Who cared? If there was one thing he'd learned early in life, it was not to look back and regret what you'd already done. A mistake was a mistake. You chalked it up to experience and moved on.
Actually, when he thought about it, he couldn't blame the other guys for laughing. Joe's mouth twitched as he worked shampoo into his hair. He'd have laughed, too, if he'd been the watcher instead of the watched. The kiss hadn't meant a thing, not to him, not to Blondie, despite her protest. Not when you considered her choice of professions.
By the time Joe stepped out of the shower and grabbed for a towel, he was feeling a whole lot more cheerful. Cheerful enough to whistle softly through his teeth ...
Right up until the moment the doorbell rang.
His good mood faded. Somebody at the door, now? On a weekend morning? Joe's eyes narrowed .. Nobody he knew was foolish enough to risk annihilation by turning up on his doorstep at such an ungodly hour.
Well, one person would. Joe grinned, knotted the towel around his hips and made his way downstairs. The bell rang again, just as he was opening the door.
"Matthew," he said in a prissy, high-pitched voice, "I swear, if you can't bear the idea of going away for a couple of days without first giving me a big, fat, juicy birthday kiss ... "
But it wasn't his brother on the porch, it was a woman. A small, slender woman clutching two huge shopping bags and with a suitcase at her feet. Her pale hair was skinned back so tightly it was a wonder her eyes weren't on either side of her head. And those eyes-their color slightly blurred behind smoked, wire-rimmed glasses-those eyes were staring at him as if he were her worst dream come true.
As if he were standing there nearly naked, and waiting for another man's juicy kiss.
Joe could feel heat shooting up into his face.
"Look, miss, this isn't what-I mean, it isn't-I mean, I'm not. .. " He hissed out a breath. What was he doing, explaining himself to a stranger? Any broad who went door to door at seven something on a Saturday morning had to take what she got, no excuses asked or given.
Funny, though. There was something about her. Something that made him think he'd met her before ...
"Mr. Romano?"
Joe nodded. "Yes?
"
"Mr. Joseph Romano?"
"That's my name, honey. What do you want?"