Oh, God. This wasn’t why she invited him back here, was it?

  No, she was getting lost in his beautiful eyes again, falling into the pleasurable sensation of drowning in those warm inviting pools.

  “Why are you doing this?” she stammered.

  A lock of her hair fell across her cheek, and he pulled it behind her ear. She exhaled, realizing she’d been holding her breath. She moved closer to him. Something about him drew her in—a magnetic force, heated and too powerful to resist. Her focus flickered from his eyes to his mouth, delicious full lips she longed to touch again. Last night in the club she had a taste of him, a heady sensation that lingered in her memory. And she wanted more.

  “In the last few years, I’ve realized how short life is,” he said. “And if you make a mistake, you do your best to make it right.”

  “Too much time has passed,” she said, struggling to find her senses through the heady haze. “We’re no longer the same people we once were.”

  “People don’t change that much. They’re still the same basic people they always have been. I know you’re still the kind, caring woman I once knew. Finding out you’re working with kids fits you. Your compassion is something I took for granted when I was younger, but after all these years, after what I’ve seen…” His voice drifted off. He inhaled and continued, “I know how rare that is now, how valuable.” He raised both hands in a kind of surrender. “If I’m overstepping my bounds here, tell me to back off, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  No! How could she live in the same city with him and stay away? Even thinking about it was unbearable. She shook her head, unable to tell him the truth.

  God knows what tormented expression appeared on her face because he added, “The last thing I want to do is bring you any more pain.”

  Some part of her screamed that the pain would be in him walking away again now with her doing nothing to stop it.

  “Is that what you want?” he prodded in a soft tone.

  She knew she shouldn’t do this, knew it was wrong, but the temptation was too strong. “No.” She cupped his cheek, stroking his warm skin. She moved up to her tiptoes to reach him and brushed his lips with her own.

  He didn’t move at first, as if surprised, but then responded to her kiss before pulling back. “Lina?”

  “Shh,” she said. “Don’t talk about it.” And kissed him again.

  He wrapped his arms around her, enfolding her in his embrace. The familiar feeling swept through her whenever he’d held her in his arms. Being with him felt safe, warm, right. He traced her bottom lip with his tongue, edging between her parted lips. Heat surged through her, the world around them vanishing. All that mattered was him. She tasted the coffee on him and something intensely male and delicious that sent flames to her inner thighs. She kissed him harder, bolder, eliminating any space between their bodies. They kissed until they were out of breath. When their lips parted, both were panting.

  “Wow.” He caressed her cheek. “Does this mean you want to try again? Take things slow.”

  Horror dawned on her. Reality returning with an ugly red slap. She was engaged to be married. All the dates were set, dinners and parties planned. What was she doing kissing her ex in her back yard, luring him in with her wanton lips?

  “No.” She stepped back in retreat, crossing her arms. “I don’t mean to lead you on, but this can’t go anywhere.”

  “Why not? You seemed quite into me a minute ago.”

  What the hell had she done? Any why? “It was just a kiss.” She raised an arm with exasperation.

  “Are you playing games with me, Lina?” He narrowed his eyes.

  “No,” she said, her emotions rolling in turmoil. Guilt weighed her down. She had no business kissing someone besides her fiancé, no matter what their past. She had to get away. “Please, just go.”

  She ran inside to find refuge, letting the door slam behind her. She threw herself onto her bed and covered her head with her pillow, searching for someplace to hide from herself. After a few minutes, she crawled out of her sanctuary and peeked out her window.

  He was gone.

  She sighed. Relief flooded through her, which was then dwarfed by disappointment. She bolted to the door in two steps to catch up to him. With her hand on the doorknob, she froze. No, she couldn’t let her emotions overrule her brain.

  She had to let him go.

  An hour later, Lina heard Krystal rustling around in the kitchen, so she pried herself out of bed. She found Krystal at their kitchen table with a glass of water and an apple, checking her phone.

  “What the fuck is wrong with me?” Lina plopped across from her, dropping her head to her hands on the table.

  “What happened?”

  Lina still felt the impression of his lips on hers, how he tasted, how he smelled. “I kissed him,” she muttered. “Again.” She sat up.

  Krystal laughed. And then guffawed.

  “It’s not funny,” Lina protested, widening her eyes to indicate the seriousness of the situation. “I’m getting married in a couple of weeks. This is wrong.”

  “Okay, okay.” Krystal attempted to staunch the laughter that continued to erupt with fresh vigor.

  “I don’t know why I did that.” She shook her head, looking up at the ceiling. “Really, I don’t. And I can’t even use alcohol as an excuse for letting down my inhibitions.”

  Barely managing to stifle her laughter, Krystal said, “It’s wicked hot out there. The temperature can make people do crazy things. So blame it on the heat.”

  Chapter Four

  Antonio’s older brother Marco came to dinner at his parents’ condo that night. They lived on a residential street in Boston’s North End, an Italian neighborhood with mouth-watering aromas from home style restaurants wafting through the streets--pizza, pasta, cappuccinos, and cannoli.

  His mother’s cooking could rival the best restaurants in town. She fed them enough spaghetti and meatballs to feed an entire platoon, which was appreciated since Moretti men had insatiable appetites. All through dinner his thoughts drifted to Lina. Why was she blowing hot and cold? She’d said she didn’t want to start anything, ran off on him, and yet her lips had offered a much more inviting promise.

  “Thanks, Ma.” Antonio kissed his mother on the cheek.

  “We’ll get the dishes,” his brother Marco said.

  Looking at his brother was like looking at an older, different version of himself. Both close to six feet and similar in build, people often took a second look, wondering if they were twins. Despite their similar looks, their personalities were so different. While Antonio had enlisted in the Marines, Marco had earned his Master’s degree and used it to teach kids in the inner city.

  “Oh, both of my boys home.” She clapped her hands together. “We should do this every Sunday.”

  Antonio’s father caught his eye, and he gave him a sly smile. “When we can.”

  Insisting their mother sit with their father in the living room with a glass of Amaretto, the Moretti boys hit the kitchen and scanned the mess. Their mom was a great cook, but a messy one. She’d left a trail of sauce-covered pots behind her like a hurricane through an Italian restaurant.

  “If there’s one thing I learned in four years in the Marines, it’s never volunteer,” Antonio ribbed Marco.

  “We couldn’t let her clean this after cooking all day.”

  “I know. I know,” Antonio agreed. “Think we could get Dad to join us?” He raised an eyebrow.

  Marco’s eyes went as wide as saucers. Their dad was old-school Italian. He was proud of his wife for her devotion to her family, career, and community projects, but nothing compared to his pride in her cooking. “He’d stare at the sponge like it was a foreign object.”

  Antonio laughed. “Let’s go shoot some hoops after this. Burn off some of this meal.”

  After finishing up in the kitchen, they took side streets to the North End to avoid the pedestrian congestion on the main streets. Passing a number of family Italian restaurants and bakeries tucked away off Hanover Street with their aromas filling the air made Antonio think of food again, even though he was full. The scents of tomato sauce, pastries, and cappuccinos vied for dominance, each reminding him of growing up here. Reminding him he was finally home.

  Down at the local park, they worked up a sweat playing basketball. On the walk back to their parents’ house, Marco threw a hand on Antonio’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Me, too.”

  “How’s it been?”

  “Okay,” Antonio replied instinctively.

  “Come on, man. I’m your brother. I know when something’s up.”

  Marco was right. Few people knew him as well as Marco did. They’d shared a room growing up and spoke or e-mailed often while Antonio served overseas.

  “Something happened last night. I saw Lina.”

  “Lina Lina?” Marco stopped walking and turned to Antonio.

  “The one and only.” Antonio kept his eyes ahead, the restaurants on Hanover Street coming into view.

  “What happened?”

  Antonio exhaled. “We talked, we kissed, and she ran out. Then I saw her again today to talk about it. Once again, we talked, we kissed, and she ran off.”

  “Women.” Marco shook his head. “Who can understand them?”

  Antonio shrugged. “Only other women.”

  * * * * *

  Lina’s steps were filled with lead as she approached Brett’s apartment. Could she keep what happened with Antonio from him, or would she confess the second she walked through the door? Her habit of blurting out whatever was troubling her mind usually led to deeper doo doo.

  She stared at the steel door, fingers hovering before the lock. This would be her apartment, too, after the wedding. Their apartment.

  She inserted the key, but her fingers were so jittery, she fumbled turning it. When she opened the door, voices from sports radio hit her, a sound that had increasingly made her want to stick her head in the blender.

  “Hey, babe,” Brett greeted her, dropping the sports section. “How was the show last night?”

  She studied him as an observer seeing him for the first time. He had sandy brown hair and nice features—not too big, not too small. So different from Antonio’s stark black hair and deep dark eyes. He had the physique of a former jock, the muscles still visible under flesh softened by drinking beer and watching sports instead of playing them. Antonio was taller and leaner, muscles defined from Marine Corps conditioning. Brett was still attractive with a smile to capture any girl’s attention, contrasting with Antonio’s guarded expression, wary of the world. Antonio only smiled when there was a reason. And she was honored and thrilled when that reason had something to do with her.

  Their personalities couldn’t be more opposite either. Brett was laid-back about most things, unless it was related to sports. They’d seldom argued, while she’d had many heated discourses with Antonio. She and Antonio could argue about any subject, but it wasn’t nasty. Their quick banter was more like foreplay before they ended up in each other’s arms. She loved how they could stand their own ground and see things from different viewpoints. With Brett, they didn’t have topics they argued about, their interests rarely overlapping. She called it opposites attracting and found it comforting at first, a way to avoid drama. Now she wondered if it was a way of hiding. He was the safe route, keeping her from getting hurt.

  “Good.” She didn’t want to talk about it. At all. “How was the game last night?”

  It wasn’t fair comparing the two. They were different men. Brett never hurt her while Antonio had left her broken, in pieces. She raised her chin. The only reason she must have kissed him last night was due to unresolved feelings still lingering between them.

  “Sox lost. To the fuckin’ Yankees. Can you believe that shit?”

  Brett was passionate when it came to sports. But sometimes, she wished that passion carried over to—well, her.

  It hadn’t been like that when they’d started dating. They had a great time together, going to restaurants or the movies, even to a couple of comedy shows. He was the one who encouraged her to get out and enjoy life again after Antonio. But once he’d proposed, it all stopped; they spent their evenings eating takeout and watching videos at his apartment.

  “Can I turn this off?” she said. When she moved in here, there would have to be some compromise when it came to that barrage of noise.

  “Yeah. They’re repeating the same arguments anyway.”

  She pressed the power button with satisfaction. She wouldn’t have to shout over grown men arguing about a game they hadn’t played in and had no effect on the outcome. She didn’t get the lure. Why would anyone listen to that crap? “The guys come over?”

  “Yeah. We had a few beers. Ordered some wings.”

  “That’s good,” she replied automatically.

  “So what did you want to do today? Wedding stuff?”

  She tightened defensively as the reminder shot anxiety through her. “Yeah, it’s getting closer.”

  “Need me to help?”

  “No, thanks. It’s stuff I can do on my own.” The last thing she wanted to work on was wedding tasks with him while her secret weighed heavy on her conscience.

  “Good,” he exhaled with relief. “You know I’m no good with that stuff.”

  He leaned back on the couch, put his feet up, and picked up the sports section, something he did every morning because he ran a blog on Boston sports and had something to say about every game, whether they won or lost. Although she’d accepted it as a quirk, this time she bristled with annoyance. What was wrong with her? Antonio’s face flashed before her, and she forced it away. No, she couldn’t let seeing him affect her this way.

  “You can go through the closet and get rid of things, make room for my stuff,” she said in a clipped tone.

  “I can do that, babe.” He didn’t even catch the annoyance in her voice, so focused on whatever article he was reading. He rose and gave her a kiss on the cheek and swatted her butt. “How about dinner later? Sox have a day game today. We can order some takeout, watch a movie.”

  “Sounds good,” she said. A part of her fluttered inside, fearing this was her future. Takeout in front of the TV. Life events revolving around the Boston sports schedule. Instead of nights out on the town, taking in its vibrancy. What was the point of living in a city flourishing with events from art to music, history and science, and yes, even sports, if they didn’t go out to experience it?

  Brett managed a sporting goods store and could sell anything, which was why he’d ranked in the top three for sales in his region. He knew how to read people and worked that magic to his advantage when making a sale. She’d fallen for that charm herself. He’d made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, the most fascinating woman he’d ever met. Having the attention of this gorgeous guy with a winning smile helped pull her out of her guarded isolation from men after Antonio.

  In her darker moments, Lina had wondered if his proposal had been some sort of sales pitch—and once she’d said yes and he’d made the sale, he stopped trying to win her.

  Krystal went overboard in planning Lina’s bachelorette party. She made Lina wear a ridiculous veil and a tank top that read One Hot Mess. One Final Fling. She and five of her friends hopped from bars to clubs, having a drink at one, dancing at another one, and getting more buzzed as the night progressed.

  When they passed a club that booked an array of well-known acts and unknown local bands, Krystal stopped to read the flyer. “I know this band. They’re pretty good. Want to check them out?”

  “Sure,” Lina said. “I’ve seen them play in Cambridge. Think I have a CD somewhere.”

  After getting a round of drinks, Lina and Krystal moved deeper into the crowd to get closer to the stage while the rest of their crew hung back at a raised table near the bar. They found a groove, swaying to the music, but the veil kept getting in the way.

  “I have to take this stupid thing off,” Lina declared.

  “You can’t,” Krystal said. “Not until the night is over.”

  Pushing the gauzy fabric off her face, she felt someone watching her. Of course. She had a ridiculous outfit on, designed to grab attention. But the sensation didn’t subside, and she glanced around the club until she found a set of dark eyes staring at her. Surprise and pain in his expression until he caught her staring back. He surveyed her with a shocked expression that turned cold, anger pulsing in his eyes. Then he wiped emotion from his face, turned away, and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Oh, no,” Lina said. “No.”

  “What is it?”

  “Antonio’s here.”

  “Oh,” was all Krystal managed.

  “What do I do?”

  “You have to talk to him,” Krystal pushed.

  “I can’t.” She swatted the veil. “Look at me. I’m clearly engaged to get married. And I kissed him. Twice. Not mentioning it either time.”

  “Maybe for a reason.” Krystal tilted her head and spoke as if offering the age-old wisdom of a sage.

  “What?” Lina faced her in bewilderment.

  “The jig is up.” Krystal nudged her arm. “Go find him. And tell him the truth.”

  Lina ripped the veil off, handing it to Krystal, and followed into the darkness where Antonio had disappeared. She said, “Excuse me,” at least a half dozen times as she pushed her way through the crowd, wondering if she’d even catch him or if he’d left. Why didn’t she say anything before now? Guilt weighed on her as heavy as a pile of her textbooks crushing her spine.

  After not seeing him in the club, she ran outside to find him. A dark figure strode away, blending into the surroundings. Tattoos extending from his sleeves and the confident stride signaled she’d found him. She ran after him calling his name while thinking about how she’d explain.

  He spun and faced her, anger flashing in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  The accusatory tone put her on the defensive. “I didn’t know I owed you any explanations.”

 

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