Educating Gina Page 11

  Gina’s eyes widened. “So he left?”

  “Yup.”

  “Did you ever seen him again?”

  “Only pictures.”

  She gasped and muttered something in Italian, the hand on his thigh tightening.

  “It was okay,” he said. “My mom didn’t need a deadbeat like him in her life. We did fine by ourselves.”

  “But it is not right for a man to abandon his family.” Her eyes were so earnest he didn’t have the heart to laugh at her naive remark. “He sent no letters, no money?”

  “Like I said, we were better off without him.”

  She shook her head sadly. “Too bad he did not see what a fine son he had.”

  A lump formed in Mike’s throat that surprised him. He rarely thought about the man he considered to be no more than a sperm donor. He certainly had no feelings for the man who didn’t deserve the title of father. “Thank you,” he said, amazed at how much her sincere words meant to him. “Now let’s talk about something else.”

  “Is that why you work so hard, Michael?” She rested her chin on his shoulder and stared into his eyes.

  He drew back his head to keep their lips from fastening to each other. The woman had no concept of personal space. She’d be the death of him yet. “What do you mean? I’ve been slacking off the entire week.”

  “Zio Antonio said you are the hardest-working person in the office.”

  “He did?” Antonio had always been generous with bonuses to show he approved of someone’s work performance, but verbal compliments were nonexistent.

  She nodded. “He said you work harder than his own son and his wife’s two brothers.”

  Warmth spread through him. He shrugged. “Nah, I’m just in the office a lot.”

  “You will make a good husband and father.”

  Mike laughed. The idea made him nervous. “If the time ever comes, I sure hope so.”

  “Of course it will come.” She drew her head back, clearly shocked that he would think otherwise. “Do you not want a family?”

  He honestly hadn’t thought about it much. Work seemed to consume him the past few years. Scarpetti Wines had so much untapped potential. He had so many ideas to explore, the West Coast distributorship to tackle—

  “Sorry, I am being—how do you say?” She made a face. “Nosy?”

  “That’s how you say it.”

  She lightly punched his arm. “I will not ask any more questions, since you are so sensitive about the subject.”

  He smiled. “Now you’re being manipulative.”

  “What is that word?”

  “Never mind.”

  The waitress showed up with his beer, effectively ending the conversation. Gina was obviously on a new track, although what, he had no idea. Her brows drawn together in a speculative frown, she stared at his beer with keen interest.

  “Do you prefer beer over wine?” she finally asked.

  “Not really, but when I come to a place like this that specializes in microbreweries, I like trying a new one each time.”

  “Why do they not specialize in wine?”

  “What do you mean?” He had no idea where she was going with this, but the way her expression intensified held his interest. Even her body language changed. She had straightened away from him and placed a hand on the table, her fingers drumming on the marble top while her eyes narrowed in deep concentration.

  “Are there wine bars in the city?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Like this?”

  “Well, no, they’re much smaller and more reserved.”

  “No dancing or music?”

  He smiled. Certainly not the two he’d visited. “They’re more like private clubs, without actually being private. Usually patronized by a wealthier clientele.”

  “Wine does not have to be expensive.”

  “True.” He knew where she was headed now, and he admired her enthusiasm, but he didn’t think her idea would work.

  She gestured with her chin toward the list of microbrews posted at the bar. “Why not have a list of wines by the glass? Different kinds could be featured each week.”

  “If this were an older crowd, it would be a great idea.” He glanced around at the mostly twenty-somethings. A few were pushing forty, but most of the customers were in their mid to late twenties.

  “Age is not an issue. I love wine.”

  “You’re European. Americans, for the most part, have not grown up drinking wine.” Europeans were different, all right. His mind immediately went back to the beach—and Gina’s bare breasts, her round rosy nipples…

  He shifted in his seat. He definitely could not go there. Forcing his thoughts back to business, he gestured to an assortment of mugs and pony glasses being delivered by a waitress to a nearby table. “Look at what’s being served. Either people are ordering beer or they go for the specialty drinks like ‘sex on the beach’ or ‘blow jobs.’”

  Gina turned wide disbelieving eyes on him. “Scusi?”

  He laughed at her expression. “They’re names of drinks. See those short tubular glasses with the dark-cream-colored drink? I think that’s a blow job. It’s made with Kahlua and cream and maybe vodka, I can’t remember.”

  She stared at the drink, looking uncertain. “You are teasing me, yes?”

  He laughed. “No, I don’t have that good an imagination.” The party of six began to grab their respective drinks. Two of the women had ordered what he guessed were blow jobs, which he hoped they’d drink in the colorful manner intended. “Watch this.”

  Sure enough, the blonde positioned the glass directly in front of her, clasped her hands behind her back and then bowed to clamp her mouth around the entire glass and throw her head back, draining the contents.

  Gina gasped and continued to stare. No one else paid attention, except for one of the guys at the table who made a crude remark about the residual cream on the woman’s lips. The drink had been around so long it wasn’t a novelty anymore.

  There were surely others more popular now, but Mike hadn’t kept up with the trends. He’d been too busy working. In fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been in a club like this. He suddenly felt old. Hell, he was old. A year and a half and he’d hit the big three-o.

  And no prospect for a wife in sight.

  His gaze went to Gina.

  Dammit, bad enough she had him thinking about marriage and kids. It wasn’t as if she was a candidate. Or could be one.

  Even if he was seriously looking.

  Which he wasn’t.

  The band returned to the stage and started tuning up for the next set. Fortunately the music distracted Gina, and she twisted around in her seat, her gaze going expectantly to the stage.

  The lead singer stepped up to the microphone. “We’re going to do something a little different. We’re starting the set off with a slow song. This goes out to Gina.” He stepped back and started strumming his guitar.

  “That’s where you went,” Mike said. To make a request. He shook his head. The band hadn’t played many slow songs. He was hoping to escape without having to get on the floor.

  She scooted out of the booth, held out her hand and smiled.

  “We will dance, yes?”

  He hesitated, and in the space of two seconds, a short stocky guy put an arm around Gina. “I’ll dance with you, baby.”

  Her eyes widened, but before Mike could say anything, she smiled sweetly at the guy and said, “I know karate.”

  “Hell, I was just trying to be nice.” He promptly withdrew his arm and sauntered off in search of other prey.

  Chuckling, Mike stood before anyone else tried to cut in and Gina decided she’d demonstrate a karate chop. She had her heart set on dancing. He might as well get it over with. Fortunately it was already eleven-thirty. They’d have to leave soon.

  She led him to the dance floor, clutching his hand tightly as they wove their way through the crowd. Other couples had already started dancing, their bodies presse
d so close they seemed to melt into each other.

  Gina found a spot near the middle, but already the floor was so crowded there wasn’t much room to move. Good news, in that he didn’t have to worry about his feet doing the right thing. Bad news, in that he was forced to hold Gina so close. Any hope of keeping a modest distance between them dissolved when she slid her arms around his neck and snuggled her breasts against his chest, and then molded her hips to his.

  She nestled her face in his neck, and he slowly gave in and buried his face in her hair. Her exotic feminine scent intoxicated him like no amount of expensive wine could. It made him drunk with wanting and needing, and worse, longing.

  Thoughts filled his head that had no business being there. Scary notions that reached beyond uncomplicated sex. He forced himself to remember that Gina was an assignment no different from any other task Antonio would give him. This one just happened to be more personal. Which made it all the more important. It involved a trust that Antonio reserved for family.

  Gina held on more tightly, lifting her face so that her lips glided over his throat to the side of his neck. He splayed his hands across her lower back, doing everything he could not to reach down and cup her firm behind. Enough activity stirred below his belt. He didn’t need to ask for more trouble.

  “Michael?”

  He looked down at her upturned face, and she raised herself on her toes and pressed her lips to his. He didn’t encourage the kiss, but he didn’t retreat, either.

  She finally drew back and looked at him with big uncertain eyes. “You do not like kissing me anymore?”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  “You have not kissed me in a week.”

  “I know.” He made the mistake of staring at her mouth too long. The slight pout inspired all kinds of wicked ideas. “I should never have kissed you in the first place.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “But—”

  “Look, do you want to talk or dance? We can go back to the table.”

  Temper flared in her eyes. Her lips parted, and he could tell she was dying to say something, but instead, she lifted her chin a notch and then laid her cheek against his chest.

  And then she moved her hips. The motion was subtle, but enough to get his attention. Enough to make him suck in a breath and tense.

  She moved again.

  This time she wasn’t so subtle.

  Mike exhaled slowly. He loosened his hold of her waist and stepped back a little. She followed.

  “Gina.”

  “Yes?” She tilted her head back again, her face the picture of innocence.

  “You’re asking for trouble.”

  Excitement danced in her eyes. “Yes?”

  “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  A sly smile curved her lips, and then she laid her cheek on his chest again. He tried to keep an inch between them, but she wouldn’t cooperate. She snuggled closer each time he tried to retreat, becoming bolder with every attempt to thwart him.

  Of course he could lead them back to the table, refuse to dance with her anymore.

  Yeah, right. As if he could. She felt too damn good.

  Her hips moved to the beat of the song, doing the most damage with the bass guitar. Getting back to the table without everyone laughing and pointing was going to be some trick. At least the lighting was dim and he wore jeans, which had become painfully tight.

  The song started to wind down and he didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed. He’d be off the hook with the next fast number. And bands never played two slow songs in a row.

  Wrong. When none of the couples seemed anxious to break apart, the band lapsed into “Unchained Melody.” Everyone continued dancing. Including Gina.

  “We should head home,” he said into her ear.

  “Why?” She looked up at him.

  “Because…”

  The light from the stage made her moist, parted lips glisten. He lost what was left of his resolve and lowered his head for a taste. Surprised, her mouth opened more and he slipped his tongue inside.

  Insane. They were in public—in the middle of a crowded dance floor. He knew better. And God, he hated this kind of public display. But stopping himself seemed too overwhelming a task. She was like an addiction. She told him what she wanted, when she wanted it, and he was helpless to refuse.

  Gina responded to the kiss without hesitation. She seemed more sure of herself than she had the first few times they’d kissed. Her tongue wasn’t tentative or frenzied anymore, but slow and sensual in its assault of his willing mouth.

  They had to stop—he had to stop this. At least before the song was over and the curtain of bodies disappeared. But her hips moved, grinding against him, and his shameless penis shot to attention.

  He really did have to stop this.

  In one more minute…

  The song ended, effectively accomplishing what Mike should have had the willpower to do. He pried his lips away from Gina’s, reluctant to look at her, but powerless not to watch the way her lips remained parted, her eyes half-closed.

  Other couples slowly pulled apart. But before the floor emptied, the next song started, the rhythm fast and furious, drawing a whole new crowd of energetic dancers.

  “Come on,” he said, taking her hand.

  She gave no argument but readily followed him back to the table. He was going to down his beer, since there was no cold shower available, and then they were getting the hell out of here.

  After he had delivered her safely home, he’d go back to his apartment and write a hundred times on the blackboard—“I will not mess with Gina Ferraro.”

  Shit! He felt like a high-school kid again. Stupid. Aimless. Thinking with his crotch. All his best intentions evaporated as soon as she was in the same room. He had to get a grip.

  “Finish your wine, if you want,” he said now. “We’re leaving.” He didn’t bother to sit as he picked up his beer.

  She slid into the booth. “It is only midnight.”

  “I’ve got to get up early tomorrow.” From his vantage point above her, he had a clear view down the front of her dress. He took a ragged breath and looked away. “Ready?”

  Sighing, she stood and tugged down her hem. “How far away is your apartment from here?”

  His last swallow of beer nearly came back up. “Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Far.” He took her by the elbow and headed for the door. He lived close to Antonio, but she didn’t have to know that.

  Outside, another couple waited for a cab ahead of them. Two bouncers attended the door, checking IDs and monitoring the long line of people still waiting to get in.

  Gina idly studied the well-heeled crowd and then turned to Mike with a pretty frown. “Michael? What is a blow job?”

  11

  SEVERAL PEOPLE turned to stare. A redhead with a nose ring and leather miniskirt asked loudly if she’d heard correctly. The bouncer let out a laugh that set off a chain reaction down the line. Most of them couldn’t have heard Gina’s question, but the big guy’s laugh was obviously contagious.

  A cab pulled up just in time. Mike hustled Gina inside.

  “Hey, buddy, we all wanna hear the answer,” the redhead’s bearded companion called out, and started everyone laughing again.

  Mike cursed under his breath. “Let’s go,” he barked at the driver.

  “Keep your pants on.” The man peered into the rearview mirror at the stream of oncoming headlights. He finally edged his way into the traffic. “Where you going?”

  Mike gave him Antonio’s address and then grudgingly glanced at Gina. She stared at him with concern. Sighing, he looked out the window. A weeknight, and the sidewalks were still packed at midnight. Of course, that was one of the things he’d always loved about New York. The city always teemed with activity.

  So why didn’t he get out anymore and enjoy the festivals and street entertainment and corner vendors with the b
est hot dogs in the world?

  “Michael?”

  Oh, man, he knew this was coming. “Yeah?”

  “Why are you acting so strangely?”

  He glanced at the driver. “Let’s talk about it when we get home.”

  “Everyone laughed—did I do something wrong?”

  “Gina.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’ll explain later.” He sent a meaningful look at the driver. “At the apartment when we’re alone.”

  She sighed with impatience and then nodded.

  Damn. He had intended on telling the cabbie to wait for him, seeing her to the door and then getting the hell out of Dodge. But knowing Gina, she’d ask Antonio to explain what a blow job meant. That would be rich.

  He wouldn’t have to stay long. He’d give her a one-line explanation. She’d be embarrassed. He’d give her a few words of reassurance and then be outta there.

  Traffic was light once they got off Lexington, and they arrived at the apartment by one-ten. It still amazed Mike that Antonio gave her a two-o’clock curfew. Certainly not an unreasonable time, considering she was twenty-three. But that didn’t seem like Antonio.

  Mike asked the driver to wait, but the guy already had another pickup scheduled. No problem. As long as Mike delivered Gina and left before she talked him into a demonstration, instead of an explanation of a blow job…

  The ridiculous thought got him heated, and he took a deep calming breath as he pressed the elevator button. This was Gina. They were on their way up to Antonio’s—his boss’s—apartment. Nothing was going to happen.

  “Michael?” She laid a hand on his arm, curling her fingers possessively around it. “Do we have to go inside right away?”

  “Yes.” He looked straight ahead at the door. Her eyes did funny things to his resolve. And if she did that pouty thing with her lips—

  “But Zio Antonio will probably be home, and it will be hard to talk.”

  “I don’t plan on staying long. I’ve got to get up early, remember?”

  The elevator doors opened and he expected her to drop her hand. Instead, she linked her arm with his and pressed closer. Antonio was probably asleep, and she was hardly doing anything suggestive. Mike’s guilty conscience made him squirm as they approached the apartment door.