CHAPTER TWELVE
DOMINIC
At a quarter after nine the last guests straggled out, and I switched the front door sign to “Closed.” The evening had been busy but successful, and it was time to thank the people who helped make it happen. Gio always had the softer touch when it came to people skills, but I could make the effort when I had to. In the seconds before I stood in front of the staff and started talking, I just kept hearing my brother’s voice in my head, saying, “Don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick.”
“Excellent job, everyone,” I said, meaning it. “Really, amazing night all around. Now clean up and go home. Some of you will be at Espo 1 tomorrow for a final training shift. Everyone else, I’ll see you here in two days for the grand opening. If you have any questions about anything, feel free to reach out.” I paused and looked at the collection of expectant faces. “Honestly, I couldn’t be happier with this team. I thank you and I applaud you.”
For a few seconds I was the only one clapping, but Melanie quickly joined in, and the rest of the staff followed. Relieved smiles spread across the staff, and a few approached me for a handshake. Melanie wasn’t one of them. She returned to the table where my grandmother had sat all evening, observing everything with bright, shining eyes. It was past the time she usually turned in for the night, and for the last two hours, I’d been trying to get her to agree to go home. But my grandmother’s stubborn streak still burned strong, and she insisted on staying until the end.
I saw Melanie lean across the table and whisper something to Donna that made her throw her head back in laughter—the way she used to do when she was younger. In my early memories Donna Esposito was the quintessential hostess, forever occupying her post near the entrance of the old Esposito’s and offering an animated greeting to all who entered. My grandfather had been much quieter, always busying himself in the kitchen and emerging only at the insistence of his sociable wife. She used to know how to talk to anyone; the grumpiest old bastard didn’t stand a chance when confronted by Donna Esposito’s charm. But lately, as age clouded the edges of her mind, she’d become more wary of strangers. Her memory for names and faces wasn’t what it used to be. I was surprised by the fact that she’d taken to Melanie immediately. Vaguely, I remembered mentioning her, but I didn’t think I’d said anything too outrageous. Then again, she might have had Melanie confused with someone she’d met decades ago. She’d said something odd earlier, something about Melanie being a member of the family.
“We were just talking about little Leah,” Melanie said when I approached. “Tara texted me. The doctor diagnosed the baby with an ear infection, poor thing. But she’s already had her first dose of antibiotics, and the fever’s under control.”
“I know. Gio called me.” I checked my watch. “Hey, Donna, we should really get you home.”
My grandmother primly wiped her eyeglasses with a clean napkin. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “It’s pretty late for this old-timer.”
I smiled. “You’ll never be an old-timer. So what did you think of the restaurant? Have we done the Esposito name proud?”
Donna settled her glasses back on her face and beamed. “It’s like coming home, Dominic. You boys have really worked a miracle here.” Her smile became melancholy. “I almost feel like if I stepped back into that kitchen, your Grandpa Leo would be back there rolling out pies and bellowing at Frankie to feed the oven.”
The mention of Uncle Frank, my mother’s only brother, brought an involuntary surge of loathing in me. He’d always been a weasel. When I was a kid, I once saw him empty the tip jar into his pocket. When he saw me looking, he tried to buy my silence with a wink and a greasy quarter. I didn’t take the quarter, but I didn’t rat him out either. Even though I’d already figured out that Frank was a shithead, I knew my grandparents worshipped him. He was their only son, the presumptive heir to their life’s work. There was no way to guess that someday my lousy uncle and his son would bring down the whole house of cards.
Of course no matter what my uncle and cousin had done, nothing excused my behavior when I found out the restaurant was going down the tubes. Only years later did I understand that I was angrier at myself than anyone else. My grandfather’s death had set off a chain reaction, and I never stopped feeling like that was my fault.
As I helped Donna out of her seat, I noticed Melanie was watching me.
“You mind sticking around for a little while longer?” I asked her.
“Not at all,” she said. I could see she was pleased by the request. She looked fresh and casual tonight, hardly a trace of makeup. She’d had her hair tied up while she was working the dining room, but now it was loose and tousled. I could easily imagine rolling over in bed and seeing her look exactly like that. Only my fantasy included fewer clothes.
I gestured to the kitchen. “Go ahead and usher everyone out of here in half an hour and lock up. I’ll be back later and I’ll finish the cleanup.”
Melanie stood up and started collecting dirty plates from tables. “I’ll stay at least until you get back.”
“No,” I said, a little too forcefully. “Don’t do that.” She looked startled, so I smoothed the comment over. “You’ve been working so hard to make all this happen. It’ll make me feel less guilty if you get out of here at a reasonable hour.”
“But I really don’t mind staying, Dominic,” she said, but I cut her off with a wave of my hand.
“No need,” I said. “Good night, Melanie.”
I didn’t want to see Melanie’s reaction. I didn’t want to think about how right it seemed to have her in my world or how much more I wished I could share with her. The day I met this girl I knew I wanted to back her into a wall, wrap her legs around my waist, and get sweaty. But I hadn’t. I wouldn’t. I’d made promises long before I met Melanie. Promises to my brother, promises to myself. I couldn’t allow anything to interfere with what Gio and I had been working toward for so long. Every time I turned on the kitchen lights at the start of the day, I thought of my grandfather working endless hours in the old restaurant. He’d given everything he had for the family. I hadn’t appreciated that when I was young. I appreciated it now. If I started something with Melanie, I’d inevitably fuck it up somehow. So for her sake—and for mine and for Gio’s and for the future of Esposito’s—I could keep ignoring the way my heart jumped every time I saw her sitting behind an absurdly large desk when I stormed into her office to carry on about something that wasn’t even important. I could pretend it was no big deal that she kindly tended to my eighty-two-year-old grandmother and had even paused in all her busy tasks to escort Donna to the restroom earlier without thinking twice. Yes, I could disregard every natural instinct I had where Melanie Cruz was concerned.
“Hey, Dominic,” Melanie called.
I held the door open for Donna and glanced back. The servers were clearing the tables and laughter rang out from the kitchen. Melanie was standing right where I’d left her.
“Did you get to talk to the reporter at all?” she asked.
“The reporter showed up?”
Melanie nodded. “Yeah. I talked to her and so did Gio, but I figured she’d want a word with you too.”
“Apparently not.” I shrugged.
Melanie was frowning, but I didn’t know if that was because of me or because of the reporter. In any case, I had to get Donna home, so I turned around and escorted my grandmother to my parked truck.
As soon as I walked into Sonoran Acres, a nurse in purple scrubs marched over and gave me the stink eye.
“Mr. Esposito,” she said rather haughtily, “you know very well we require residents to be in their rooms at nine p.m. These rules exist for a reason. The fragile health of our residents requires them to get adequate rest.”
“My apologies,” I said, with a sincerity that surprised me. “I shouldn’t have kept her out so late.”
The nurse’s expression softened when she looked at my grandmother. “Would you like me to get you a wheelchair, Mrs. Esposito?”
“Oh no, I’m just fine,” a cheerful Donna said. She patted my arm and tried to reach my cheek for a kiss. I had to bend down quite a bit to make it possible.
“Great job, Dominic,” she murmured in my ear. “And Melanie is wonderful.” My grandmother touched my face. “I knew she would be from the way you talked about her.”
“I told you about Melanie?”
Her bright eyes danced. “Of course you told me all about Melanie. Don’t you remember?”
In fact, I did remember now. I’d stopped by to see Donna one afternoon with a bag of the forbidden chicken tacos she loved so much. I was all out of sorts because Melanie and I had just bickered over menu prices. While Melanie was standing in front of me, spouting off all her dense market research, I just kept thinking about how badly I wanted to silence her with my mouth. I hadn’t admitted that last part to Donna, but I’d said enough. I didn’t even realize Donna had been listening to me complain as she happily ate her tacos and flipped the television channels.
“Good night, Donna,” I said, and she winked.
The nurse said a stiff farewell to me and then led my grandmother down the hall to her room. I checked my phone and saw that Gio had texted. Now that Leah was safe and asleep, he said he’d come down to Espo 2 and help clean up. I told him to forget it and stay home with his family. I didn’t see a good reason for Gio to leave his wife and baby and come down to Espo 2 in the middle of the night when I was capable of handling everything myself.
I yawned the whole way on the drive back to Espo 2. Tonight I planned on getting a good night’s sleep for once. Tomorrow I would start tackling the projects that remained before opening day. All I had left to do tonight was to make sure the fires were out and the doors were locked.
If Melanie had followed my instructions, the place should’ve been empty. I’d been gone for nearly an hour, and I’d ordered her to chase everyone, including herself, out after thirty minutes.
She had almost listened.
As I approached the door, I saw her through the glass and I stopped to stare. Her white Esposito’s T-shirt sported a tomato sauce stain on the right shoulder, and her hair was still loose. Melanie had caught my eye from the very beginning in her crisp power suits and heels. But lately she’d started dressing more casually, and right now in her T-shirt, jeans, and messy hair, I felt like I was seeing the real Melanie, not the sophisticated version that hid behind designer clothes and perfect makeup. And my god, she was beautiful.
Melanie hadn’t noticed that I was standing right outside. She was walking around and pushing all the chairs into place around the empty tables. As she finished, she tucked her long hair behind her ears and picked up a stack of plates. I hesitated with my hand on the door. Even though we’d been alone in the restaurant for countless hours, there was something more intimate about tonight, about the surrounding darkness, about the way we’d locked eyes for a split second, and the earth had seemed to shift under my feet. If I went in there now, I didn’t know if I was capable of keeping my distance. I was tired of doing that, tired of coming up with endless reasons why I shouldn’t touch that girl when I wanted her so much I couldn’t function normally. Maybe all this stuff I’d been telling myself about rules and propriety was bullshit anyway. Maybe when we were offered a moment like this, we ought to take it.
I opened the door.
“Thought I told you to take off,” I said.
Melanie was startled. She let out a tiny gasp and took a step back. I saw the blush creep across her cheeks and the way her eyes briefly lowered after they swept over my chest. I wasn’t going to bother lying to myself; it excited the hell out of me. Then she tipped her chin up and got a little huffy.
“Most employers are grateful when a dedicated employee wants to put in more time even when she’s off the clock,” she informed me.
“I’m grateful,” I said, and tossed my keys on the nearest table. “By the way, don’t hang out in here by yourself with the front door unlocked. Especially not when it’s after ten o’clock at night.”
“I wasn’t by myself for long,” she said defensively. “Tim and Gilberto only left ten minutes ago.”
“Don’t do it for two minutes, Melanie.”
“This is a safe neighborhood,” she sniffed.
“There’s no such thing. Now quit arguing with me.”
She rolled her eyes and hugged the plates to her chest. “Aren’t you a little too tired to play the macho savior?”
“No.”
Melanie pressed her lips together, then shook her head. “I’m just going to clean a few things up and then I’ll be out of your way,” she declared, carrying her pile of plates to the kitchen.
I didn’t remain in the empty dining room. I followed her. She was in front of the huge sink, running the water full blast.
“You hungry?” I shouted over the noise of the water.
She shut the faucet off. “What?”
“I asked if you were hungry.”
She turned around just as I started adding some wood to the nearest oven.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Firing up the oven.”
“But why?”
I pulled a sealed bin from the small refrigerator under the counter and removed several neat globes of dough.
“Because I had promised to make you a custom pizza,” I said. “Yet somehow I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
Melanie leaned against the sink and dried her hands on a nearby towel. She looked slightly confused. “I’ve had your pizza, Dominic.”
I spread flour across the countertop, running my hands through it, enjoying the comfortable feeling of performing a task that was as familiar to me as breathing. “Not like this you haven’t,” I told her. “Come on, I’ll make you whatever you want.”
“Right now?”
“Unless you have other plans,” I said, rolling out the blob of dough and keeping an eye on Melanie. She smoothed her hands down her thighs like she was nervous. She was looking down so I couldn’t read her expression.
“I thought you wanted me to leave,” she said softly.
I stopped rolling, ready to just be honest. “I think you know damn well I don’t want you to leave.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“What else am I thinking?”
“That you can’t wait to try this one-of-a-kind pizza.”
She exhaled deeply and raised her head. She was smiling now. “You’re a puzzle, Dominic Esposito. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Occasionally. By the way we’re taking your suggestion about the happy hour menu.”
She clapped her hands together and beamed. “You are?”
“Yup. Gio’s all for it,” I said, thinking about the brief conversation I’d had with my brother on the topic. He’d been enthusiastic about Melanie’s plan, and I realized I’d only been holding out because the concept didn’t match my vision of the traditional family-style atmosphere I remembered from the first Esposito’s. But in the end I understood something Melanie already knew; this was a new place in a new neighborhood, and our goal was to make the customers happy so they kept coming back.
I went to work on the dough, flattening and shaping. Melanie stayed put at the sink, but I could feel her watching me.
“That’s so easy for you,” she said, sounding amazed. “It’s like watching an artist.”
“Been doing it for a while,” I said as I stretched the dough into a perfect flat sphere.
“How long?”
I paused, remembering. “Gio and I were really small when we came to live with our grandparents. They were always working at the restaurant, so the two of us ended up spending most of our time there too. I was around eight when they finally started letting me into the kitchen to roll out dough, just for fun. The kitchen was my grandfather’s domain. He was a big man anyway, but in the kitchen he was larger than life, a veritable god. He could have avoided the hot kitchen and stuck with managerial tasks, but he wouldn’t. He would always come up with some excuse about keeping the discipline. The truth was he didn’t have much of a head for business and he couldn’t stand being away from the kitchen.” I rolled the dough vigorously just as I’d done ten thousand other times. “The first little pie I ever made I was too proud of to even eat. I brought it home, stuck it safely under my bed, then forgot about it until Donna did the spring cleaning months later.”
“I’m picturing you,” Melanie said, smiling and coming a little bit closer, “this smartass little kid making trouble for everyone in the middle of a busy Manhattan restaurant.”
I chuckled. “So that’s how you see me? A constant creator of mischief?”
She smirked. “Oh stop, I didn’t mean it like that. But I bet you were quite a handful back then.”
I’m still quite a handful, honey.
I managed to stop myself from saying that out loud and kept my tone carefully casual. “Eh, you may not be too far off,” I said, sprinkling a little more flour. “My grandpa always used to say to me, ‘Dom, you can’t fake it with food. If you start out wrong, there’s not always a chance for forgiveness.’ I suspect he was actually trying to teach me something about life beyond pizza.”
“You must miss him,” she said softly.
“Of course. He was a father to me and Gio—only father figure we ever knew.” I stopped what I was doing and sighed. “He’s been dead thirteen years now. Suffered a massive stroke behind the restaurant one winter night as he carried out the trash. He never got up again.” I swallowed before continuing. “The thing is, I was supposed to be working that night, and it would have been my job to carry out the trash. I blew off my obligation to my grandfather to go party in an abandoned warehouse with some friends.”
Melanie let out a small tsk of sympathy. “You were a kid, though, Dom. It’s not good to carry around that kind of guilt for something you could never have foreseen. He would have forgiven you.”
“I know he would have,” I said. “The thing is, I’ve never really forgiven myself.”
She looked around. “That’s why, isn’t it?” she asked quietly.
“Why what?”
She made a sweeping gesture. “The reason for all of this. Why you work yourself to the breaking point. You’re trying to make it up to your grandfather.”
“Could be,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed at the way Melanie was gazing at me with such intense sympathy. I didn’t usually spill my guts like this. “Once my grandfather was gone, it only took a few years for my uncle and cousin to run the old restaurant into the ground. When we left New York, it was . . . well, let’s just say we weren’t on good terms,” I said, stopping short of confessing my role in that mess.
To my surprise, Melanie nodded. “Yeah, the reporter mentioned something when I talked to her.”
“She did? What did she say?”
Melanie shrugged. “Nothing particular. A family fight. Honestly, I think she was just fishing. So what about your mother?” she asked.
Generally I avoided talking about the woman who’d given birth to my brother and me. My feelings about her were complicated. But that was the thing about Melanie; I found myself wanting to explain things to her, things I’d spent a long time trying not to think about. I stopped shaping the dough, flattened my palms on the floured countertop, and lowered my head.
“She did what she could for a while,” I said. “At least that’s what I always told Gio. She just didn’t have a lot of fight in her, I guess. So when she ran out of those resources, she gave us to her parents, figuring they could do better. She was right.”
“And you don’t keep in touch now?”
“She died years ago. We were just kids at the time. Still, I kind of wonder how things would have been different if she’d lived. Maybe she would’ve figured out how to navigate adulthood eventually. In time we might have gotten to know her.”
“Was her name Marie?” Melanie asked suddenly.
I was surprised, wondering where she’d heard that. “Yes.”
“Makes sense.” She nodded. “Your grandmother mentioned Marie. It caught me off guard for a moment. That was my mother’s name too.”
The day that Melanie had confided her parents’ fate to me, I had to use every ounce of willpower not to hold her tight to my chest and kiss her pain away. I knew it was stupid to think that anything I did could lessen the anguish of her lost family. But the sorrow in her voice had twisted something inside of me and even now, all these weeks later, I couldn’t manage to untwist it. Perhaps it was high time to stop trying.
“If you come over here,” I said. “I’ll teach you a few things.”
“And what will you teach me?” she asked in a curious, flirtatious voice. As she stood there, blushing and fidgeting awkwardly, I knew for a fact that I wasn’t the only one who was suffering from sex on the brain. Dirty thoughts were written all over her face.
I leveled my gaze at her.
“I’ll teach you every pizza trick I know,” I vowed.
She chewed her lip and then released it. “I know everything about where pizza comes from. I memorized the entire process while I was training down at Espo 1.”
“Melanie,” I said in a commanding voice, “come over here anyway.”
She stayed put for the moment. That was fine. I could wait. All the toppings and marinara sauce had been carefully contained and placed in the small fridge. I dug around until I collected everything I would need. As I laid out all the toppings, Melanie crept closer until she stood beside me at the counter. She took one of the balls of dough and slowly rolled it around in the flour.
“My dad used to make tamales every Christmas,” she said softly. “It was an old family recipe that his grandmother had passed down to him. My sister, Lucy, and I used to help when we were little, but by the time we hit our teens, we’d lost interest. Eventually he couldn’t drag us into the kitchen.” She stopped rolling the dough around. “I really wish I had that recipe now. I didn’t realize then how important it was. It wasn’t just food. It was a connection to who he was, who his parents and grandparents were.”
I spooned some marinara sauce over my circle of prepared dough. “If you want,” I said, “I can help you try to figure it out sometime. A friend of mine owns a Mexican restaurant, so I’ll ask for some tips.”
She brightened. “You think it’s possible?”
“Sure. We’ll just conduct a little trial and error until we get it right.”
Melanie lowered her eyes. “That would mean a lot to me, Dominic. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now what’ll you have? I’m betting your tastes are somewhat diverse, maybe some pineapple, a few peppers. Tell me I’m close.”
“Not at all,” she laughed and looked up at me, shaking her hair out of her eyes. That hair, so dark and thick. It always seemed to be everywhere and always smelled like orange blossoms. “My preferences for pizza are simple, like my preferences for life.”
I sprinkled a generous helping of shredded mozzarella. “Is your life simple, Mel?”
“It is now—just me and my cats.” She groaned. “God, that sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?”
“Humble. Not pathetic.”
“I made a huge mistake when I married James,” she said suddenly.
“You can tell me about it,” I said. “If you want to.”
Melanie stared down at the dough and talked slowly, haltingly. “It was a really stupid decision. My folks had just died, and the guy I’d been dating in college decided he needed to be a hero. I was a fool to say yes. Neither one of us knew what we were getting into, and it didn’t last.” She sighed again. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll end up joining the cynics.”
“The who?”
She gave me a rueful grin. “The cynics. The scoffers who don’t believe in romantic ideals and argue that it takes two years and a lot of agony to properly fall in love.” She shrugged. “At least the mistake with James taught me a few valuable life lessons about blind trust and believing in heroes.”
I didn’t like hearing that from her. Melanie deserved optimism and hope, not wariness and suspicion. I didn’t know everything, but I’d seen enough to understand that she was as kind as she was beautiful. She was as smart as she was stubborn. She went out of her way to make each member of the staff feel valued and respected. She genuinely cared when her bad-tempered boss carelessly cut his hand open. She took the time to escort confused old ladies to the restroom even when she had a million other things going on. A woman like that deserved to be wined and dined and held and worshipped. She deserved every ounce of romance that could be squeezed out of this uncertain universe.
“Maybe,” I said slowly, “you need something more practical than a hero.”
Melanie watched me slide a pizza peel under the raw pie and then expertly deposit it into the mouth of the oven. The fire was stronger than it ought to be. I’d need to keep an eye on the pizza, or it would burn.
“More practical than a hero?” she repeated.
I faced her. “That’s right.”
“And I suppose you have a suggestion.”
I hung the pizza peel on a hook and took a step in her direction. “One or two.”
Melanie licked her lips. “Tell me.”
I looked her in the eye. “I’d rather show you.”
Her blue eyes widened, and her breath hitched, just enough for me to notice. “Then show me,” she said without a waver.
Those were bold words from her. But she knew as well as I did that this little dance we’d been spinning through was coming to an end. After weeks of holding back, her words were all I needed to hear to let go.
Two more steps and I was close enough to touch her. When I ran a fingertip along the delicate line of her jaw, she shut her eyes and exhaled raggedly.
Without saying a word, I eased around behind her and closed in, inhaling the heat of her body. She didn’t resist at all when I turned her around until she was facing the counter. I slid my arms around her waist. If either of us had spoken right then, the spell might have been broken, but she said nothing, not even when I pressed my chest against her back.
When I pushed her hair aside, she leaned into me with a sexy moan, and I responded by grinding my hips against her ass. She gasped a little, and I pushed against her harder, more insistently. I wanted her to feel it, to know what being this close to her was doing to me. And I didn’t give a hot damn about manners or ethics or whether there would be any consequences from fucking my own employee in the middle of the kitchen.
My palms brazenly cupped her breasts, my thumbs rolling over the outline of her nipples. She liked that, shuddering and breathing the words “Oh my god,” as her head rolled back against my shoulder. I wished I could see the look on her face now that I had my hands all over her gorgeous tits. They’d been stalking my dreams since the day she walked her prissy heels into my restaurant, and soon they were going to be mine. Very, very soon. But I was going to play with her for a little while first.
My mouth was right next to her ear. “The first lesson, Melanie, is that you’ve got to work the dough. So work it hard, and don’t stop until I let you.” I flicked my tongue out, tasting her hot neck. Then I sucked her skin, hard enough to leave a mark.
“Stick to the rhythm,” I demanded, my hands gripping her hips so I could make her move the way I wanted. “Don’t stop until I let you.”
Melanie was good at following orders. She kneaded the dough, pushing and pressing with both hands and shifting her body in rhythmic perfection just as I’d told her to. I rocked against her, straining and grinding. At this rate I’d cream my damn pants from all the friction. I had to grit my teeth in the struggle not to shove those tight jeans down to her ankles and get to work.
“Harder,” I growled, flattening my palms against her belly and moving in time. I knew she had to feel how hard I was, and I was dying to offer her more. Judging by her heavy breathing, she had to be so damn ready that she ached.
When I made my move, it was sudden. My right hand dove between her legs and she gasped out my name. “Dominic!”
“Shh,” I warned. “Keep working.”
My thumb grazed the zipper of her jeans, and I teased her, rubbing my thumb up and down, wondering how much of this I could take before I ripped away every barrier and got what I needed.
She stopped messing with the dough. She was melting right into me, hardly able to keep standing. I cupped her in my hand, and she arched into my touch almost ferociously. Then my searching fingers found the cleft at her center, and she let out a raw moan.
“Dom,” she gasped while my fingers worked her without mercy. “Oh god, Dom, please.”
I teased her ruthlessly. I knew she wanted more, wanted my fingers inside of her, was quaking at the thought of taking my cock deep. I’d make her tell me. She’d beg for it before we were done tonight.
“Fuck, I need you,” I growled, knowing I couldn’t wait much longer. I needed to get inside. I needed to get everything.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, rocking back and forth hard against my hand, rubbing her ass against my cock with so much intensity I didn’t know how I’d go another ten seconds without losing it.
Then she came. Just like that. With my hand between her legs and her ass pushed against my cock and our clothes still on. She cried out and she trembled as the spasms gripped her and she only kept standing because I held her up.
There was a mirror across the room, and I caught a glimpse of the two of us. The sight of her flushed face and wild hair as she leaned against my chest, trying to catch her breath was the stuff of every epic fuck fantasy I’d been trying not to have since she entered my life. I couldn’t wait to see that look on her face again from a more creative angle. Her soft, full lips were slightly parted, and I just stared at her mouth. Hot damn, I was going to make good use of that mouth.
“You’re beautiful,” I told her in a husky voice.
Melanie turned her head and looked up at me. She smiled, and suddenly I was a little ashamed. I wanted to give her a hell of a lot more than a cheap orgasm in the middle of a dirty kitchen.
I didn’t have time to tell her that, though, because the chime over the front door rang and a voice called out. “Dom?”
Melanie’s smile dissolved.
“Shit,” I hissed, and we backed away from each other so fast it was like we were two teens who’d been caught messing around in the basement. When Gio entered the kitchen, Melanie was standing at the sink with the water running, and I was rolling out dough, trying to will my boner away by thinking about highway roadkill.
“Hey,” I said mildly as my brother looked around with a frown.
“What’s going on?” he asked with an odd tone to his voice.
“Just cleaning up,” I said brightly.
Gio gave me a flat stare. “Looks like you’re cooking, not cleaning.”
“Oh yeah, I promised Melanie I’d make her a pie to go. Speaking of which, I’m sure it’s ready.”
I grabbed a flat box from a stack that Tim had folded earlier and set it on the counter. The pizza was done to perfection. In one fluid movement I removed it with the pizza peel and set it inside the pie box.
“Here you go, Melanie,” I said, closing the lid. I wondered if my voice sounded as weird as I felt. I could feel Gio’s eyes on me. He hadn’t moved since he’d walked into the kitchen.
Melanie turned off the water and carefully dried her hands on a nearby towel. Her hair was still a little disordered, and the pink flush hadn’t left her cheeks. But she’d brushed all the telltale flour off her clothes, and she even managed to smile as if she hadn’t just climaxed in front of the prep counter a minute ago.
“Thank you, Dominic,” she said, and reached out to take the pizza. She glanced over at Gio, but my brother was still watching me.
Melanie swallowed, and I could see the uncertainty in her eyes. It made me feel like a prick, a predatory prick. I was worse than just an asshole who couldn’t maintain an appropriate distance from the employee who’d been working her ass off to help make my restaurant a success.
Somehow the sight of Gio had woken me up to reality. I was being selfish starting something with Melanie while knowing damn well I wouldn’t be able to build something real with her. I was too haunted by old ghosts and too driven by regret and ambition to concentrate on anything but the restaurant. Melanie would wind up being juggled among all the other priorities in my life, and she was worth so much more than that. If I cared about her at all, I would stop this thing in its tracks.
“You have the morning off tomorrow,” I told her. “Just like the rest of the Espo 2 staff.”
Her eyebrows knitted together, and the hand holding the pizza box wilted a little. “I’ll still be over at Espo 1 tomorrow evening. You know that some of the staff will be getting in some last-minute training for Friday’s opening, and I promised I’d be there for them.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be here all day, though, so I’ll see you Friday. Thanks for sticking around to help clean up.”
Melanie’s face fell. She wasn’t happy with me. I wasn’t happy with me either.
“Okay,” she said, nodding and avoiding my eyes. “I’m just going to grab my purse from the office.”
An uncomfortable silence reigned as soon as Melanie left the room. I cleared my throat.
“I thought you weren’t coming back tonight,” I said to Gio.
He raised an eyebrow. “Tara and the baby are asleep. I felt shitty about needing to cut out of here early, so I figured I’d make up for it by handling whatever cleanup work was left.”
“You really didn’t have to. I’ve got it covered.”
“Do you?” he muttered.
Melanie returned, pizza box in one hand, purse in the other. “Well,” she said, a little too brightly, “good night, gentlemen.”
“Night, Melanie,” Gio said. “Good job all around.”
Melanie smiled and then turned to me, but instead of saying anything, I just kind of lamely saluted. I wasn’t sure what I wished harder for, that I was leaving with her or that I’d never crossed that forbidden line tonight.
Either wish was futile at this point. As the door chime sounded again, signaling Melanie’s departure, something occurred to me that made me feel even worse about what had gone down. I hadn’t even kissed her.
Why the hell hadn’t I kissed her?
But there was no time to dwell on that because there was something more immediate to worry about. Now that we were really alone, I had no choice but to face Gio.
When questions of conscience arose, Gio was the touchstone. Gio could level me with a knowing look when he chose to. As he stood there in the kitchen doorway with a scowl on his face, I could read his disapproval without him saying a word. But he spoke anyway, summing up his censure with one soft question to let me know that I hadn’t fooled him one bit.
“Really, Dom?” he sighed, and then went to work stacking plates.