Hello LAlaland (Lost in LAlaland) (4 page)

A chuckle escaped his lips, and he pushed a hand through his dark hair. “I was going to ask you, but I like a woman who goes for what she wants,” he said, ushering me toward the door.

Soon he would see that was exactly the kind of woman I was.

Chapter 3

“So you don’t live in Los Angeles?” I asked, realizing my assumption had been incorrect. In fact, the more we talked, the more I realized that many of my assumptions had been misplaced.

“Oh, hell no,” he said with a laugh. “I couldn’t wait to get out of here after high school. I played college baseball at Stanford before being drafted by the Yankees.”

“The Yankees?” I interrupted. “I had no idea.”

He nodded and continued his tale. “I played triple-A ball for the Columbus Clippers in 2006. Then the Yankees moved their minor league affiliate to Scranton, Pennsylvania, and we became the Scranton Yankees.”

“Do you mean Scranton, as in The Office Scranton?” I asked in amusement. Anthony nodded with enthusiasm and chuckled at the connection. Of course I knew where the Yankees’ farm teams were located—I’d dated one of their stars. “I remember going to your games, but I didn’t realize that you were looking for a professional career in baseball. I would have gotten your autograph back in the day!” He was fascinating me with all the new information coming to light. Tony was much deeper than the washed-up jock type I’d taken him for at the airport.

He took a long drink before continuing. “Actually, I really wanted to play for the NFL, but after a concussion during the homecoming game our senior year, Mama told me I was never playing football again.” I recalled that game with disturbing horror. I’d been sitting in the stands, holding my breath and biting my nails. Thankfully, he’d managed to stand up after a couple of minutes and was driven to the hospital, but I still shivered just thinking about that moment. “Baseball was what I fell back on, and it ended up being what I loved the most.”

“Well, I’m glad that you found something you loved, and . . . go Yankees!” I tossed in with a flirty wink for the hell of it. Unbeknownst to him, Anthony had influenced a lot of my life, like my love for baseball. Hell, I met Max because I’d taken Walt to the final home game in the Bronx last season. I’d been decked out in my jeans, ball cap, and Rivera jersey, and was ready to send the Yankees into post-season glory. Max had signed an autograph for Walt before tossing me a ball and a marker for my phone number. Thinking of Max reminded me of what Anthony had said at the airport. “Wait!” I exclaimed in sudden horror. “You asked me about Max Guerrero . . . you two aren’t friends, are you?”

His laughter was uproarious, and my stomach flutter with nerves as I listened. At least one of us had found some humor in this. “Um no, actually. I just know of Max, though I can tell you I’m jealous as hell of him.” I wanted to ask what that was supposed to mean, but he pressed on. “Unfortunately, I threw out my rotator cuff in 2008 during my first game in the big leagues. I had surgery, and the manager and trainers tried to rehab me, but it ended up being pointless. I haven’t thrown a baseball since the day they let me go.”

I gasped in shock. What an awful way to end a promising career. “Shit, I am so sorry, Anthony.” I don’t know why I never tried to look him up over the years, but it was probably my own pride that kept me from typing his name into a search engine.

He shook his head and offered me a crooked grin. “Call me Tony. And hey, don’t worry about it,” he reassured me. “It worked out in the long run. I figured out that Mama’s cooking lessons could be put to good use in the culinary world. I opened my own restaurant in New York called
La Mia Farfalla
.”

“You’re kidding me!” I exclaimed, placing my hand on his arm. “You own
La Mia Farfalla
?” He nodded with a raised eyebrow, wondering how I knew of it. It was one of my favorite restaurants, and since it was only a handful of blocks away from my apartment, I ate there often. “I love that place. Do you and your . . . wife . . . own it?” I asked, allowing my question to trail off suggestively. Step one in the plan was a go—seduction.

Tony flushed a little, as much as his dark, olive skin would allow. I sat back on my bar stool, sipping my third vodka on the rocks, and let my eyes drift over him. His jaw was strong, angular, and covered in a five o’clock shadow. I’d distinctly noticed it at the airport, and what a jaw it was. It would feel amazing when it scratched my inner thighs, if the plan worked in my favor anyway. Tony’s eyebrows were thick and arched, and the same deep brown as his hair. Speaking of the hair, sweet Lord—it was a masterpiece. Since he was now wearing it a touch longer than the buzz cut of 2002, it was perfectly styled, thick, and luscious. It begged for me to delve my fingers through it and pull at it as he thrust deep inside me.

“Uh . . . no wife or girlfriend. I was dating an Italian woman, but she was a little too much to handle.” He didn’t need to ask me about my love life—it was everyone’s business according to the tabloids. His blush deepened. Single. Perfect.

Now, step two of the plan could commence: fuck and conquer.

I would make him want me as much as I had wanted him for all those years. I was going to take what I wanted from him before going back to my normal, everyday life. This would be my perfect week-long escape. “Maybe the next time you’re in New York, you can stop by the restaurant? Dinner will be on me, of course,” he declared with a grin.

He hadn’t yet realized that I in fact lived in the Big Apple. “Then I’ll probably stop in next week, if it’s okay with you?” I asked, smirking.

“You sure don’t waste any time, do you, woman?” he asked. If anyone else had said that to me, calling me
woman
in that way, I would have walked out just to prove a point. Maybe it was the liquor, but I was content with sitting there and grinning at him like an absolute idiot. Laughing, he slung back the rest of his Johnnie Walker.

“I live on the Upper West Side.” As soon as the words left my mouth, Tony choked on his Scotch. I patted him fiercely on the back until he had his breathing under control.

He dabbed at his watery eyes and tried to focus them on me. “I had no idea you were in New York. You’re my sister’s favorite designer, and she talks about you being in Europe. How long have you lived in the city?”

“About six years, though I have been in Europe on and off most of the time,” I told him with a shrug. “Since I moved from Park Avenue when I got divorced last year, I’ve eaten at
La Mia Farfalla
every week.” Tony’s eyes widened in surprise. “You guys make a killer cannoli,” I said as my eyes dropped to his crotch. Dammit. I hadn’t meant to flirt so much. I wanted to play the part of the seductress, not the girl with an old crush. However, the way he grinned as he leaned in closer to me told me that my mission was succeeding.

“I haven’t done the cooking in years, but I’ll have to make an exception and create a cannoli just for you.” Innuendo rested heavily in the air between us, and my crimson lips lifted into a devious smile.

What I really wanted was a taste of his cannoli. “I’d like that a lot.”

A few heavy, silent moments passed between us before Tony spoke up. “Were you ever going to call me for that . . .
tour
?” he inquired with hushed, luscious words meant to entice, and I forced my eyes back up to his.

But
I
was the femme fatale, and no matter how charming Tony Ricci was, he wouldn’t be stealing my thunder. With all the confidence I possessed, I leaned toward him until our faces were mere inches apart. “Your number is upstairs beside my phone, just waiting.” His eyes shone with mischief for a brief moment before our mouths met.

I’d never been kissed like that in my life. It was the perfect synchronization of his lips moving against mine, rendering me speechless and leaving my mind a mess of sensation and pleasure. It was all consuming and encompassing.

And it ended much too soon.

My eyes shot open when he pulled away. “Wini, I . . . I want to tell you—” I silenced him as I pushed my hand into the thick hair on the back of his head and pulled him back in, sealing our lips in another searing kiss.

Though completely engrossed in each other, we both managed to pull away long enough to settle the tab. “Charge it to my room,” Tony told the bartender. “309.”

“No,” I warned Tony and turned to the bartender. “Charge it to the Presidential Suite, please.” He looked at me with surprise, as though a woman wasn’t supposed to have that kind of power, but I ignored the question in his eyes. He was about to find out the power I possessed.

His family had moved to Studio City during our junior year, and my mother had mentioned seeing Mrs. Ricci the last time we’d spoken several months earlier, so I was surprised he had a room. “You’re staying here and not with your family?” I asked as we left the bar and moved toward the elevators.

“
You’re
staying here and not with your family?” he shot the question back to me with a laugh and pounded the up arrow several times, obviously trying to make the lift reach us quicker.

“Touché.” I grinned.

“It’s just for tonight. Tomorrow, I’m headed for my mom and dad’s place up on Mulholland. They’re leaving town tonight, so I’ll have the place to myself.” One thing I would never forget about Tony was his love for his family, even if he didn’t want to be the twenty-eight-year-old man staying in their guest room. I frowned at the difference between his relationship with his family and mine, but he grasped my face between his palms and pulled me to him. “Come up to my room, Wini?” he begged with serious, desperate eyes. What woman could resist a man who wanted her with such urgency?

I smirked up to him and asked, “Well, what exactly did you think I was doing by following you?” With a shrug, Tony released my face and pulled me into the elevator as it arrived. He was all seriousness, no playful banter, no drunken excuses for what we were about to do.

As soon as the doors closed, he stalked toward me like the hungry alpha male he was. He trapped my waist in his grasp as he pulled me against himself and attacked my mouth.

The force of his kiss was not of someone exploring or having a wild night. No. Instead, he kissed me with a ferocious hunger—like a man dying of thirst in the desert who’d happened upon an oasis. Tony kissed me as though he knew me inside and out, as though he’d wanted me for years. Despite the headiness of the moment, emotion swelled in my chest. In all the years of marriage, dating, hooking up with men, I’d never been kissed like this, and the awareness of Tony’s lips dancing over mine in mastery left me melting, burning for that fire within him that steamed through my pores. I wanted him to set me ablaze.

We stumbled, bumping into doors and tripping on the carpet, but made it into his room. There, he lifted me until I wrapped my legs around his waist. Tony ground his thick erection against my hot core, and I grew more desperate with each thrust. He kissed a trail across my freckled skin and dipped into the low cut of my outfit.

“How in hell’s name do I get this thing off of you?” he questioned, tugging at my clothing.

“Put me down, and I’ll show you.” He was hesitant to release me, but finally relented, placing me back on my feet. Power raced though my blood as I reached behind me and unzipped the suit. Undone, I turned so he would have a good view of my backside, and I pulled the waves of my hair over my shoulder as I watched him.

He groaned as I let the straps fall from my shoulders and down to my elbows. I lowered my arms, and it dropped to the floor, pooling at my feet. All he could see was the expanse of my back, the rounded curve of my white lace covered ass, and my long legs. It had taken me years of Pilates, yoga, and eating kale to create this body, and I was well rewarded for it with his pained whimper.

“God, Wini, you’re so beautiful.” His hoarse voice scratched the air and sent goose bumps over my flesh. I wondered how much raspier his voice would be after I’d had my way with him.

Smirking, I watched as he removed a pair of blue cufflinks and unbuttoned his dress shirt, dropping it to the floor. Tony’s chest was a solid mass of bronzed muscles. While he didn’t have the physique of a bodybuilder, he was lean and toned—athletic in every perfect way.

He spun me around, pushing me to the wall and pinning me there with his hands on either side of my face as his groin held my lower body still. It was the first time he’d seen my naked breasts—not that he had wanted to look when we were teenagers—and I was proud to show them. He was the god Jupiter, and I offered myself up to him like a sacrifice.

He cupped my breast in one of his hands, squeezing my flesh tightly and drawing a low moan from the back of my throat. Then he continued down the front of my body, letting his hand dance over my abdomen before slipping beneath the lace covering my pussy and stroking at my swollen, aching lips. A wave of lust seized my body, and I tried to squeeze my legs together, but he held them apart with his knees.

“Goddamn, you’re so wet for me.” Tony found my lips again, and he plunged his tongue into my mouth, caressing and teasing before pulling back. “Did I make you this wet when we were in high school, all those times that you sat in the bleachers staring at me? Did you think I didn’t notice you rubbing your thighs together underneath the kitchen table every night that you tutored me?”

I was shocked by his admission—hell, I hadn’t even realized he’d been paying attention to me at all—but if I let him know he was affecting me in such a way, he would gain the upper hand.