Tempted in the City (2 page)

Which simply wouldn't do.

“Yes, of course, Luca and...” She drew a blank. “Forgive me. I don't remember your other brother's name...”

“Dom,” Tony said, lips twitching.

“Ah, right.” She couldn't imagine what he found so amusing. “Dom,” she said. “But it was your father with whom I had discussed the changes to my original contract.”

Something flickered and died in Tony Paladino's eyes before she had a chance to interpret it, which was odd, because she could read most people in seconds.

“I understand,” he said slowly, with a fair dollop of condescension.

That had to stop, as well.

“Look, I know my father is the best in the business, but he trained me from the time I could hold a wrench. I'm not just taking over the work, but our commitment to excellence. If there was a misunderstanding we'll fix it.”

Giving him a once-over she wasn't shy about, Catherine couldn't decide if she believed him or if she
wanted
to believe him. The company did have a good reputation. And while she didn't think they meant to scam her, they were most likely booked up to their eyeballs and couldn't afford the extra time for the restoration. Tearing down something and then slapping something else back up was quicker, easier and cheaper.

She opened up the coffee canister and started scooping the grounds into the pot. But her thoughts went straight back to Tony.

She guessed him to be in his early thirties, and his looks made it hard to believe he was all work and no play, but he was here and so far hadn't made any slippery moves. If she didn't count that sexy mouth of his. Well, it wasn't as if he'd picked it out of a catalog.

“From what I understand, you and my father talked about restoring as much of the original building as possible?”

That he'd cut straight to the heart of the matter startled her. She nodded, and almost lost count of the scoops. “Yes. The last time we spoke, I explained my wishes explicitly. He said he'd type up the notes and add them to the original contract, and that he'd find the right person to supervise the project. I've fallen hopelessly in love with the art deco and art nouveau of the 1930s, and I know there are remnants all over the building.

“Your father pointed out the dumbwaiter, fireplaces, crown molding, old tile patterns, the staircase and some of the door arches. And that was just a cursory look. I've seen wall plates and drawer pulls that I want to keep.” She dumped in the last of the grounds and glanced back at him. “Don't get me wrong, I do want modern conveniences, of course, but if we could bring back the glamour of the bronze and silver
accoutrements
,” she said, using the French pronunciation of one of her favorite words, “I'd be thrilled.”

Tony looked around the room for a moment, then settled his gaze on her. He didn't speak, though, and it was becoming a little awkward, but she made it a point not to turn away first.

“All right,” he said, finally, with a mysterious little smile. “I'll look for his notes, but even if I can't find them, I'll make sure you get what you want.”

Catherine sighed with relief. While she was fully prepared to stand up for herself, she didn't enjoy confrontations. And if she were to be completely honest, she would've hated for Joseph or his son to disappoint her. Part of what had drawn her to this small community was the people and their culture. One she'd come to love because of her late nanny.

Belaflore Calabrese had grown up in Little Italy, and had started working for her family as a housekeeper when Catherine's parents lived in New York. She'd traveled with them to Europe and had practically raised Catherine. Belaflore had told her stories of this very house and Little Italy that Catherine still recalled with great fondness.

“The first order of business will be to take a full inventory of all the architectural details,” Tony said. “We'll do that while Sal finishes up with the structural repairs. We'll see what we can find. Not everything hidden is going to be a gem.” Tony frowned, took a quick look at his watch. “My father didn't give you a quote, did he?”

All her hope and faith vanished in an instant. This was where they had her all tied up in a neat little bow. They could name any price they wanted. A figure so great they would dissuade her from the project, or make a sizable profit even if they had to push back other clients.

Catherine sighed. Much as she hated the thought, it seemed the charming Tony Paladino and his father would disappoint her, after all.

2

T
ONY
WASN
'
T
SURE
what had just happened. A few seconds ago things were warming up between him and Ms. Fox, but then she seemed to deflate.

Money. It was always about money. But she had to know that if she wanted to go all out on the restoration, it wasn't going to be cheap. “I won't be able to give you a full estimate until after you've made your decisions. My father must have mentioned this kind of restoration could be costly.”

Her nod was cool. Brief. “Yes. I understand.”

“Hey, I'm not trying to discourage you,” Tony said, really paying attention. Wanting her to smile again, the one where her blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “You might have to do some nipping and tucking, but we'll find a way to stay within your budget.”

“That's what your father told me,” she said, leading him to the couch, where she sat across from him in the one uncovered chair. They were really close, their knees inches apart. “But he also told me that he would make sure to amend the contract before the renovation crew made their final decisions about plumbing and the electrical system.”

She tugged her skirt down, then met Tony's gaze again. “Before you ask,” she said, “I'll still want the rooms to be larger. One thing I disliked about living in Europe were all the tiny spaces. I'm five foot nine, and I felt like Alice after she swallowed the growing potion.”

Tony grinned, glad to see she had her sense of humor back. He'd been right, then. She was concerned about the cost—and of course, the contract amendment—but there was nothing he could do but give her an honest appraisal. She'd probably been screwed before and was wary. He couldn't blame her.

He checked his watch again, careful to leave himself enough time to shower before he saw Rita, but there was still time to banish Catherine's worries. “There's no reason for you not to have all the space you want. Most of the remodeling we do on these old houses is combining rooms. It seems everyone wants open-concept floor plans these days, so we've gotten pretty creative about them. It's a nice surprise to have someone who wants to preserve the history of the building. I actually have someone in mind who'll be a very good fit for the restoration.”

“So you won't be doing the work?”

“Not personally, no. Not now that I've taken over the office. But I've worked hands-on with all my crews, and they don't last unless they're the best.”

“Taken over? What about your father?”

Tony hadn't wanted to say, but he supposed there was no secret as to what had happened. He just didn't want her to think he was second best. “Dad's had some health issues. His doctor advised him to step away from work. Some guys have all the luck, huh?”

His attempt to lighten the mood had fallen flat. Her lips were parted, but she didn't rush to speak. And again, he watched this chameleon of a woman change before his eyes. The unmistakable look of sympathy made her brow crease, her deep blue eyes darken. “I'm so sorry.”

“He's fine. Really. It'll take him a while to adjust, but he's gonna be around for a long time. And he'll still make sure we don't do anything he wouldn't approve of.”

Catherine leaned forward just enough that he could see a few millimeters of her creamy skin where her blouse showed off her long neck. “Please don't think I was questioning your ability.”

He cleared his throat, which gave him just enough time to remember the thread of their conversation. “Nope. It never crossed my mind. The business has been in the family for generations, and we've made it this long on referrals.”

“I swear I'm not making up this restoration amendment.”

“Catherine.” Leaning toward her, Tony nearly reached for her hand before he caught himself. “Ms. Fox—”

“Catherine is fine,” she said, with an unexpectedly shy smile.

He nodded. “I didn't believe for a single second that you were lying.” What had thrown him was that he'd almost made the mistake of touching her. “I meant what I said about your budget. You'll be in charge all the way. Well, the state and the city have a lot of sway here, so they'll win most of those battles.”

She nodded, looked past his shoulder, then closed her eyes for a moment.

Catherine was an attractive woman. If he had to guess, he'd say she was in her late twenties. But that was based on her confidence and the way she carried herself. There was something about her face that made her look younger and, while not innocent, exactly, protected. That was why he'd almost screwed up. If he'd touched her she might have fired him on the spot and no one would have blamed her, least of all him. She was a client, for God's sake.

Shit. He'd never done anything like that before. It wasn't like him.

He needed to stop staring. It didn't help that her clothes affected him almost as much as her face. But...a black skirt that skimmed her thighs down to her kneecaps. A starched white blouse. How was that so hot? And yet...

She looked at him again, and when her fingers brushed her blond hair back, leaving trails in their wake, he was mesmerized.

The coffee gave one last loud gurgle, and she stood up so quickly he jerked back and jarred the whole couch. He took the opportunity to take a few heartening breaths before he followed her. Whatever the hell was going on with him was nuts. He didn't know her. She wasn't the kind of woman he typically went for.

Not that he was looking to go for any woman at the moment. Except for Rita. Safe, fun, comfortable Rita. That was who he should be thinking about. So, Catherine Fox? Transference. That was all this was. After tonight things would go back to normal.

Before he reached the kitchen, he checked his phone. He always turned it to Vibrate when he was with a client. So far, no messages, which was a good sign.

Joining Catherine at the counter, he bumped her shoulder as she turned, and she dropped a teaspoon.

“Sorry,” he said, and bent to pick it up, but so did she and they almost collided.

“Oh.”

He heard her breath stutter, a little gasp right in his ear. Instead of picking up the spoon, he steadied Catherine, his hand on her shoulder. The exact wrong move he'd just lectured himself about.

Her eyes widened and she made a sound. It was a blend of a squeal and a whimper, setting off a chain reaction that went all the way down his body.

He lowered his hand and they both straightened. He caught a glimpse of pink-splashed cheeks before she turned away. He stepped back, stealing a second to adjust himself and will his dick to knock it off.

“Cream? Sugar?” Her voice was completely controlled. Not what he'd expected.

“Uh...”

“I've also got honey, but that's more for tea.”

Okay, so she wasn't quite as unruffled as she'd sounded. Coffee, though. Something to do with his mouth instead of sticking his foot in it. “Black is fine, thanks.”

She got a new spoon, poured and added a packet of raw sugar to her cup. No more pink on her cheeks. Just silky smooth skin, pale and perfect.

“I'm used to living in major cities,” she said, and he tried to remember the last thing they'd discussed, but came up blank.

“My last apartment was in London and that was ridiculously expensive. Worth it, though. I loved living there. I almost kept it, but that didn't seem very practical. I think New York is a better fit. There's a rhythm to the city that revs me up. I like the bustle and the sounds. The smells could be improved, but all in all, I'm glad I moved.”

Europe, London, New York? He wondered what she did for a living. Something glamorous, he imagined. Definitely high up the social ladder.

They were back at the couch again, and her calm speech had relaxed him enough to gather his wits. “Listen, I have some time before my next appointment. Why don't you tell me more about what you're looking for in your overall plan?”

“Oh.” She put her cup down on the end table next to her chair. “Please. Take a seat,” she said, nodding at the couch. “I've collected some pictures.”

“Ah, good.”

“You don't mind?”

“Nope, the more I learn about what you like, the easier it will be to make your wishes come true.”

She gave him a smile that made him grin back, and then she was gone. She returned quickly, holding a thick binder.

He'd moved over so she could sit beside him on the couch. Before she joined him, she twirled around before she found her coffee cup on the small table by the single chair.

“Don't worry,” she said, “you don't have to look at everything. I'll just give you an idea of what I like, so that we don't have to go into a lot of detail until we catalog what I've got. Does that sound all right?”

“Excellent.” Crazy, but that twirl of hers had thrown him off. He wasn't worried about her design book, just making a fool of himself. “I'm all yours.”

She flipped open the cover of the binder. He immediately saw a slew of colored tabs labeled with black markers. At first, it wasn't easy to pay attention to the pictures, or the conversation, when all he really wanted was to watch her expressive face. Inhale her exotic scent. But her enthusiasm won in the end.

Her taste was eclectic—there were styles from Shaker to Asian, although he could see her heart belonged to art deco. But as she described the rooms, he could see how the styles would fit together into something uniquely hers.

There was a whole section on Little Italy alone, and while she refilled their coffee cups for the second time he looked at the pictures of the different buildings he'd either visited, studied or worked on. So much had changed in the last sixteen years. He knew that the changes had begun a long time before that, but ever since he'd started at NYU, he'd really paid attention.

Just like the rest of the city, Little Italy real estate had been hit with skyrocketing prices. Most of the people his folks had grown up with had moved to Queens, New Jersey or somewhere warm.

With each turn of the page his old appreciation for the history of his neck of the woods was reawakened. It could be an amazing place, if one landed on the right street, in the right building.

“What drew you here?” he asked. “I mean to this neighborhood. This house?”

Catherine absently ran her hand over a picture of a white bedroom suite. “I was familiar with the building. And I know how rare it is to find any single family homes here.”

“You already have a buyer in mind?”

Her eyebrows drew down. “A buyer? No. This is my house. I want to live the rest of my life right here.”

She wasn't flipping the place? She'd make a lot of money, especially once it was remodeled. Unfortunately, she hadn't moved into the right building at all. Not with those two neighbors on either side of her. He loved the neighborhood for the most part, but it was a tight community. It would be different if she'd settled on the fringes. As it was, the old ladies who'd kept their single family homes for generations would never make her feel welcome.

“Tony? Is there something wrong?”

He relaxed his shoulders and his attitude. “No. I'm just used to people making the old tenement buildings into either commercial properties or multiple dwellings. The prices just keep going up, so there's a lot of flipping, especially now that the old Little Italy is becoming an extension of Nolita on one end and Chinatown on the other. From what you've told me, you'd make a killing after the restoration and renovation. So I assumed.”

“No. This is the house for me. I only lived in London for a year, and I knew it wasn't permanent. I've never really had a home of my own. Can't imagine a more wonderful place to start. It's why I'm being so picky about everything. I'm only sorry I haven't met any of my neighbors, or even had the chance to truly explore what's around me. But I've got time. Assuming the renovation doesn't do me in.”

He smiled, but the mood that had carried them away while looking at her dream book turned sour in his gut. She might love this house, make it into a showplace of what could be done to combine the new sensibilities with the old craftsmanship. But damn, she was facing an uphill battle.

The old-timers were stuck in the past. Most of them railed against any change at all. They wanted the customs of their childhoods, the shops and open-air markets. Half the people living in these older buildings, which they'd had no compunction turning into twenty-first-century, easy-living units, still hung their laundry out their windows. But they weren't friendly to people they considered interlopers.

Should he tell her now? Make sure she understood what she was getting into?

His gaze moved down to her book of dreams and he knew he couldn't. Maybe her restoration would make the difference. It could happen. And he wouldn't be the one to take that opportunity away.

Something buzzed. A tone he didn't recognize. Catherine's cell phone. She got up to find her purse, and Tony looked at his watch once more.

His heart sank like a stone. Two hours had gone by. Two
hours
, which had felt like fifteen minutes. He pulled out his cell phone and saw four texts he'd missed. One was from Gina, the others from Rita.

He could tell by her well-chosen, very succinct words Rita was beyond pissed that he'd stood her up. No way she would talk to him even if he did call. But at least he could text her an apology. And beg for forgiveness. He knew Rita. Despite everything, she'd be willing to hook up at the next opportunity.

When Catherine walked back into the room, he understood exactly why time had flown. It was a shame he wouldn't be able to work on the restoration with her. Although it was probably for the best.

Catherine Fox was a client. An important one. This was no time to get distracted. Not when his family was counting on him. And sadly, odds were she'd be packing up soon enough. Catherine would never belong here in Little Italy.