What About Love (Club Decadence Book 6) (29 page)

“Ma. You make it out like you’re nursing home material. You’re not old, plus you’ve got more energy than most twenty year olds I know. Regardless, Angie isn’t interested in your beef with me or the Army.”

The grin she flashed his way said the opposite.

“On Sunday, bring your new girl, Antonio. I’d love to get to know her better.”

Sensing T’s unease at the invite and with worlds of unresolved issues between them, Angie doubted this was a good idea.

“I’d love to join you, Mrs. Minelli, unfortunately—”

“No,” she held up her hand, cutting in, “I won’t accept excuses. I hear enough from Antonio. Supper will be at five o’clock sharp, though come early so we can chat. And call me Sophia, please.”

She then strode back to her son. Stopping in front of him, she gave him a satisfied smile, her red tipped fingers reaching up to pat his cheek.

“You got your way, Ma, don’t push it.” He uttered his warning under his breath. “I’ve gotta run,” he glanced over at Angie, “again. I only stopped by to pick up some equipment.” Dutifully, he kissed his mother on the proffered cheek and with a nod to Angie strode down the hall.

“It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Minelli.”

“It’s Portman, actually. I remarried when Tonio was five. His papa passed when he was very small.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“My boy, he’s had a lot of loss for one so young. It’s why he is like he is.”

“How is that?”

“Closed down.” She gazed down the hall where her son had disappeared, a look of sadness and longing on her face. Glancing back at Angie, she queried, “So, are you two close?” Her eyes gleamed with hope. Angie could hear it in her tone as well. His mother surely obviously knew whatever it was in his past that made him so reserved when it came to relationships and Angie strongly suspected it had nothing to do with the Army. Those relationships were sound, strong and had endured for a decade. No, there was something more and she’d do almost anything to find out what it was.

Not wanting to get her hopes up, she replied, “We’re friends,” not really knowing what else to call them herself. “What can I bring for supper on Sunday?” Angie’s attempt to change the subject worked like a charm.

“Absolutely nothing, except your pretty face and my boy. Getting stood up for lunch with him is bad enough, dinner would be wholly unacceptable.”

“I’ll do my best to get him there, Sophia, and on time.”

She grinned at that. “If you can, Angelina, you have more pull over him than me, which would be promising.”

Heat crept into her face again, and her stomach fluttered. If that were only true. She ended their impromptu visit quickly. “Well, I must be getting back, he was right. I have tons to do. I’ll look forward to Sunday.”

“Wonderful. Me, too,” she said with a big smile and a wave. “Ciao, bella.”

As she walked back to her office, she repeated Sophia’s hope filled words. “Yes, very promising indeed.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Her doorbell rang promptly at six. As soon as she opened the screen, T stepped inside, bringing with him a glorious aroma. Loaded down with several carry out containers, with a bottle of wine tucked under his arm, he bent and planted a brief open mouthed kiss on her lips before heading down the hall to her kitchen.

“Iron Cactus,” he tossed over his shoulder as he turned the corner. A second later, he peeked back around and declared with the emotion of a man that enjoyed his Mexican food, “Tournedos de Tejas, baby. Gotta eat ‘em while they’re hot.”

Closing and locking the door, she followed the mouthwatering man with the mouthwatering food from the best Mexican restaurant in town. Her stomach growled as she walked up to her small dining table, the grilled steak aroma much more distinct as T opened the containers.

“Get glasses for the wine, I think they have everything else covered.”

She crossed to her lighted, glass hutch and retrieved two wine glasses which she rarely used. When she came back, he was making himself right at home in her kitchen, opening and closing drawers until he found the corkscrew.

She didn’t care, ogling the grilled steak medallions in a sweet chipotle glaze that was one of the restaurant’s signature dishes, and her favorite. She also approved of the green chile mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus, the two sides the same that she usually ordered whenever she dined in about once a month.

While he uncorked the wine, she took it all in, wondering how he knew.

“Did you run into Megan today?”

He took one of the glasses from her hand and poured. “No. Why?”

“You got all of my favorites.” She said this as she relinquished the other wine glass to him and took a seat.

As he poured himself a full glass, he grinned. “Mine too. Good to know you have excellent taste.” Having avoided the question, he passed her a set of plastic wrapped utensils and a napkin, then sat, not waiting another minute to dig in. “Mm,” he moaned, closing his eyes at the first taste. “I’ve been away too long. I haven’t had my Iron Cactus fix in months.”

With only a pack of crackers from the downstairs vending machine as a late lunch, Angie’s stomach was gnawing at her backbone. She forked up a spicy bite, her groan replicating T’s enjoyment.

“Try the wine,” he urged. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I picked a Shiraz, one of my favorites.”

Not knowing a Shiraz from a Chablis, Angie took a sip. As the chilled wine hit her tongue, she was thankful it was sweet and red, which was all her unsophisticated palate could handle.

She eyed him speculatively. “Have you had Jack running surveillance on me on the sly?”

He grinned. “Confession time. Regan was in the office this afternoon and I pumped her for information.”

She laughed. “I’m actually relieved. For a moment there I thought you were a mind reader, or worse, a stalker. I suppose I should fess up as well.”

“To what?”

“I know my frozen margaritas and how to shoot tequila, but when it comes to wine, sadly, I haven’t a clue. I brought it in a box to a party once and was almost tossed to the curb. I’ve also been known to ask for ice when it’s supposed to be room temperature and have watered a few potted plants with it at parties in the past. If it isn’t sweet and red, I usually skip it. So again,” she raised her glass and took another sip, “it’s perfect.”

His eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched her take a bite of the tender steak.

“You can have a few of my case files if this is the result of your in-depth investigative skills.”

“If you’ll work them with me, count me in.”

Chewing thoughtfully for a moment, she frowned suddenly and put down her fork. “Okay, what gives? Who are you and what have you done with Antonio Minelli?”

He also put down his fork and reached for her hand. “I apologized for that this morning and I meant it. I wasn’t intentionally playing you, but you’ve got me so mad for you, I’m having a hard time figuring which way is up.”

“What exactly are you saying, T? Just cut to the chase.”

“I want you, Angie. We’re like fused dynamite and a match. I want to explore that more.”

She tried to pull her hand back, but he didn’t let go. “So this is about sex?” Disappointed, she looked down at her plate, no longer hungry.

“No. If I was the old T and this was only about sex, we would have been done in L.A. I know that makes me sound like a player, but I’ve operated like that for years and it’s worked for me until now. With you, I’m finding I want more.”

“That makes you sound like a jerk and a player, T.” Silently, she processed what he’d said. “Can you define more?”

“No.”

“T!”

“Sorry, darlin’, it’s been a long time since I’ve had more.”

Wanting to have a clear picture of what he was proposing, she didn’t sugar coat her words. “So, what are you thinking? Dating? Sex? Fucking once a week on the sly? Full on Master and slave on the main stage at the club? What?”

Clearly shocked, he sat back, pondering the ceiling as he speared his fingers through his hair in a familiar sign of frustration. After a moment, his chin dropped and his gaze bored into her. “None of it.”

“What?”

“Not the Master/slave extreme,” he explained, “that’s not what I’m about. And once a week?” He shook his head. “Hardly. Also, I’m not doing anything on the sly. As for dating,” here he grinned, “I think we’re beyond that, don’t you?”

“And the sex?”

“I can do the main stage at the club, if you’re game, but it isn’t a deal breaker.”

She swallowed, imagining being naked under T’s control on center stage again. Thinking it was better to ignore that for right now, she pressed on, “What does beyond dating mean exactly? Would we go out? Like, in public, going out to dinner, or the movies, that sort of thing?”

“You seem more concerned about that than the sex and BDSM.”

She flushed. “That’s because a night at the movies was never an option with you. So I’m surprised. The other—”

“What about the other? You liked it, didn’t you? The flogging, the violet wand—although I hated someone else giving you that pleasure—I could tell by your cries and the way your body arched toward the electrode and my lash that you really enjoyed them both, and then there was you and me on the carousel…”

Her gaze dropped again, talking plainly about kink over dinner was something she’d never thought to happen.

“Angie. Look at me.”

Her lashes lifted and she met his gaze.

“Tell me you liked it.”

“I did, T, but mostly only what I did with you.”

“The electricity wasn’t by my hand, darlin’.”

“Well, except that.” She shrugged without explanation. “I guess that’s my thing, huh?”

He grinned. “I hear it becomes every sub’s thing once they’ve tried it. It works for me. Though I foresee another trip to L.A. in my future. I’ll need to get some advanced lessons on electric play from Eric. Other than a zapper, I’m a novice, but eager to learn. As for the rest, I’ll enjoy teaching you and exploring new things. Maybe we’ll find out Angie is a multiple kinks kind of submissive.”

Feeling as though her face would burst into flames any second, she grabbed her wine and drained the glass.

“Easy,” he warned, a touch of command in his voice that made her ears, as well as her other body parts, perk up and take heed. “I have plans for dessert and you being soused again would spoil them.”

“I’ll get a glass of water, instead.”

“Good idea,” he said, hiding a smile as he returned to his plate.

When she came back, she stood and watched him for a moment.

“I can see the wheels turning, baby. Ask what you want to ask.”

“You are a mind reader.”

“No, I’m observant, like most Doms. Spill, before you burst.”

“What makes you think I’m submissive? What if I only like the kinky games?”

“If sex is the extent of your submission, I can work with that. A lot of the women at the club are sexual submissives. They maintain careers, own businesses, volunteer in the community, go to school, run households, raise their children, and chair the PTA. You name it, Doms and subs come in all shapes, sizes, classes and occupations.” He pointed at her untouched plate with his fork. “I suggest we table this discussion until later, though. Tournedos de Tejas, as I said, is a dish best served and consumed hot. Sit down and eat up.”

She nodded, folding into her chair and picking up her fork.

“Submissive.”

“What?” she mumbled around a mouthful of potatoes.

“I gave you an order and you obeyed. You’re submissive. Maybe not as overtly as some, but it’s there.”

“More like I’m hungry,” she countered, not admitting to anything. “Besides, I’m used to being around bossy men.”

“Or perhaps you seek them out because it makes you more comfortable.”

Her mouth hung open at his suggestion. Could that be true?

“What are all Rossi men, darlin’?”

“Arrogant alpha males?”

He quirked a brow in her direction, not denying the fact. “We’re dominants.”

“Well, there is that too,” she deadpanned.

Clearly amused, he couldn’t keep from grinning. He also changed the subject, chatting about other things, non-sexual things, believe it or not, during the rest of the meal. She learned he lived about twenty minutes out of town in a house sitting on twenty acres of land that his grandparents had left him. They raised horses there and although most had been sold when they’d passed, T still had two that he rode daily when he was at home. Other than his “little piece of heaven” as he called it, his time was spent working at Rossi and at the club, which he referred to as his social and leisure time activities. He mentioned nothing about his romantic past that would have led to his love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of lifestyle.

In turn, he inquired about her childhood and family. There wasn’t much to tell, her formative years without any major drama. Like T, her father was an Army man. As such, she’d moved around a lot as a kid, both in the states and abroad. When Angie had come of age, she was determined to put down roots, tired of pulling up stakes every two years or more. She’d chosen San Antonio, her mother’s hometown, where most of the Sinclair family still lived, including her dad’s older brother—another Army man—who was Megan and Regan’s father. She attended college at UT San Antonio like the twins and the rest he knew.

“Why haven’t you ever married?”

“Wrong time, wrong man, wrong…” She shook her head. “Just wrong. I’m not sure why, but things never worked out.”

“I know why.”

“You do?”

His head cocked slightly to the side as he smiled softly. “It felt wrong and was wrong because you weren’t seeing the right type of man. None of them were dominant enough for you.”

She snorted.

He smiled. “I have some insight into this, so hear me out. Your dad was an Army man. In command. He liked order, structure and expected when he told you to do something that you’d hop to it. You chose police work for the same reason, order and structure. When all that corruption went down with Stapleton, it rocked your well-ordered world. Now you’re at Rossi working for the biggest bunch of dominant men you will ever find. Are you seeing a pattern here?”