Everyone loves New York...but they lust after red-hot bachelor Dom Paladino!

In the loud, vibrant Little Italy community, family is just as important as history. Dominic might be the youngest—and most charming—of the Paladino brothers, but he wants a future that doesn’t involve the family business. He also wants temptingly sexy Sara Moretti...and he’s not letting a little thing like “bad blood” keep him away.

Sara’s never forgiven Dom for hurting her feelings all those years ago. So how come her heart beats like crazy every time he stops by her family’s pizza shop? Suddenly she’s having a seriously hot, X-rated fling with the guy she used to hate. It can’t possibly last. But in the Big Apple, half the fun comes from rewriting history...

“We can take this as slowly as you want,” Dom murmured.

Sara glanced down at his aroused body as they sprawled across his bed. “Uh, it looks like slow is the last thing you need.”

“I’ll be fine.” Dom smiled. When he kissed her, it was gentle. Sweet. She’d wanted things to be wild, untamed. This fantasy was turning into a soap opera.

His hand cupped the back of her neck, and with the tip of his tongue he brushed the seam between her lips. His other hand caressed her breast and teased the nipple.

Something clicked and she kissed him back, letting everything else go. Right this moment, this kiss, his tongue, the taste of him, the way he breathed, was all that existed.

He didn’t hurry her or make her feel anything but special. His low moan made that thrill slip down her back again, and she found herself melting inside, all kinds of sensations wakening once more.

He wasn’t the boy of her memories, or the man she’d imagined.

He was so much better. Hotter. Sexier...

Dear Reader,

Well, here it is. My last Harlequin Blaze. It seems impossible. I’ve loved this series ever since I wrote my first Blaze back in 2001. I was thrilled that my editor, Birgit Davis-Todd, thought of me for the launch, and I’ve been privileged to write thirty-seven Blaze stories since then.

Seduced in the City is set in my beloved New York and is the final book in the NYC Bachelors trilogy.

Dominic Paladino is a natural-born charmer, and now that he’s finally leaving the family business, everyone knows he’s destined to take the world by storm.

Sara Moretti has returned to the neighborhood after being away at college, and is working at her family’s pizza parlor while she finishes her MA. She’d had a crush on Dom since she was twelve.

Only, the boy she’d loved from afar broke her teenage heart, and she made a foolish mistake in return. Foolish enough that it rippled through her life right up until the day he reappeared ten years later.

Now they not only need to work through their troubled past, but they’re faced with some serious decisions that could impact their families, their neighborhood and most important, the love that’s taken them both by surprise.

I hope you enjoy Dom and Sara’s story, and that we meet again soon between the pages of more stories from the heart.

All my best wishes,

Jo Leigh

Seduced in the City

Jo Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JO LEIGH is from Los Angeles and always thought she’d end up living in Manhattan. So how did she end up in Utah in a tiny town with a terrible internet connection, being bossed around by a houseful of rescued cats and dogs? What the heck, she says, predictability is boring. Jo has written more than sixty novels for Harlequin. Find her on Twitter, @jo_leigh.

To Birgit Davis-Todd, who’s believed in me and my work since 1997.

I can’t think of a better thing that’s happened to me in my Harlequin career.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Extract

Copyright

1

ELLIE, SARA MORETTI’S little sister, hung up the phone and twirled around as if she’d just won the lottery. “The Paladinos want their regular order,” she called back into the kitchen. “Two large, one pepperoni, one veggie, one order of ziti.” She turned to Sara, her smile so broad it must have hurt. “I think Dom’s coming to pick it up.”

Dom.

The tray slipped out of Sara’s hands and bounced on the linoleum floor with a loud clang.

Laughing, Ellie scooped it up for her. “Butterfingers.”

Jeanette stuck her head out from the kitchen. “Everyone okay?”

“Fine.” Sara took the tray from her sister and went straight to the sink to wash it.

She hadn’t thought about Dominic Paladino in a long while. And clearly she couldn’t afford to think about him now. Her pulse had ratcheted up. Her heart was trying out for the gymnastics team, and so was her stomach.

The last time she’d seen him was right there at Moretti’s Pizza Parlor the day before she’d left for George Washington University, seven years ago. He’d been sitting at a table with two of his jock friends, his dark hair slicked back, his damp T-shirt straining across his broad shoulders and clinging to his lightly muscled chest. They’d just come from a soccer game after trampling their opponents, a team from the next block over. Sara had hid in the back while Jeanette waited on their table.

She glanced around, wondering what Ellie was up to. Was she staring? Had she already moved on? Of course she had. To her, Sara had dropped a tray. That’s all. Ellie didn’t know about Sara’s long-ago crush on Dom, or what he’d said to shatter her young heart into a million pieces. No one had known about any of it because Sara had kept it to herself. Sort of... Years later she’d let her temper get the better of her and made a mistake that had cost her more than she could’ve imagined.

Ellie was checking on her table and laughing with the customers, so Sara relaxed. The place had barely changed. The old redbrick walls still looked as if they’d been put together by a bunch of drunks, the family-style tables still had red-checkered cloths, although she’d hoped they’d been replaced.

But it was home, and although she’d made more money serving cocktails in Washington, DC, in one night than she’d make here in a week, she was glad to be back in Little Italy.

“Bet you’re surprised Dom is still here,” Jeanette said from behind her.

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” She shrugged. “I guess I figured he’d be living out in Hollywood or someplace.”

“Nah,” Jeannette said, staring at the tray. Probably wondering if Sara had washed the aluminum off by now. The woman wasn’t related by blood, but she’d been working there for over twenty years, so she was practically a Moretti. “The whole family’s been sticking close to home since the old man had a second heart attack.”

“Second? Oh, that’s too bad,” Sara said, meaning it. She’d known the Paladinos since she was a little kid. Her mom and Dom’s mom had been friends since childhood, but Sara mostly knew them from church.

Jeanette smiled. “Joe’s a tough old bird.”

“I’m surprised my mom didn’t mention it.”

Jeanette took the tray to dry it. In a hushed voice she asked, “If Dom comes in, are you gonna hide in the back?”

Sara looked at her and laughed. “I was a shy nerd back then. Let him try pissing me off now.”

Jeanette chuckled. “I might pay to see that.”

“Who are you talking about?” Ellie popped up out of nowhere.

“No one you know,” Sara said, drying her hands.

“Bet I do.”

“Then let me rephrase. None of your business.”

Jeanette grinned and shook her head.

Ellie huffed, grabbed some napkins and went back to her table.

Up until ninth grade Sara had gone to an all-girls Catholic school and hadn’t seen much of Dom. But that had in no way stopped her from having a major crush on him, just like most of the girls in her class. Hell, the whole school. Every guy had wanted to be Dom, and all the girls had wanted him.

“His brother Tony’s getting married,” Ellie said, joining them behind the counter again.

“Whose brother?”

“Excuse me, ladies,” Jeanette said with a little smile. “Gotta go back to the kitchen before Carlo starts yelling.”

“Dom.” Ellie stared at Sara as if she’d finally lost her last brain cell.

“Oh, of course. Silly me.”

Ellie ignored the sarcasm. “I wonder if Dom is going to be the best man. Can you imagine him in a tux?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Sara said, not surprised, really. “Tell me you don’t have a thing for that guy. For God’s sake, he’s a year older than me, and you think I’m the Crypt Keeper.”

“You’re almost thirty.” Lifting her chin, Ellie left to go wipe down table five, where a gang of slobs, also known as high school kids, had left their mark everywhere from the tablecloth to the floor.

“I’m twenty-seven, thank you. But I believe I’ve made my point.”

Ellie sighed. “Have you met any seventeen-year-old boys? They’re disgusting.”

“You think that changes when they turn twenty-eight?”

“He’s hot. And he doesn’t look old.” Ellie’s cheeks got splotchy. Poor kid had a blush like a rash. Although she was so pretty it didn’t really make a difference. With her waist-length brown hair and her big green eyes, she was the beauty of the family.

Sara had been the brainy one, but all that had gotten her was an almost-completed master’s degree and a load of student debt.

“So, I assume he’s still single?” Sara said, and got another funny look from Ellie. “Since you’re shamelessly mooning over him.”

Her sister broke out in laughter. “Mooning? Jeez, Sara, you sound like Nonna.”

Sara came out from behind the counter and snatched a pair of salt-and-pepper shakers that needed refilling. “Don’t change the subject.”

“What, like you did when I asked about you and Robert?”

“Oh, my God. Why did I come back here?” Sara heard a call from the kitchen and she went to get the order ready for the Cho family. Chinatown pretty much surrounded Little Italy now. Most of their customers lived there, or in Nolita or SoHo. At least people still kept coming to their place, even if they had other pizza joints closer. Thank goodness they kept getting those “Best in New York” awards.

Not that they were making a lot of money. Enough to keep up with the cost of living, but that was about it. Fortunately, their rent was still amazingly cheap, so they weren’t about to make any changes. What would her parents do if they didn’t run this place? As the sign above the marquee proudly proclaimed, Moretti’s had been in the family since 1931.

She thought about Robert as she sliced the large Sicilian pie, then closed the box. He’d been in Rome for two months now, and while they talked two or three times a week, she wasn’t quite sure where that left their relationship. For the three years she’d known Robert, he’d wanted to work for Inside the Vatican. More than he wanted anything, including her. Oh, he’d argue otherwise, but she knew better.

There were two salads to go, which she put in the cold bag, along with the liter of soda. Then she stuck it all on the pickup counter and turned to the next pizza while Jeannette caught another phone order. The dinner hour had just begun and they were already slammed. Especially with that birthday party for twelve coming up.

The bell above the door rang, but instead of Mike Cho, it was Dominic who walked into the restaurant.

Sara stilled, and in the span of a second she was thirteen years old again, a geeky, flat-chested, mousy little girl who’d cried for two whole nights, convinced her life was over.

He’d changed. Broader chest, a hint of a five o’clock shadow on his strong jaw, his swagger more assured. He’d been the best-looking guy in school, but now he might just be the best-looking guy in New York. His eyes seemed darker, and his hair looked like her fingers would get lost in those thick brown waves, and for heaven’s sake, even his smile had gotten more charming.

As if she didn’t dislike him enough already.

But it certainly made sense that Ellie had a crush on him. One quick glance at Jeannette, and yep, she wasn’t immune either. Sara remembered how she’d written Mrs. Dominic Paladino, Mrs. Sara Paladino and Mrs. Sarafina Paladino ad nauseum on a half dozen notebooks starting at age twelve. Which stopped abruptly at age thirteen, after that day. She’d destroyed notebooks, journal entries, anything that mentioned him, purging him from her life.

The next year it was time to make the big switch to high school. Even though she’d begged her parents to let her go to the all-girls Catholic school in Midtown, they’d sent her to Loyola. The school ruled by Dom and all his jock friends.

Lucky for her, he’d barely acknowledged that she was alive.

At least now she could return the favor.

* * *

DOM PALADINO HAD been grateful to get out of his folks’ house for a little while. The conversation had turned to Tony’s wedding. Again. Even with Catherine’s parents all the way in Europe, everyone, including them, felt compelled to throw in their two cents.

Poor Catherine had been getting it from both sides. She was trying her best to keep the affair to a manageable size but her folks—both diplomats who had about a million political “friends” that had to be invited—didn’t seem to know the meaning of compromise. At this rate, they’d have to get St. Patrick’s Cathedral to hold them all. Dom had told Tony to elope a dozen times, but had his eldest brother listened? Fine. His business, his problem. Just as Dom had left the house, the discussion had turned to the relatives who still lived in Italy that should be on the guest—

His thoughts skidded to a halt. Was that Sara?

Holy shit, she’d...blossomed.

He greeted Ellie and Jeannette in his usual manner, but his gaze was magnetically drawn to Sara Moretti. He hadn’t seen her in years and damn, she looked hot. Gorgeous light brown hair that hit just below her shoulders. And those eyes of hers. If he’d had any doubt she was Sara, those big hazel eyes would’ve confirmed it. He tried to imagine that skinny, shy kid with braces from his past, but her transformation was too impressive. Probably still smart as could be, though. “Sara?”

She gave him an abrupt nod, then turned her back to slice a large pizza.

Above the piped-in Italian music, he heard Ellie gasp.

He didn’t get it. Why had Sara been so curt? He tried to remember if he’d done anything bad to her back in the day. He didn’t think so. Yeah, at times he’d been an arrogant little shit in high school, but not usually. Mostly out of rebellion, considering he had his older brothers’ reputations to live up to.

Dom honestly couldn’t remember having much interaction with Sara, not even at church functions or here in her family’s pizza parlor.

“How are the wedding plans coming along?” Ellie asked.

“Oh, man. I don’t want to even hear the word wedding. The whole thing is insane. If I ever start talking about that, remind me, would you?”

“I bet Tony’s excited.” Ellie blushed as she went over to the soda machine. She poured him a cola, squeezed a piece of lime, put a lid on it, slid in a straw and handed the cup to Dom. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, Ellie. The boys at school still driving you crazy? Say the word and I’ll make sure they behave.”

“Stop it,” she said, the pink on her cheeks looking a little spotted. “They’re all stupid.”

“Still no one special then?”

“Ew, no.”

He laughed, just as Mike Cho, a guy he knew from Loyola, then the local gym, came into the restaurant.

“Dominic,” Mike said. “What’s the matter? You don’t lift anymore?”

“I moved. I’m living in the Cast Iron District now.”

“That’s not far.”

“No,” Dom said. “But I’ve been going to Body Space Fitness in Union Square.”

“I heard that’s a good place. They have a pool, right?”

“And killer instructors.”

“Can you hook me up with a pass? I might be willing to take the bus for a pool.”

“Sure. I’ll give you a call.”

Sara came to the counter, carrying a big take-out bag for Mike along with his pizza. “That’ll be twenty-six fifty.”

“You new here?” Mike asked, his voice dropping half an octave as he forgot that her eyes were above her chest.

“That’s Sara Moretti,” Dom said. “She’s been away at college. Studying...journalism?”

Sara glanced at him as if she hadn’t realized he could speak full sentences. “That’s right.” Then she looked at Mike again. “I remember you from Loyola. You wrote for the paper a couple of times.”

“You’re that Sara? Wow. You’ve changed.”

“I hope so.” Sara smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah, same here. How long have you been back?”

“Just a week.”

“So, you here to stay?” Mike asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said with a small shrug that drew Dom’s attention to her breasts straining the fabric of her T-shirt. “I’m working on my master’s thesis so I’ll be here long enough to finish it.”

Dom realized he was behaving as badly as Mike had, and he snapped his attention up to her face. Her lips were moving but Dom hadn’t heard a thing she’d said.

She and Mike laughed about something, and then Sara asked, “Will that be cash?”

Cho whipped out his wallet, fumbled with his credit card, then smiled at her with such eagerness, Dom debated getting him that gym pass.

While Sara swiped Mike’s card, he looked at Dom, lifting his brows in what was supposed to be a guy-bonding moment. Dom ignored it. He wasn’t sure why he was irritable. Mike was a good guy. They’d competed in track.

As Sara handed him back his card, Mike grinned. “You made that paper a decent read,” he said. “Much better than Billy Calabrini.”

“Thanks. That’s nice of you, but if you’ll excuse me. I have to—” She nodded her chin in the direction of the kitchen and drifted toward the prep counter.

Mike’s grin faded with every step she took. But that didn’t stop him from eyeing how those worn jeans cupped her ass. “Well, can’t win ’em all,” he said. He turned for the door. “Later.”

“Yeah, later.” Of course Dom had been checking her out also. But that was different. He took a sip of his soda, then got out his wallet when he saw Sara packing up his order. He put cash on the counter, then a tip in the jar. Like always. When she came with his stuff, he smiled—not as enthusiastically as Mike had. “You never asked me to write for the paper.”

“Mike volunteered,” she said, not meeting his gaze.

“I didn’t know that was an option.”

“It was,” she said, as she stared at his soda. A moment later, he watched her add the cost to his bill before she rang it up. “Besides, as I recall, you were always too busy.”

“Uh-oh. I think I must have done something to you back in school.”

She didn’t answer at first, just stared down. “What do you mean?”

“Charging for the soda?” he said, joking. Trying to get her to lighten up. Maybe she’d caught him checking her out and was pissed. “I mean, I’m happy to pay for it, but...”

Ellie rushed over to her sister’s side and bumped Sara’s shoulder. “I’m sure you never did anything bad to her. She’s just been gone too long and doesn’t know the routine anymore.”

Dom smiled, trying to figure out the expression on Sara’s face. Was she really annoyed about the buck seventy-five, or was this about something else? He hadn’t seen Sara in years and—

Jesus. The long-ago memory flashed like lightning through his brain. How could he have forgotten? This wasn’t about anything Dom had done to her. It had been the other way around. As the editor of the school paper, Sara had practically eviscerated him in an op-ed piece, and he’d never been more insulted in his entire life.

“I know the routine,” Sara told her sister. “I’ve worked here more years than you.”

“Sara,” Ellie said, her voice a little condescending. “Not now, okay?”

Sara glared at her. “I don’t remember Dad saying anything ever about giving out freebies. And surely Mr. Hotshot can afford to pay for it.”

Ellie, looking shocked and embarrassed, cleared her throat. “I’ll just charge the order to your family account, okay?” Then she spun around on Sara and in a hushed voice muttered, “What is your problem?”

Dom could still hear, though, and clearly this was the perfect opening. He could’ve taken the high road—after all, they’d been kids. But with her acting like this? “Ellie, why don’t you ask Sara about the article she wrote my last year at Loyola?” he said, gathering his order and holding Sara’s gaze captive.

She should’ve looked embarrassed. Maybe even blushed. Not look as if she wanted to give him a third nostril.

“Yeah?” she said with an accusing smile. “And ask Dom what he said about—” She stopped short and blinked. “Never mind.”

“Go ahead,” he said, honestly drawing a blank. “About what? I’d like to hear this.”

Her inhale was sharp, and her cheeks flushed dark pink. Without a word she turned around and disappeared into the kitchen.

2

“UM, SORRY, DOM,” Ellie said, “Sara’s...she’s, uh, been kind of crazy working on her thesis. Lots of late nights and all. So, uh, she probably didn’t mean anything.”

Sara listened from behind the wall separating the kitchen from the front counter area. God, what a coward, letting her kid sister take the heat. Although she hadn’t asked Ellie to make excuses for her.

“Yeah, I’m sure she didn’t,” Dom said. “See you later, Ellie.”

Sara took a quick peek and watched him balance the container of ziti on the two pizza boxes. As soon as he paused and turned his head toward the kitchen, she ducked back out of sight.

“I’ll get the door for you,” Ellie said, and hurried out from behind the counter.

Waiting until she heard the bell over the door, Sara closed her eyes, grateful Dom was gone. Of course he’d remembered what she had written about him. But why she’d risen to the bait in such a humiliating way made her sick. She should have just ignored him, pretended she didn’t know what he was talking about. It had happened ten years ago. He wouldn’t have pursued the topic. He would’ve just left, and she’d still have a little dignity.

“What the heck was that about?” Ellie asked, her voice so indignant it made Sara jerk back to look at her.

“Why did you give him the free soda?” Sara brushed past her, remembering at the last second to grab a clean rag, as if anyone would believe she’d disappeared for any reason but the obvious.

“We never charge him.”

“You’re joking, right? Is this just for Dom, or for every guy you have a crush on?”

“It has nothing to do with me having a crush on him. And who says I do, anyway?”

Sara rolled her eyes and put some elbow grease into wiping off the tables.

“I only give free soda to Dom,” Ellie said, glaring, her face blotchy. “Jeannette does it, too. So do the others.”

“For God’s sake, why?” Sara stopped and glared back. “Because he’s hot?”

“I—we—give him free sodas because he’s a very good customer.”

“We have a lot of good customers. I can’t believe you just give him free stuff. What’s next? Pizzas on the house because his smile is pearly white?”

Ellie’s hands went to her hips, and she gave Sara a look that reminded her of how they used to argue over their single bathroom sink. “Because he always leaves good tips.”

“Enough to make up for the loss in soda?”

“Why don’t you take a look, smart-ass?”

That was new.

Ellie got the tip jar and pulled out a twenty. “This is what he leaves for a big order. For a slice, he leaves five dollars. Minimum. Every time.”

Sara knew what the markup was on soda. And leaving that kind of tip each time he came in actually did make up for those freebies, and then some. She hadn’t expected that. “Okay, so he likes playing big shot and throwing his money around. Fine. Let him.”

Ellie kept staring. “I can’t believe how horrible you were to him. What did you write in the paper?”

“Nothing. We were kids. Look, I lost my temper. I’m tired and I saw you treating him like he was king of the neighborhood, and it pissed me off, okay?” Sara had regretted the big shot remark—and just about everything else—even before she saw the disappointment in her sister’s eyes. “I’m sorry, El. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Ellie gave her a halfhearted nod. Probably more than Sara deserved, so she smiled back.

The bell over the door rang twice, and they both got to work greeting customers and handing out menus. Hopefully, the place would be so busy with that big party it would let her forget what had happened. With any luck, which seemed to be in short supply for her lately, she’d scared Dom off from ever coming to Moretti’s again.

But this was Little Italy. If she really thought she wouldn’t see him again, and soon, she was dreaming.

* * *

ON THURSDAY, AFTER Dominic had finished putting in the data for Paladino & Sons’ newest customers, he hurried to the printers, where he went through each page of the new restoration brochure he’d had printed. He’d spent a lot of time designing it using photographs he’d taken of different houses and buildings they’d restored. The centerpiece was Catherine’s remodeled single-family home, its 1930s art deco glory brought to life with amazing results.

He’d worked even harder on the copy, so when he got to the last fold and saw that his description of the revitalized fireplace tiles had been shortened, he wasn’t pleased.

“Kenny. What happened here?”

“What’s that?” The owner of the printing press that Dom had been using for the last five years read the paragraph in question. “Ah, the Verdana font you asked for wouldn’t fit completely on the page, so I nipped that one sentence a little.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Ken Patterson, who was about twenty years older than Dom, seemed startled by his tone. “It was just a few words, and I know you wanted that particular font.”

Dom liked the guy. He’d always done a great job at a good price on time. “I’m sorry, buddy, but in this case, it’s not going to work out. I want it printed again, only this time use Helvetica. The sentence you abbreviated targets a particular market, which I wouldn’t expect you to know. But in the future, call me, all right?”

Kenny nodded, his relief obvious. “Sure thing, Dom. I’ll turn these around real quick. How’s Monday afternoon?”

“Great.” He held out his hand, and they shook. Dom felt certain a mistake like that wouldn’t happen again.

Then he was off to an interview for a position at New York Adventures, a web and subscription magazine. He probably didn’t have much chance of getting it, but what the hell. Now that he was finished with his graduate studies, the job hunt was on.

For now, though, he was busier than ever with the family construction business, what with Tony tasting wedding cake samples and checking out reception venues, and Luca being so in demand as a finish carpenter that he’d accrued quite a list of private clients.

Dom was glad for his brothers. They’d busted their asses when their dad had gotten sick. It was time the little brother stepped up, gave them some breathing room. And with the business growing in different directions, he was actually learning new things along the way. Sure, he wanted to do much more careerwise, but for now, this was fine.

Several hours later he had to remind himself that life was good.

Yeah, for some other guy, maybe.

It had turned into one of those days. Everything had taken longer than it should have. And he didn’t know where the hell all the cabs in the city had disappeared to, only that he’d waited three times for more than ten minutes. Which gave him far too much headspace to think about Sara Moretti.

In those snug jeans and stretchy blue top.

Holy shit, she might’ve been a late bloomer, if memory served, but nature had made it up to her in a big way.

Since seeing her the other evening, his brain had been stuck in a damn loop. First, the jeans and clingy top. Next came the memory of those almond-shaped hazel eyes that could make a man forget his own name. And finally the thing that nagged him the most—the great mystery. Sara believed he’d wronged her in some way, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what he’d done.

He’d been thinking about it far too often. And he’d come up with the same conclusion each time. She must’ve mixed him up with someone else. It was the only thing that made sense because he’d barely said a dozen words to her the three years they’d attended the same school.

Only one thing to do about it. He had to ask her what it was she thought she remembered. She’d try to ignore him, or tell him she was joking, and normally he’d let it go. In fact, he would’ve preferred to forget she’d said anything. But the damn thought had popped up right in the middle of his interview.

For a few seconds it had thrown him off track. Thankfully, he’d recovered quickly and he’d gotten a good vibe from the woman, but he wasn’t going to let himself get excited. The job was technically for someone with more experience. If that was the case, fine. At least it had been good practice. But being distracted by thoughts of Sara’s imaginary slight? He couldn’t have that.

He’d ask her what she meant, and he wouldn’t leave without an answer. The question was should he go to Moretti’s now? He was tired and he still needed to hit the gym.

Dom stuck his hand out for a taxi that zipped right past him. Perfect. He glanced at his watch. They’d be closing real soon. Probably a good time to catch her. If she wanted to lock up, she’d have to answer him first.

* * *

A FAMILY OF four were the only customers left in the restaurant at eight minutes to closing. As if any of them cared about that. A minute ago the older teen tried to order a custom pizza to go. Sara didn’t bother asking Carlo if he had time—he would’ve bitten her head off. If they’d been regulars she would’ve considered it. But she was fairly certain they were tourists.

She kept on wiping down tables while Carlo was wrapping up in the kitchen. The day had been particularly busy. The dining room floor needed a washing, but Carlo would do that, which was why he was anxious to close. As soon as table three paid, she’d start cashing out.

A long night at her laptop awaited her, and she doubted she’d get home before ten. She didn’t really mind because she was excited about finally getting started on her thesis. This morning she’d begun the lengthy interview process by meeting with her first subjects, Mr. and Mrs. Scarpetti. The couple currently lived in Brooklyn, but their families had come over in 1880 from Napoli, and Mr. Scarpetti remembered a lot of stories from the very early days. Some from when the Five Points area had been the nexus of what had been called the worst slum in the United States.

Despite the realities of living in squalor, sweet memories always bled through the tragedies. That was one of the reasons she’d made “The History of Little Italy, 1810-1940,” her thesis. Her focus was on collecting stories from families who’d been there since the early days, like hers, and comparing them to historical records. Giving their local history a face and name.

She’d wanted to transcribe the complete Scarpetti tapes tonight, but they’d talked for a long time. It would take her hours, and she wasn’t sure she had it in her.

When the bell rang over the door, Sara turned, ready to send away whoever was coming in this late. But once again, she was stopped in her tracks by Dominic.

So much for scaring him off.

It had been only three days since she’d seen him, but he looked like a different guy. Disheveled, hair sticking up oddly, his necktie askew, as if he’d come though a wind tunnel. When he caught sight of her, he ran a hand through his hair, although it didn’t do much good.

She acknowledged him with a brief smile. Only because he’d seen her look up. Then wondered about her own hair after hustling all day. She almost smoothed it back but caught herself. He was still staring directly at her when she lowered her gaze to the table she must’ve wiped down a hundred times already. A dozen more swipes couldn’t hurt.

It took him all of three seconds before he was standing across the table from her, though she refused to look up. “Are you alone?” he asked.

“Carlo’s in the back.” She had just enough sense to switch to another table, and then wiped it down for all she was worth, unsure what to say, and not wanting to look him in the eyes.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Sara?”

“I’m the only one on the floor. Can’t you see we’re busy?”

He glanced around the nearly empty pizza parlor, amusement flickering on his face, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. “No problem. I’ll wait.”

Great. Maybe she should get it over with while she had witnesses.

“Look, I know it’s a long shot,” Dom said, “but I haven’t eaten all day. Any chance you have a slice on hand?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the couple and their two kids getting to their feet. Now they cared about closing time? “A slice? This late? You know better than that.”

“Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Anyway, Carlo closed the kitchen ten minutes ago.”

“So, anything? A pizza someone didn’t pick up?” Dom said. “I don’t mind buying the whole pie.”

His tie landed on the chair back. She blinked, but it was still there. “What are you doing?” she asked, shooting a gaze up at him.

“Sorry, sweetheart, not what you think,” he said, loosening his collar and grinning. “Only on Friday and Saturday nights and I charge a cover.”

“Why am I not surprised?” A sudden image of Dom, naked, lingered a moment too long and she felt the heat creeping up her throat. “Do you know how lucky you are there are customers here?”

“Believe me, I thought of that before I said anything.”

“Excuse me,” she murmured, dropping the rag on the table and squeezing past him. Dom might look the worse for wear, but he sure smelled good. Musky with a hint of spice. No cheap cologne for him.

Dad already had his money out. Mom was tucking a tip under her glass.

“How was everything?” Sara asked with a smile. “May I get you anything else?”

The couple exchanged looks and laughed.

“You mean I can I get that artichoke and shrimp pizza?” The older boy had made it to the door but turned back with a hopeful expression.

Sara wanted to jump off the nearest bridge.

“We don’t have time, Dillon. We need to get back to the hotel and pack.”

“Come on, Dad. Really?”

God only knew what it was in her expression that prompted his parents to come to her rescue, but she was grateful. Sara gave them an extra smile, wishing she could return their tip. “How would you like to take some tiramisu with you?” she asked. “On the house.”

The teen frowned. “Tira-what?”

“No, thank you.” The woman glanced briefly at Dom and smiled at Sara. “We’re fine,” she said, and shooed the rest of the family out the door.

Sara picked up the check and money they’d left on the table and took it to the register. “I think we have a Hawaiian in the cooler,” she told Dom, and almost laughed at the face he made.

But it didn’t stop him for a second. “I’ll take it.”

“Sit down.” She walked into the kitchen, not the least bit pleased that even looking like he’d been through the ringer, he still made her insides quiver. She should have been over him years ago, the moment she’d overheard him talking to his friends about the dance, and yet there it was. That stupid little thrill. Just another one of the neighborhood girls who swooned the moment he showed up.

So embarrassing.

She got the pizza from the fridge, while he waited at the counter, turning over the take-out menu. As she got closer, his stomach rumbled so loudly she thought Carlo had probably heard. “You want me to heat a slice?”

“That would be fantastic.”

“I’m talking about the microwave. We’ve already turned off the ovens.”

“Microwave. Campfire. Cigarette lighter. It all works.”

“Here,” she said, handing him a medium drink cup. “Come on back and fix yourself a soda. You’re going to have to eat fast, because seriously...”

“You’re closing in three minutes.” He took the cup and lifted the divider that kept the customers in their place. “You always work by yourself at night?”

She rounded the corner and popped his slice in the microwave. “No,” she said, returning to the counter. “Jeanette left at eight.”

“Where’s your pop? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He took my mom to visit family in Sicily.”

“Huh.” Dom looked puzzled.

“What? Because he never takes a vacation?”

“Well, yeah, that, too. I’m just surprised there are any Italians left in Sicily. I heard it was being overrun by outsiders.”

“You mean like Little Italy?”

“So, you noticed, huh?”

“Hard not to.” Sara didn’t mistake the easy small talk for a get-out-of-jail-free card. At any minute he was going to ask her what she’d meant the other night, and she didn’t know what to tell him. A lie wasn’t beneath her, if she was able to think up a good one. Just so she could put the whole stupid thing to rest.

A loud bang from the kitchen made her jump.

“Carlo, you okay?”

After a muttered string of curses in Italian, he said, “Yeah.”

Sara and Dom exchanged smiles.

Even after her seven-year foray into the world beyond Little Italy, Dominic Paladino was still the best-looking man she’d ever seen. It didn’t help that he was standing so close. She should’ve gotten his soda instead of inviting him into her space.

Dammit, the tummy fluttering had to stop. Now.

Dom was still looking directly at her. “So he’ll walk you home?”

“Who?”

“Carlo.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked as she made her break to the other side and went over to clear off the last dirty table. “Walk me home? I live five blocks from here.”

“I know. But it’s late.”

“Nine o’clock is nothing. There’s plenty of traffic. Some nights we let groups hold meetings here and I don’t get out before eleven.”

“What? That’s crazy.”

“Tell my dad that. He’s the one that says it’s our civic duty. Although how hosting a chess club is considered civic duty is beyond me.” She didn’t dare stop. If Dom knew he’d momentarily thrown her off balance, he didn’t show it. She walked right past him, straight to the microwave in back. “Your slice should be ready.”

Of course it wasn’t hot because she hadn’t set enough time. She added fifteen seconds and drummed her fingers on the counter while she waited, thankful for the partition between them. So far, so good, but she still hadn’t come up with anything to say when he finally asked about the elephant in the room.

The microwave dinged.

Sara took a deep breath.

Dom was already on the other side of the counter, putting the top on his soda when she came around the wall.

“Here,” she said, setting the paper plate in front of him. “If you want another slice you have to tell me now, because—”

“You’re leaving. No, thanks. One will get me home fine.” His smile dazzled, as always, but he looked tired. Like he’d had a rough day.

She smiled back, wondering what had put the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. The tie and blazer probably meant he’d just gotten off work. Despite what she’d written in the article, she’d known he was a good student and a hard worker. “Look, Dom—”

“Sara—”

They spoke in unison. He motioned for her to go first.

Nodding, she said, “I owe you a long-overdue apology.”

3

DOM REMEMBERED THAT shy smile though he didn’t know why he should. He hadn’t really noticed her much back in school. And she wanted to apologize? He hadn’t seen that coming.

Earlier, when they’d been talking about the old neighborhood, they’d had a moment where they’d connected. The past had briefly converged with the present. And then something had happened, but he didn’t know what.

“I shouldn’t have written that op-ed piece. It was wrong and I knew it and I still—”

“Hey, you don’t need to do this,” he said, cutting her short. “That’s all in the past. We were kids. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Wait.” He thought for a moment. “Wrong to write the article or wrong because you knew it wasn’t true?”

“Here,” she said, pushing a bunch of napkins at him.

“You must think I’m a real slob.” When he reached for one, his fingers brushed against hers. Something twitched, nothing big. A reminder that he was aware of how soft her skin looked, of the way her hips flared. How the shirt clung to her breasts.

“I don’t want to see you get sauce on that snazzy blazer.”

He glanced down and shrugged. “I had to meet with two new clients, and then I had an interview.”

Behind him, the bell over the door rang.

Sara tilted her head to the side to see who it was. “Sorry, we’re closed,” she said with a warm smile she had yet to give him. Although he kind of liked that little shy one. “Come back tomorrow. We’re open at ten.”

After some grumbling, the door closed.

“I need to go lock up.”

“Okay, I get the hint.”

“No, I wasn’t—” She almost touched his hand but stopped herself and grabbed a ring of keys. “No rush. At least for the next ten minutes.”

Dom stripped the offensive pineapple off his pizza and took a bite as he watched her walk to the door. Those jeans couldn’t have fit her any better. He wondered if she knew she had the perfect ass.

While she fiddled with getting the key in the lock, he quickly took two more bites, just to get his stomach to shut up. When Sara turned to make the return trip, he whipped out his wallet and pretended he hadn’t been checking her out.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I was going to keep that one in the fridge so we could give out slices tomorrow for our homeless regulars.”

“What happened to no free food, ever?”

Her eyebrows went up, and he laughed.

“I didn’t know you guys did that. That’s great.” He pulled out a twenty and slid it over to her.

“I know. I’m proud of my folks.” She frowned at the money. “I just told you—”

“Consider that my contribution to the program.”

She sighed. “Obviously I can’t say no to that. Thank you,” she said, picking up the twenty and going to the register. She put it in an envelope way in the back of the drawer, then took out a stack of bills.

“Am I in the way?” He realized he should’ve moved to a table. They had more talking to do and he had a feeling she’d be less open with him right there in her face.

“You’re fine,” she said just as he picked up his plate and moved.

He glanced over at Sara and caught her looking back, and she might’ve been checking him out, too. And here he was in conservative gray dress slacks. Shit.

“Hey, I heard about your father’s heart attack. How’s he doing?”

He quickly swallowed. “Good. Retired. Not liking it much. But his health is better.”

“Good. And Tony, he’s—” Sara lifted a brow. “Is ‘getting married’ okay, or does it fall in the banned words category?”

“I’ll make an exception,” he said. “Yeah, Tony’s getting married. Catherine’s great. They’re good together.”

“I’m happy for them.”

“You know Tony?”

She finished counting her stack before she shoved it in a bank bag. “Not really. I don’t think we ever said so much as hi.” She shrugged. “Kind of like how I know you.”

If she didn’t know Tony, then basically she was running out the clock. Too bad. He still had a question for her.

“Did you ever go to college?” she asked, searching around the register, lifting receipts, moving the pizza box.

“More than I ever thought I would. Two masters, can you believe it?”

She touched her hair and sighed as she pulled the pencil from behind her ear. “Yeah, that makes sense. For a jock you were no slouch in the grades department.”

Dom knew the exact moment she realized what she’d said. Her eyes widened for a split second and she looked down, gaze glued to the stack in front of her. Well, that was one question answered. She’d known it was bullshit, but she’d printed it anyway. Still curious as hell, he pretended he hadn’t noticed the slip and took another bite. Chewed. Then said, “I wasn’t a jock.”

“All the different sports you played? Of course you were.”

“That’s not all I did.” Damn, he was getting tired of people homing in on superficial qualities. He had the ambition and smarts to do lots of things with his life.

“It’s not like being a jock was bad. That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Hey, I just thought of something...about you,” he said, and grinned at the dread on her face. “You kicking ass and taking names when you were editor of the paper. Christ, that one day you were riled up about cafeteria lunches and the faculty doing something stupid. We were all packed into the gym for some announcement.” He took a sip of his soda, his memory suddenly clear as a photograph. “You wore that pink sweater, the one with the cats on it.”

She gave him a one-sided grin. “You remember that?”

“You rained down hell on the entire staff. I always wondered if your grades tanked after that.”

The grin was faint but still there, and now her head tilted slightly to the left. “Huh.” She picked up another stack of bills.

“I graduated a few months later. I assume you were editor your senior year.”

Sara’s smile vanished and she looked down at her hands. Guess he’d assumed wrong. He wondered what had done her in, giving it to the faculty or writing a slanderous implication about him. He’d been plenty pissed, but he hadn’t said anything, not to anyone who mattered. Just his friends and Coach Randal. Pissed on his behalf, they’d urged him to file a complaint but he hadn’t.

“I think the emergency has passed,” he said, although he was still hungry. They’d been talking. Everything was good. But he’d lost ground with her. “Why don’t you put the rest of the pizza back in the fridge, give it to your regulars tomorrow?”

He stood up and had the unexpected pleasure of watching her walk to the fridge. Not on purpose but he couldn’t have timed it better. “You going home soon?”

She didn’t respond at first. “About ten minutes.”

“I’ll stick around and walk with you.” He wasn’t surprised by her hesitation. “You know this neighborhood isn’t what it used to be.”

“Dom. It’s still practically rush hour out there. Go home. I’ll even refill your soda.”

“I’m good.” He stood as he watched her count another stack of bills, pretty sure her deep concentration had more to do with ignoring him. He just didn’t know why.

“Hey, Dom. I thought that was your voice.” Carlo, one of the nicest guys in the neighborhood—even though he looked like he’d beat you up just for breathing—came from the back, his forehead beaded with perspiration. “Can you guys take this outside? I gotta wash the floor.”

“Dom was just leaving,” Sara said, and grabbed the keys. “I’m still cashing out.”

He studied her flushed face for a moment as Carlo started turning chairs upside down on the tables. Sara stubbornly refused to meet his eyes. “See you, Carlo,” Dom said on his way to the door, then gave her one last look before he opened the door and stepped outside. He heard the lock click behind him.

Yeah, well the hell with that. She couldn’t lock him out forever. No, he’d get his answer, one way or another.

* * *

IT TOOK A lot longer than ten minutes for Sara to leave. She said goodnight to Carlo, who stopped mopping to let her out. Poor guy would be at it for another hour. She’d been working since early that morning, making the weekly run to Costco to pick up staples for the restaurant and for the family, before meeting with the Scarpettis. But now, even the idea of listening to the soft, crackly voice of Mr. Scarpetti made her wish she’d majored in math.

It had been a good day, though. Ellie had been in a decent mood when she’d worked the early shift, and they’d made excellent tips. Lots of American tourists and regulars.

Then there was Dom.

It had been nice for a while. She’d realigned her opinion of him, and he’d proved again that he could be generous. That she’d dodged his question didn’t mean he was going quietly into the night. She was already regretting that she hadn’t taken advantage of the rare privacy to make sure everything stayed in the past where it belonged.

He’d given her an opening. He’d been willing to forgive and forget, chalk up the article to stupid kid stuff. She should’ve leaped onto that and admitted she’d been a silly, hormonal teenager, lied and said he hadn’t really done anything bad and could they just move on.

The offer to walk her home had been a nice touch. Misguided, but sweet. She’d like to think he’d do that for any of the girls who had to clock out late. In fact, she planned to ask Ellie about that in the morning.

But tonight, she’d stop thinking anything about Dominic, nice or not, and gear herself up for her thesis work.

Maybe.

No. She could manage an hour. As long as she had her feet up and Ellie left her alone. Sara would be crazy not to make use of the time with her folks away. She loved them dearly, but her parents had never run across a closed door they didn’t feel free to open. She could lock them out, but she wouldn’t. She hadn’t been home long enough. Soon, though, they’d get back to how it had been.

She crossed the street, her hand on her purse, which was slung cross-body style. As if she didn’t know how to handle herself in this neighborhood. Of course her sneaky thoughts had slid back to Dom.

Ten minutes later she was home but it took her another thirty to unwind, to get Dom Paladino out of her head, to quiet thoughts of the cataclysmic fallout that his formal complaint to the school board had caused. It actually hadn’t mattered if he’d heard the whole story, or that he hadn’t expressed any regret for taking his complaint to the extreme. She’d needed to apologize for her part. To own her mistake.

But that minor revelation had only come after she’d straightened her desk, adjusted her chair, made the perfect pot of tea and started transcribing the first interview tape.

Mr. Scarpetti’s voice tended to weaken at the end of his sentences, and Mrs. Scarpetti had a unique Italian accent, so Sara had to do a lot of rewinding to get the full meaning of most of their stories.

But finally, by eleven, she’d gotten accustomed to the voices and the work started to flow.

Which was precisely the moment Ellie barged into Sara’s bedroom. Barged, as in bounced the doorknob off the wall as she entered.

Sara jumped, knocked her recorder to the floor, and spun around prepared to meet a knife-wielding man wearing a balaclava. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Sorry,” Ellie lied. “I forgot this door is so loose. Listen, I’ve got—”

“I don’t care what you’ve got. You knock before you come into this room. I’m working here, not painting my nails. It’s going to take me forever to get back into the transcription, especially since you scared the crap out of me.”

Ellie seemed shocked. She’d been home studying and was wearing a Lemonade sleep shirt. With no makeup on, her blinking seemed a little understated. “You really think people in this house are going to knock on your door?”

Closing her eyes didn’t help Sara calm down at all, nor did the truth of Ellie’s statement. “I’ll take steps.”

“They won’t let you get a lock.”

“They won’t have a choice. Although I’m kind of amazed they left so much of my stuff here. I had no idea I’d ever be back.”

“Mom never believed anything else.”

Sara sighed. “So you’ve got...”

“A thing on Thursday. It’s going to run late. Just letting you know.”

“A bank robbery? Broadway tickets?”

“Very funny. Shopping for a prom dress. With Tina.”

At least Sara knew who Tina was. “So, Mom would be okay with you going out on a school night?”

Ellie pressed her lips together for a moment, before letting out a breath. “I’m allowed on special occasions.”

“What’s wrong with the weekend?”

“Tina knows someone at Sak’s Off 5th and she’s going to let us use her employee discount. But the only night her friend works is Thursday.”

“Okay,” Sara said. “But why would you be late?”

“We have to be there at the end of the night. They close at ten.”

“What time is your regular curfew?”

“God.” Ellie rolled her eyes. “I’m seventeen. Not twelve.”

Sara gave her a stare only a sister could deliver.

“Okay. Fine. It’s midnight.”

“On a weeknight? Really?”

Thinking back to when she was a teenager living under the draconian rules of her old-fashioned parents, she had some sympathy for Ellie. Although Sara hadn’t needed a prom dress because she hadn’t gone, she’d secretly been heartbroken over her lack of a date. And she hadn’t had to deal with an older sister either. Maybe this would be a good time to show a little solidarity.

“On weekdays it’s ten,” Ellie said, sighing loudly. “Come on, Sara... It’s the prom and I don’t have a dress yet.”

“Wow, I hardly ever got to go out on a weeknight. And on weekends I had to be home by eleven.”

“Well, that was before cell phones. Or cars.”

“Ha. You’re hilarious.”

Grinning, Ellie ran her hand over the antique dresser that had once belonged to a second cousin. “Anyway, you owe me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The other night when you chased Dom away. Who knows when he’ll come back? He’ll probably find some other place to get his pizzas.”

“That’s absurd. He was just there.”

That caught Ellie’s attention more than anything Sara had said. “When?”

“Tonight. Right before closing.” Sara lined up the pencils that had been jostled by Ellie’s explosive entry.

Ellie looked positively crestfallen. “What did he want?”

“A slice.”

“That late?”

“Exactly what I told him.”

She studied Sara with an accusing glare, then spun around for the door.

Seventeen hadn’t been that long ago for Sara and something twisted inside her. “Ellie?”

“What?”

“Be home by midnight.”

The door didn’t slam, but almost.

Damn that Dom Paladino. Here he was still causing Sara problems.

4

THE EMERGENCY AT the NoHo renovation turned out to be corroded pipes inside inadequate PVC tape. Evidently the plumber hadn’t wanted to go to the trouble of swapping out the pipes themselves, so he’d resorted to cosmetic changes. Dom was more than a little steamed, but Eric, their project manager, had things under control.

Good thing, since Dom had a full day. He needed to stop by the office and have a look at the blueprints for the SoHo apartment complex. Hopefully Luca would be there and they could go over the plans for Tony’s bachelor party. Then Dom had an appointment for a trim before his interview at Edelman PR, which he was looking forward to. The great thing about working at such a large firm was that they had offices all over the world. The downside? He’d be a small cog in a huge machine.

Half a block ahead of him, he noticed a dark-haired woman wearing jeans and a tucked-in T-shirt. It took all of a second to be certain it was Sara. He’d memorized that curvy behind.

He noticed the canvas bag she was carrying and had a hunch she was going to the same place he was headed—Met Foods. Walking faster, he made sure he didn’t get too close. It would be a shame to let this opportunity pass him by. She still owed him an answer, and while she’d dodged him the other night, he wasn’t going to be so quick to let her off the hook this time. Two minutes later he followed her into the store.

After grabbing a bottle of water and a pack of breath mints, he scoped out a couple of aisles before spotting her in the produce section. He planted himself across from her and tried to look engrossed in the nectarines.

“Stalking me now?”

He looked up, pretended to be surprised and said, “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Um...the same thing you’re doing?”

The way she looked at him was like being x-rayed at LaGuardia. She was probably deciding what to say to make a quick escape. Then a glance at his selections made her laugh. “Water and breath mints. I’m actually surprised you don’t have cases of mints on hand at all times.”

“Meaning?”

“I think you know.” Her voice was like rich honey, easy, flowing, made even sweeter by the sly smile that turned up the edges of her lips.

“Dominic?”

The voice came from behind him. Definitely feminine, not completely familiar. Turning, it took him a second to realize it was Danielle Orteaga, a thirtysomething woman he’d met a few times at his gym. She was in great shape, pretty, not afraid to ask for what she wanted. And she was married. Which was enough for Dom to keep her at arm’s length. He nodded at her with a noncommittal smile and turned right back to Sara.

“Well, I better get busy so I can make it to the restaurant before the lunch rush,” she said.

The drop in temperature only made Dom more determined not to let this serendipitous meeting go to waste. But if he just came out and asked her what he’d done to piss her off, she’d be gone before he could take a second breath. He went around to her side before she could get away and looked in her cart. “So this stuff is all for pizza?”

“And the pasta dishes. Salads. Appetizers. Come on, you know our menu better than I do.”

“It threw me when I didn’t see any pineapples.”

That made her smile change. No trace of sarcasm, which he considered a victory. He wasn’t even sure why he was trying so hard. She was hot, of course she was, but if that was all it took, he’d have actually lived up to his reputation.

Sara pushed her cart over to the lettuces, several of which she carefully selected, then on to the radishes. He trailed along, not even trying to make up an excuse, although with everything she had in that cart, he wondered if she’d have to take a taxi back to Moretti’s.

Britney Addleson, one of the waitresses from the diner near his apartment, stopped him midstride with a hand on his chest. The move surprised him—it was more forward than he appreciated—but he happened to catch Sara’s reaction, and okay, it was worth the intrusion to see that spark of outrage.

“I didn’t know you came to this store,” Britney said, making sure he was aware of her prominent breasts, snug in her white T-shirt.

“I was just passing by. I have to be at the office in about ten minutes, so I’m going to have to get a move on or be late. See you at the diner.”

Britney’s shocked expression wasn’t satisfying, except that it let him extricate himself without doing too much damage. It wasn’t a surprise to see her blush and walk away. The clock, though, had been ticking this whole time, and he couldn’t wait much longer to choose his endgame. Confrontation? Or gentle persuasion?

* * *

WHY SARA WAS taken aback by the women so blatantly flirting with Dom made zero sense. This was a pattern she’d seen for years, up to and including her own sister.

Just because Sara had hidden her crush successfully didn’t mean she was guilt free. Of course, all she’d gotten for her efforts was lethal doses of private and public humiliation. Hard to forget that, even when the conversation seemed so easy between them. Beneath that suave visage, she knew he still had questions, and until she answered him or convinced him the past didn’t matter, he’d wear her down. And how she could equate that to sex and be thrilled about it was just plain sick.

For now, though, the smart move was to keep shopping, pretend he wasn’t even there. Right behind her. So close that she was feeling slightly giddy. Without a glance his way, she continued going up and down aisles, adding to her cart.

Of course she couldn’t help noticing that he looked great. Slim dark dress slacks, a tailored shirt that showed off his physique and what looked like a silk tie. He seemed taller, broader, just since the other night, which told her she’d better get her feet planted and her head out of the clouds.

Sara hadn’t realized she’d stopped until he almost rammed into her from behind.

She grabbed the first thing she saw—a can of olives.

“I’m surprised you don’t buy that sort of thing in bulk,” Dom said.

“Thanks for your concern. I’m shopping for the house, too.”

“Ah.”

“Why are you still here?”

“Am I making you nervous?” He flashed a smile. “I apologize,” he said, taking a step back.

“Make me nervous?” she said with a snort. “I figured you’d go trailing after one of your girlfriends.”

“You must have me confused with someone else. No girlfriend.”

“Well, whatever you call it,” she muttered, and swung around to the next aisle.

He switched to walking beside her. “It?”

Sara sighed loudly and tried not to let his pleasant masculine scent distract her.

“There is one way to get rid of me.”

“Yeah? Name it.” She bit down on her lip. He’d baited her, and she’d snapped at it. No doubt he was waiting with a smile. She’d be damned if she’d look.

Oh, hell, she should just let him ask his question. Get the whole thing over with.

Somehow her cart headed straight for the checkout. Without any prompting from her. She insisted he go through first. Before she could sigh with relief, he paid for his water and mints and waited at the end of the counter.

Until she started unloading, she hadn’t realized she’d overbought by quite so much. She stared at the groceries, trying to think of an elegant way to tell Mr. Stein she wanted to put half of it back. No dice. She was stuck with all of it.

None of it was stupid stuff. Just more than they needed. She’d never be able to walk it all to the restaurant, and she hated spending money on a cab when she should have had two bags, max.

Mr. Stein had already filled her canvas bag and another larger, paper one, and he stared over the top of his thick black-framed glasses at the groceries he had yet to ring up. Bending over slowly, he brought a large box out from under the counter. He scanned the remaining items and packed them into the box.

Sara had her credit card ready when the older man gave her the total.

Mr. Stein lifted a corner of the box, testing the weight. “Sara,” he said, “how are you going to carry all of this to the restaurant? You have a cab waiting?”

Dom coughed. Or laughed, it didn’t matter.

She slid in her credit card with the utmost lack of concern. “Why should I do that when I’ve got free labor?” She inclined her head at Dom, without so much as a glance.

Mr. Stein looked over at him. “He’s going to ruin his good shirt.”

“I’m sure he has more.”

No mistaking Dom’s laugh this time.

Finally, after she signed the chip machine, she looked at him and smiled. “Although I’ll understand if you need to pass. I’m sure it’s pretty heavy.”

Okay, she deserved the eye roll. When he actually lifted the box, her gaze went straight to his biceps, and she had to swallow real quick, because yes, the guy really did work out. Shit. He’d always had a good body, but now he was even sleeker with broad shoulders and narrow hips.

Aware she was staring, she grabbed the canvas bag. With an amused gleam in his eyes, Mr. Stein glanced from her to Dom, then held out the paper sack for her.

“Lead on, Macduff,” Dom said.

Sara opened her mouth, but before she could correct him, he said, “Yeah, I know it’s not the original quote, but it was fun watching your nose twitch.”

“It did not,” she said, shifting the bag in her right arm to a more comfortable position. “Besides, I was going to say I was joking. I can take a cab if you would just help me get the box—”

He laughed and walked out of the store.

She had little choice but to catch up with him.

This whole thing had slipped out of her control. Not in a terrible way, but she most definitely wasn’t in her comfort zone. “I thought you had to be somewhere,” she said, as they stopped at the corner of Prince Street.

“I do, but not until my one-thirty interview.”

“What for?”

“A public relations firm. Oh, and I need to get a trim,” he said, straining to get a look at his watch. “Gotta make a good impression.”

“I think you’re going to do fine in that department,” she said, as they reached the end of the block. Any PR firm in the country would be nuts not to hire Dom on the spot.

“Hey, was that a compliment?” Dom said. “Better be careful—you don’t want me getting a big head.”

“Too late for that.”

Dom waited until she met his gaze. “Was that nice?”

His eyes weren’t as dark with the morning sunlight bringing out tiny gold flecks. But they were still warm and full of life. She remembered him smiling a lot as a kid. Though why not? He’d had it made even before he’d uttered his first word.

Something else she noticed—he wasn’t smiling now.

“I was joking,” she muttered and started to cross the street.

A loud honk nearly shattered her eardrums. She’d almost walked right into a passing cab.

She stepped back onto the sidewalk, grateful she hadn’t dropped the bags.

“Do me a favor,” Dom said.

“What’s that?” Reluctantly, she looked at him.

“Get that for me.” With a jut of his chin, he glanced up.

A lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead.

Oh, God.

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“Just push it back.” He frowned at her as if she was being a twit, which she totally deserved. “Here, give me one of those.”

“It’s okay. I got it.” She shifted the bags until she had a free hand, at least for a few seconds, and swept back the dark silky strands.

She was touching Dominic Paladino’s hair. With all the aplomb of a geeky, awkward fifteen-year-old.

The stubborn lock fell forward again.

“Don’t be so gentle. Just push it all the way back.” He ducked so she could reach the top of his head, and she combed his hair straight back until her fingers were buried completely in the thick mane.

“You should put some stuff in it,” she murmured, their faces so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “You know, to keep it in place.”

“Like a gel?” He straightened, frowning, and her hand fell away. Just as the bag cradled by her left arm almost did. “Nope. Never gonna happen. I just need a trim.”

Foot traffic had picked up in the last few minutes, probably because it was close to lunchtime. And while they weren’t blocking the sidewalk, several people sighed dramatically as they skirted them. Others smiled and said hello to Dom.

Sara gasped. Lunchtime!

She glanced at Dom’s slim gold watch. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I need to hurry. The lunch crowd will be coming in soon.” She was already on the move, and Dom had no trouble keeping up with her.

When they turned the corner, she spotted the Spicy Meatball food truck parked almost directly in front of Morretti’s. Her blood pressure shot through the roof, and before she knew it she was holding on to her bags for dear life and rushing toward the interlopers.

“Hey, Sara. Wait.”

She heard Dom, but she didn’t have time to stop and explain. He’d see the problem soon enough. Already two people were standing off to the side waiting to order, as the scumbag prepared for the lunch crowd.

“Hey,” she said, moving in as close as she could to the truck window. “Again? You have to park right in front of our entrance? That’s just taking things too damn far. Come on. Why can’t you just go back to where you used to park?”

The guy, who must have been in his midthirties, scruffy and already sweating even though it wasn’t that hot out, barely glanced up before he went back to ignoring her.

“I should have you arrested,” Sara said. “They’ll take your damn license. I bet it’s not even legitimate, probably black market.”

The man and woman waiting to order moved closer to the window and stared at her, as if they were watching a reality show. Sara didn’t care about that, but she wished they’d go away so she didn’t have to watch her language. “I’m talking to you,” she said, adding, “asshole” at a lower pitch. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? There’s a whole city for you to sell to. This is how my family makes our living. Don’t you have any conscience?”

“I’d like to know that, too,” Dom said, suddenly right by her side. His voice was raised, although not quite as loud as hers had gotten.

“Look, I got a right to park here,” the guy said. “You do what you gotta do. I do what I gotta do. But if you don’t let the customers get to the window, I’m gonna call the cops.”

Dom leaned in closer to Sara. “I thought you were going to do that?” He paused to study her, then whispered, “Is he parked legally?”

“What he’s doing is wrong, and it’s no accident he’s parked right here. I’ve asked him nicely. He ignored me. But this is the third time...”

Dom looked at the guy. “Come on, man. You can clearly see her point. There are other places to park around here. Why do you have to poach on a neighborhood restaurant?”

“Get lost, Popeye. This ain’t your business.” He turned to the people behind Sara.

“How about you get lost?” Sara muttered a curse. “Why do you have to be such a prick?”

Three more people had gotten in line, and Sara was so angry she was ready to stab all of the truck’s tires, but that would only keep them in front of the restaurant longer.

“Listen,” Dom said, keeping his voice low, and backing her up from the center of the fray. “Why don’t you go inside? Put the bags down. Maybe ask Carlo to come get this box. Let me see what I can work out with this schmuck, huh?”

Sara was about to tell him she didn’t need to be rescued, but then she saw the second person in the truck. A woman who was staring at Dom as if she’d like to order him for lunch.

“Fine. But if he doesn’t budge, I’m going to look up every single possible violation I can call on this guy and I’m going to make him sorry as hell.”

“Good idea. Now go. We’ll get this straightened out.”

With one last vicious glare at the guy and his Dom-struck sidekick, Sara walked inside the restaurant, desperately wanting to drag the growing line of customers behind her. Instead of going to the kitchen, though, she stood at the window. Watching.

A moment later, Jeannette was at her side. “Look at the coglioni on that guy. He keeps this up, it’s gonna put a big dent in the week’s revenue.”

“My parents are on their first vacation in forever, and he decides to stake a claim outside our door.”

Jeannette took one of the bags, then turned around to the counter and shouted for Carlo. One of the other waitresses, Natalie, was taking phone orders.

“What’s Dom doing?” Jeannette asked.

“Trying to work something out. Notice the woman who can’t take her eyes from him.”

“That could work,” Jeannette said.

“Maybe.”

Carlo rushed past them, out the door, took the box from Dom as if they’d planned the maneuver, then hurried back inside.

Dom didn’t even lose a step. For a minute it looked as if the food truck owner was going to do something drastic. In fact, he flicked something at Dom, who stepped aside, shook his head, then kept on talking, looking calm as could be, as if nothing had happened.

Not two minutes later, the owner, the woman, Dom and several customers were all laughing.

Sara exchanged a look with Jeannette, who just shrugged. Then they looked back at the silent show. A few more words, a nod, followed by a handshake.

A goddamn handshake?

Several people at the end of the line peeled away to follow Dom, who held the door open for them. They all seemed pleased to be following their new guru, and surprisingly, she didn’t recognize a single person.

Jeannette hustled to get behind the counter, where they really needed Sara, but she couldn’t leave yet.

“Okay. We’ve settled things, and Rocky won’t be coming back to this spot again.”

“Rocky?”

“I gave him a tip on a better location,” Dom said, shrugging.

The relief was instantaneous but riding on its back was a slice of resentment that Mr. Big Shot was able to swoop in and save the day. He just fixed everything with his smile and that ridiculous charisma. Must be swell to be Dominic Paladino.

“Wait,” he said. “Did I do something wrong?”

Well, no, how could he?

She closed her eyes, ashamed that she’d let anything other than gratitude show. That she’d lost her temper in front of him. In front of anyone. And that in the end, the biggest shame of her life—the article she’d written—was but a fleeting memory for him. Even though it had haunted her for years.

“No,” she said, pulling it together. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m very grateful this mess won’t have to trouble my parents when they get back. Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” he said, but the tone in his voice had changed. So had the way he was looking at her.

She didn’t blame him. Especially when she noticed that his shirt had a big splotch of tomato sauce on the sleeve. The shirt he was supposed to wear to his interview.

“Next five pizzas are on the house,” she said, trying to ease the strain.

“I didn’t do it for the pizzas,” he said, turning to leave.

She caught his arm. That big, muscular arm that tensed even more beneath her hand. “I mean it,” she said. “What you did was really kind.”

“No sweat,” he said, although the easy camaraderie they’d had on their walk had vanished as if it had never existed.

5

FOR THE FIRST time Dom could remember, he’d shown up early for a family dinner. He stood at the living room window of the home he’d grown up in, the same house where his dad had been raised, and where Dom’s granddad and great-granddad had been born. The place was a lot bigger now. A room for Nonna, a den with an elaborate sound system, a small backyard where his mom could grow her tomatoes. The patio off the dining room where his father was King of the Grill. And of course their remodeled chef’s kitchen—the beating heart of the Paladino family.

Tonight wouldn’t be a typical meal. They were going to have an important meeting, which wasn’t something that happened often. The last time they’d met in an official capacity had been to discuss Tony taking over the business after their dad’s second heart attack. The agenda this evening was to discuss the Paladino Trust. Find a way to make it more relevant to the massive changes Little Italy had undergone since the trust’s inception several generations ago.

It had been an inspired idea, one that had been woven into their lives. In a nutshell, the trust was the original rent control, established years before the government had settled on a similar system. But the goal, which had been to help keep the once tight-knit immigrant community close, affordable, safe and thriving, had eroded year by year as the world had evolved. Now, Little Italy was more of an idea than a place: a few blocks, a few stores, a few dozen families who’d descended from the first immigrants was all that remained.

He couldn’t see Moretti’s three blocks down but that didn’t stop his thoughts from going to Sara. Man, had she changed, and not just physically. She’d proven she had a fire inside her back in school when she’d taken the whole faculty to task. Everyone had been stunned by her fierce eloquence, but no one had looked more shocked than Sara herself.

After that day she’d faded into the background again. Although that might have been a reflection of his busy senior year. She’d sure gotten his attention two months later when she’d implied he was the most egregious example of why high school athletics was a complete waste of time and money. That op-ed piece, filled with inflammatory rhetoric, had pissed off a lot more people than him.

Three weeks after that he’d graduated and hadn’t thought about her at all. Before going off to college he’d eaten at Moretti’s a few times. But Sara had been nowhere in sight.

He pictured her at the order window of the Spicy Meatball, struggling to keep her temper to a controlled roar. Knowing what she could have done without the need for discretion, he respected her effort.

What he didn’t understand was her reaction to his assistance. He hadn’t been trying to dis her in any way; surely she must have known that. He’d just wanted to ease the situation, turn the argument into a win. There was no reason for her to have been so prickly about it.

Right in the middle of his interview, he’d thought about the resentful way she’d looked at him when he told her about the solution. He’d snapped out of it quickly, but damn. He couldn’t afford to have that kind of distraction.

He’d left Edelman with the promise of a follow-up interview, but he didn’t have enough of a feel for the big PR firm to know if he’d move forward.

Regardless, he couldn’t spend time wondering about Sara. All this attitude was most likely connected to the mysterious thing that had happened when they were kids. After racking his brain he couldn’t come up with anything. Other than she might’ve made it up because he’d called her on the article.

Dom saw a cab stop in front and Tony got out. His brother was probably looking forward to tonight. For once, they weren’t going to discuss wedding preparations, the guest list, anything to do with nuptials. Compared to that, a multimillion dollar trust was a walk in the park.

It would be like old times. Just the immediate family, no Catherine, no April. Even Nonna was having dinner next door with her friend. Which was good, because it would be a lot easier to talk without having to explain the convoluted evolution of the trust. Hell, it would’ve taken all night. And the women all understood they weren’t being slighted.

“What the hell?” Luca said, poking his head into the living room. “Dom’s here on time? Call the Times.”

“On time?” his mom called out from the kitchen. “He was here early.”

Tony stopped in the foyer. “What happened? You sick? In trouble? Did you get a girl in trouble?”

Dom wanted to line up his brothers and slap them both silly. “Shut up,” he said, and went to the kitchen. “Ma, I’m gonna pour some Chianti. You want some?”

She patted his cheek and smiled at him as if he was still ten, even though she had to look up to meet his eyes. “Get me and your father some iced tea. And you boys don’t drink too much until after we talk.” She looked at Tony, then Luca, then at the doorway that led to the dining room.

Luca moved first. “I’ve got the silver.”

Tony didn’t say a word, just went to get plates and salad bowls. Dom headed for the wet bar and poured some wine for the three of them.

“Ten bucks says chicken parmesan,” Luca said, doling out settings.

“You’re on.” Dom nodded, keeping his expression neutral. Luca didn’t need to know he’d already asked. “I bet you it’s chicken, but she’s doing something else with it. Something light for Pop.”

“I can smell the sauce.”

Dom grinned. “Double or nothing?”

Luca frowned as he picked up the copy of the trust by his place setting. “You did this?”

“Yeah, so?” Knowing his parents, it was inevitable they’d find something to argue about, so Dom had made copies so everyone would have their own set in their hot little hands.

Luca looked at Tony. “Our little brother’s growing up.”

Dom smacked him on his way back to the kitchen to get the iced tea.

Dinner was on the table ten minutes later, and Luca slipped the ten spot over along with a serving of salad.

“So why don’t we all read the first two pages while we have the antipasto?” Dom suggested. “Then we can talk.”

His father, Joe, who’d finally taken his seat, looked at Dom. “You got a date after?”

He just smiled, though it had occurred to Dom that if the meeting ended around nine he might bump into Sara on her way home. She’d be walking in this direction so it wouldn’t seem weird. But for all he knew, she wasn’t even working.

Although, why would he bother when he was still pissed at her?

Dom read the pages of the antiquated agreement, as if he didn’t already know most of it by heart. The last time it had been amended was back in the 1950s, and that was something their attorney—Great-uncle Peter—had suggested to protect the family in case of a lawsuit.

The room was quiet as they all read, except for the occasional sound of crunched vegetables. The language took some concentration, having originated in the early twentieth century, but the basics were straightforward.

“Okay.” Theresa put down her paper. “Let’s finish eating first,” she said. “Talk after. Give us time to digest. The last thing your father needs is agita.”

“I’m fine, Theresa. Enough. If the boys want to talk about the trust, let them.”

“I don’t know how everything has gotten so complicated,” she said. “Attorneys and accountants, and the way you boys have had to keep things so private.” Her gaze went to Tony and Luca. “It almost cost you Catherine and April. I don’t want that happening to Dominic, or your future children.”

“That’s why we’re meeting, Ma,” Luca said. “We all agree. Look at this stuff.” He waved the document so close to his wineglass he nearly knocked it over. “This was written for a different world. I’m not saying we should change the current rents, but I think it’s time we stop buying properties.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Tony said. “We don’t have to kick anyone out. Just stop adding to the problem.”

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