Behind The Red Doors (Santori Stories #1)(38)
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

It wasn’t fair. A man had finally made her feel breathless, wondering and achy…and any moment now she was going to have to kick him and run. If he looked at the screen again and came up with one sexist, suggestive remark, she’d have to do bodily injury. On that amazing body. Yep, downright unfair.

He didn’t look. Not one sneaky peek.

Instead, he crouched next to her chair and took her hand. Its coldness must have startled him, because he gently rubbed her numb fingers between both his hands. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, still watching closely, waiting for the eyes to shift, for the mouth to lift in a smirk or an appreciative leer. Come on, you’re male. Just do it and put me out of my misery. Stop trying to pretend you’re a concerned, nice guy.

But as the silent moment stretched out, without the slightest attempt by the man to look at her nearly nak*d body, Meg began to relax. “Yeah,” she said, pulling her fingers free of his. “I’m…a little confused, that’s all.”

“Can I help?”

She stared at his face, liking the gentleness in his brown eyes. “Think you could shrink me, tuck me into your pocket and get me out of this place without anybody seeing me?”

He thought about it. “Nope. But I guarantee I can walk by your side, lead you out of here without anybody saying one word to you.” Standing, he extended his hand, palm up, silently asking her to trust in him. And though he was a perfect stranger, for some reason, Meg did.

She took his hand and let him help her up. Still reeling from the discovery that her picture was, indeed, being used to model the most seductive lingerie she’d ever seen, she felt shaky and weak. He immediately slid his hand to her waist to steady her. “You can do this.”

“I’ll bet somebody said the same thing to Lady Godiva.”

He glanced at her concealing bulky sweater and ankle-length skirt, which covered most of her chunky black boots. “I don’t think anybody’s gonna mistake you for her.” Glancing at her long ponytail, he grinned. “I hear she was a blonde.”

Amazingly, Meg felt a tiny answering grin on her lips.

“Ready?”

Taking a deep breath for courage, she nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, wait, I almost forgot,” he said, letting go of her hand for a moment. Meg watched as he glanced down at the keyboard—never at the screen—and pushed a few buttons.

The image disappeared.

And even though she didn’t know his name, Meg fell a little in love with him right then and there.

They pushed through the doors, but hadn’t gone another step when the stranger paused. “Head up, honey. Don’t you let anybody make you feel ashamed.” He lifted her chin with one finger.

His touch was soft, his skin rough and warm. She shivered slightly, though the store was well heated against the cold February day. “What, are you some kind of superhero or something? Going around saving damsels in—” hootchie-mama lingerie? “—distress?”

“Just a man who doesn’t like seeing a woman cry.”

Without another word, he led her through the crowded area. No one pointed. No one stared. Not one man leered. The place was crowded with shoppers, all of whom seemed to be having a good time in the new complex. If she hadn’t been feeling so anxious to get out before anyone recognized her, Meg might have enjoyed checking the place out. Maybe curling up in one of the overstuffed chairs near the huge free-standing fireplace beside the coffee bar and warming up with some gourmet espresso.

She immediately nixed that idea. The waiters had probably all seen her in thongs and push-up bras.

As they exited the building, the man never left her side. Only in the vestibule did he look in another direction, keeping his head down and turning away as they passed the pickup counter. The attractive, middle-aged saleswoman was busy with someone else and didn’t spare them a glance as they walked out the red front doors into the cold and sunny day.

“Okay, safe and sound.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” she murmured.

“It was nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t. I’d probably still be sitting in there, afraid to come out, if it weren’t for you. Some night watchman doing his rounds would have thought I’d hidden in there to rob the place when I finally got up the nerve to try to sneak out during the middle of the night.”

He chuckled. “You had nothing to be ashamed of.”

Meg mentally snorted. Except the half-naked pictures on the computer screens. “I’m in your debt.”

“No, you’re not. But you do have me curious.”

She raised a wary brow. “Curious?”

“Yeah.” He leaned close, glancing around as if to ensure he wouldn’t be overheard. “Answer one question for me and we’re even. How could anyone not know they were a lingerie model?”

Judging by her widened eyes, Joe realized he’d hit the nail right on the head. He didn’t know how it was possible, but her shock had been legitimate. The woman had had no idea her image was being used to model seductive lingerie in a public store.

Aside from her astounding confirmation, Joe still hadn’t quite wrapped his mind around the fact that he was here, talking comfortably in broad daylight on a public street, with the object of his deepest fantasies. She wasn’t supposed to exist.

But she did. And she was as perfect in person as she’d been in his dreams.

“I don’t understand it myself,” she admitted, biting helplessly on the corner of a full lower lip.

Joe watched, amazed at the creamy smoothness of her face, those blue eyes, the tiny cleft in her chin. He suspected she had a killer smile. And he really wanted to see it. “Someone told you about the pictures, I guess? You came to The Red Doors to see for yourself?”

She turned and glanced at the store they’d just left. “Yes. Listen, I should probably go. I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do. Thanks again for your help.”

“Wait,” he said softly. “You don’t look up to going anywhere yet. Why don’t we go across the street and have a cup of coffee?” Her eyes widened, clearly showing her uncertainty. “Please?”

After a long pause she said, “How can I refuse my knight in shining leather?” He held his breath until she finally nodded. “Okay, one cup. Then I really have to leave.”

We’ll see about that.

CHAPTER TWO

TEN MINUTES LATER they were seated in a private booth in a quiet restaurant. The place was nearly deserted since it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner. She seemed to relax.

“So,” she said after the waitress had ambled away, “I guess we’ve reached the introduction stage. My name’s Meg O’Rourke.”

“Meg,” he repeated, liking the way her name tasted in his mouth. “It’s nice to meet you, Meg.”

“What should I call you, other than my hero?”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. He’d done what any man would do when confronted with a woman in tears. Well, okay, not exactly true. Probably most guys facing a crying woman would run like hell, stand there looking stupid, or go to the nearest roadside stand and buy her flowers.

Joe considered himself a step above the average guy when it came to how to treat women. Probably because his mama had threatened all five of her boys with a frying pan if she ever caught them being nasty to’da leedle girls—particularly their baby sister, affectionately dubbed the demon child of D’Angelo Street. “I’m Joe Santori.”

“Santori… There’s a great Italian restaurant called Santori’s not far from my neighborhood.”

He shrugged. “My parents own it.”

She gave him a genuinely delighted smile, the one he’d wanted to see earlier. It was every bit as brilliant and sunny as he’d imagined it would be. But even he couldn’t have predicted the tiny little dimple in her right cheek. That dimple grabbed the breath right out of his lungs and took a piece of his pounding heart right along with it.

Wow. What a smile.

“I’ve only been there a few times, but it’s number one on my take-out list,” she continued. “The last time I was there…” She bit the corner of her lip, shaking her head as she primly crossed her hands on the table in front of her.

“What? What happened the last time?”

She countered with a question of her own. “Your mother, she runs the place, right? Is she a dark-haired woman who wears a huge pin made out of various kinds of dried pasta on the collar of her dress?”

Joe nodded warily, wondering what his infamous mother had done this time. “Uh-huh. What’d she do?”

Meg giggled. “She, uh, made me stand up straight, walked all around me, then told me it was God’s plan for me to have lots of babies and feed them the way nature intended.”

He groaned and sank down in his seat.

“I wasn’t offended. Believe me, I’ve heard it often enough from my mother and all her friends in the neighborhood.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t insist you meet one of her sons. There are six kids in my family—five of us male—and only one married. Unfortunately, I’m second on the totem pole, so I’m the one in her matchmaking crosshairs right now.”