Chapter Three
Alessandro
A s usual, the restaurant was packed with diners, their voices muted to a dull roar as cutlery clinked and food sizzled and flamed behind an open servery. The smiling waitress led us up red-cedar stairs to an overhead level, where a private table was half-hidden in an alcove. A clay pot with shaggy greenery shielded us even more from everyone below.
Perfect.
I didn’t want to be disturbed while I was here with Jane. I wanted to know everything about her, my entire focus centered on her.
After the waitress left us with menus and a promise to be back in a few minutes, I watched Jane peruse the drink menu, seemingly impressed by the list of cocktails.
“I’m guessing you’re not a champagne girl,” I murmured.
“I’m more of a gin girl,” she said with a smile. “In which case, I might order the gin blossom.”
“I’m more of a whiskey guy,” I conceded. “In which case, I might go with the whiskey sour.”
We ordered our drinks and I leaned back in my chair, content to feast my eyes on Jane in relative privacy while I pondered if she had any idea of the number of celebrities who’d sat at this very same table.
She grinned, her green eyes sparkling like emeralds. “I suspected you were a whiskey kind of guy.”
“You did?”
“Yes. You give me whiskey vibes.”
I was intrigued. But then, everything about her intrigued me. She wasn’t anything like any of the other women I’d dated. She was different and unique. She was memorable for all the right reasons. “Oh?”
She bit her bottom lip, then explained, “Whiskey makes me think of tall, dark and dangerous, of a man living life on the edge while wearing tailored suits and driving expensive sports cars.”
I chuckled, my nerve endings dancing and my senses stimulated, “I doubt I’ll ever see whiskey sours in the same light again.”
The waitress returned then with our drinks. Placing them in front of us, she asked, “Ready to order?”
I looked at Jane. “Do you know what you want?”
She put a hand to her mouth, her gaze sweeping over me. “Is that a rhetorical question?”
I smiled, delighted. She was flirting with me. I’d bet she didn’t do that with just anyone.
Then the waitress cleared her throat and Jane looked at me and said, “Surprise me.”
I raised a brow, my dick surging against my pants. I loved independent women as much as the next man, but it was oddly pleasing to be handed control. “You trust me?”
She tipped her head to the side, her eyes glinting. “What can I say, I’m not fussy, I like my food.”
I smirked. I should have known she wouldn’t be like most women I knew who counted calories to keep their svelte figures. Jane might be petite, but she had curves in all the right places. I turned to the waitress and said, “We’ll have two of the chef’s pasta recommendations.”
The waitress nodded. “Good choice.”
I barely noticed the waitress leave then, all my attention stayed on the woman sitting across from me.
She took a sip of her drink, “Yum.”
I grinned. “You’re easily pleased.”
She shrugged. “It’s the simple pleasures in life, right?”
I could think of a whole lot of complex things I’d love to do to her, but I’d keep those thoughts to myself...for now. “I guess so,” I answered non-committedly. I cleared my throat. “So what got you into vintage clothing?’
“It was my gran’s passion. Her love for all things retro was passed onto me even before she left this world.” She blinked rapidly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “It was natural for me to step into her shoes and take over from where she left off.”
“She left you her shop?”
She nodded. “Yes, she knew it’d be in good hands. She knew I loved everything vintage as much as she did. Nan wasn’t just my mentor; she was my mother in every way.”
The pain in her voice was unmistakable, but so was the joy. I swallowed back sudden emotion. I knew all too well what it was like to lose a mother. Jane had experienced that twice with her mother and then her gran.
“How old were you when your mother died?” I asked gently.
“I was seven.” She grimaced. “Almost two decades ago and it kills me that my memories of her are fading. Aside from a few photos I have nothing to remind me of what her laugh sounded like, what her touch felt like, the smell of her hair, her skin.” She sighed, her voice a little shaky. “I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll be before the same thing happens with my gran.”
I put a hand over hers. “They’ll both always be with you. I don’t doubt they’re watching you right now.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Maybe you’re right. Sometimes I swear I feel a presence, warmth that surrounds me.” She cocked her head to the side. “What about you? Is your mother still in your life?”
I managed not to grimace. “My mother died years ago from young onset dementia.”
“So you lost both your parents,” she said softly.
I nodded. “My father died a little more recently, thanks to his...lifestyle.”
I wouldn’t tell her my father’s death was due to his criminal activities, or that my brother put a bullet in his head.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said, placing her free hand on mine.
A shiver of longing rippled through me. “Thank you. Though my father wasn’t a good man, my mother was nothing short of a saint and is very much missed.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “I feel your pain.”
I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I’m only sorry you’ve experienced loss too.”
Her gaze held mine, her voice soft. “It’s a shame it might be the only thing we have in common.”
I caressed her palm with my thumb. If she ever guessed who my family was she’d be out of here fast enough to see a dust trail. I couldn’t risk that. I cleared my throat. “Opposites do attract.”
She withdrew her hand. “Apparently.”
The waitress appeared and placed down two plates of pasta with pesto and shrimp. Though I was a little disappointed that our intimate moment had been interrupted, there was something fascinating about watching Jane twirl the pasta with her fork then suck up the rigatoni until her plate was clean.
I chuckled. “I take it you enjoyed your meal?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever had tastier pasta,” she conceded.
“We’ll have to come here again sometime.”
“Or perhaps I’ll take you to my favorite gourmet restaurant.”
Delight coursed through me. “That sounds like an invitation.”
She flushed. “I guess it is.”
“Well, then, invitation accepted!” I stated, triumphant at this next step in getting to know her.
Every other woman I’d been with had been transient at best. I’d been more than happy to enjoy physical intimacy and then leave without a backward glance. Emotional intimacy had never been a part of my psyche. I’d run a mile before getting to know a female more than skin deep.
I wasn’t ashamed to admit I was a right bastard. Perhaps that was why most of the women I screwed were hookers or women who knew the score. I grimaced. Jane was far too good for me. But I also wasn’t ashamed to admit it wouldn’t stop me from getting what I wanted.
Too bad one night with her might not be enough. I had a feeling I’d want so much more than that.
I was ruminating on that thought as we left the restaurant—Jane insisting on paying for her own meal—and headed toward the car, a light drizzle having me take my jacket off and tucking it around her. I swallowed back a chuckle. She might have curves but the jacket all but swam on her.
But then all of us Agostino brothers were tall and well-built. We towered over almost everyone.
I opened her door and waited until she slid in before I shut the door, but not before I noticed the gleam of her gold bangle. A possessive jolt went through me. Perhaps I’d buy her some earrings next, or a gold chain with a heart.
She might stubbornly pay for her own dinner, but she couldn’t stop me from showering her with gifts.
I shook my head and strode to the driver’s side before climbing into my seat. I wasn’t a damn romantic and I wasn’t about to start being one now. Not even for my little sparrow, Jane.
Yet even as that thought slipped into my head, another thought overrode it. I couldn’t wait to spoil her.