Tempting Tonio (A Steamy Older Man - Younger Woman Romance) (The Adamos Book 1) Read online

  The glint turns to a gleam. For a long moment, Antonio studies me, and I'm so mad that I hold his gaze, something I normally have trouble doing. Then, in a suspiciously mild tone, he says, “Fair enough.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out what he's thinking, but it's like he's disappeared behind a smooth, impenetrable wall of politeness. It deflates me faster than anything else could, and then I feel embarrassed about getting all worked up. Taking out my order pad, I try to regain some semblance of professionalism. “Can I get you anything?”

  He shoots me a look, and I know what he's not saying. Suddenly I'm the one trying not to smile. I can't help it; a grin breaks out. I say, “Does that mean coffee?”

  “Yeah,” he says, one corner of his mouth quirking up. I get a cup and the pot, bring them back and pour, and set down the creamer and sugar. And then I go to help Victor.

  When I make it back to Antonio, I say, “Did you want to eat something? We've got Vic's caramel turtle cheesecake today.” I don't know if he's a cheesecake fan or not, but if he is, it would be a sin not to tell him.

  We have customers all day long because of the garage, but also because the food is really good. Victor personally created every dish on the menu. He used to cook everything himself too, but now he hires help and trains them to do things his way.

  “Can't pass up Vic's cheesecake,” Antonio says.

  “Good choice,” I say, and give him a brilliant smile. His eyes get hot and I get flustered. I turn away quickly and busy myself with the cheesecake.

  His cup is empty when I set his dessert down, so I bring the pot over for a refill. “Having a lot of work done on your car?” I say, like I'm just making conversation.

  “Just a tuneup.” When his cup's full, he says, “Thanks, babe.” There he goes again! My hand jerks as heat sizzles along my nerve endings, and the coffee sloshes in the pot.

  I put it carefully away before I turn back to him. The stupid is clearly not out of my system yet, because I say in a low voice, “You shouldn't call me that.”

  He meets my eyes, and I fight not to look away. “You're right,” he says after a long moment. “I shouldn't.”

  His attention goes back to his food, and I suddenly feel like crying. Why can't I keep my mouth shut? “So why did you?” I say, because I can't be sensible and leave him alone. No, I have to keep poking at him.

  At first I think he's not going to answer me. He takes another bite of cheesecake, chewing deliberately. I look around the café to make sure no one's trying to get my attention, and am about to flounce away when he answers.

  He looks up, and those dark eyes hold me in place. I hold my breath, transfixed. And then he says, “I don't always do what I'm supposed to.”

  My heart starts to hammer in my chest. “Me either,” I tell him, though that's mostly a lie. I'm such a good girl that I'm still a virgin. How pathetic is that?

  No, that's a lie too. Not that I'm a virgin, but that it's because I'm a good girl. The truth is, I'm saving myself for Antonio. No other man comes close, so why would I waste my time with any of them?

  My teeth come out to worry my lower lip. Tonio – I love thinking of him that way, even if I can't call him that out loud – looks at my mouth, and his eyes go half-lidded. “You're a temptation, Cait Miller,” he says. “But your father is one of my right-hand men.”

  Oh my god. He does know me! He's sent me soaring with one little sentence, only to knock me right back down again with the next. “I didn't think you knew who I was,” I say.

  His next words rock my world. “Babe. I've always known who you were.”

  I want to melt into his arms, and my expression must show it. “Cait,” he says gently. I can't stand the finality in his voice, and even worse, the kindness. It's far too close to pity.

  “Don't,” I say. Emotion tightens my throat, making my voice raspy. “Just don't.” I back away and head out to check on customers, determined to ignore Antonio until he's gone.

  3

  You Don’t Get to Do This

  My best friend, Erin Grant, comes in before the lunch rush. She knows all about my Antonio obsession and spots him right away, giving me wide eyes. “Did you get to talk to him?” she whispers as soon as she reaches me.

  “Yeah.”

  Her face falls at my flat tone. “Oh, hon. Was he awful?”

  “Awfully nice,” I say, unable to avoid a touch of bitterness. My eyes, despite my intentions, can't help looking his way. He's talking to Victor, who's cleared away his dirty dishes. Good; I won’t have to talk to him again.

  “What do you mean?” Erin says.

  I explain, and by the time I'm done she looks as dismal as I feel. “Fuck,” she says quietly. “Maybe we need to change Triple-A's middle name from Alessandro to Asshole.”

  “He wasn't an asshole,” I say glumly. “That would be the guy who propositioned me.”

  She gasps. “What?”

  When I get done telling her about Coffee Guy, her eyes are wide again. “Antonio picked him up by his throat?” she says, in mingled awe and hope.

  “Yeah, but he's an Adamo. He'd do that for anyone.” I give her a small smile. “It was kinda cool, though.”

  Victor answers the internal phone, listens a few seconds, then hangs up and tells Antonio, “Your car's ready.” Erin and I watch as Antonio stands up, tosses some money down, and leaves without a backward glance.

  “See?” I raise my brows at her. It sucks being right.

  “Asshole,” Erin says. I know it's not really true, but it's what a good bestie would say, and I appreciate the solidarity.

  The rest of my shift goes quickly. By three o'clock, I'm home, which for the summer means at my parents' house. I change clothes and fix dinner before they get home.

  We have our usual discussion of the day, which does not include my encounter with Antonio. I'm not sure I can talk about him in a tone of voice that won't ping the parental radar. Since I can't mention pouring coffee all over the counter without explaining Antonio's mind-scrambling sexual charisma, I eliminate the Darrel Crane incident altogether.

  We're still eating when my cell phone rings. I check the display and see that it's Victor. “Hey Vic,” I answer. “What's up?”

  “Paula called in sick. Can you come in to close?”

  Good thing I didn't throw my uniform in the wash. “Sure,” I tell him. “I'll be right there.”

  “Thanks, doll. You're a lifesaver.” Since I've worked there longer than any of the other waitresses, I've been trained in everything, including how to close, which most of them can't do on their own. Time and a half and more tips won't hurt my savings at all.

  “Back to work,” I tell my parents, getting up from the table. “I'm closing, so I'll be late getting home.”

  “All right. See you tomorrow,” Mom says. “We'll clean up. Thanks for dinner, sweetie.”

  “Bye, honey,” Dad says. “Be safe.”

  My uniform isn't too stained or smelly, so I don't have to do any spot cleaning before I put it on, braid my hair, and drive back into town. Erin's still at Revved; we have an hour of overlap before she goes home and leaves me with the late-evening crowd, which fortunately does not contain any irritatingly sexy-but-stubborn Adamo men.

  By the time I finish closing, it's after 2 am. My car is parked right under a streetlight, but I still have my keys out and keep an eye out around me as I walk briskly toward it. The night air is cool and quiet, refreshing after being in the café for hours.

  I round the back of the car, and that's when I see it. Huge, angry red letters spray-painted across the driver's side. CUNT!

  My body starts to tremble, and that's when I see that all my tires are flat. I'm shaking so badly I can barely get my phone out of my purse. My eyes dart in all directions, scanning for movement, and I turn to put the car at my back.

  “Caitlin?” Victor's voice is heavy with sleep. “Everything okay?”

  “I'm sorry.” I shouldn't have woken him; I should b
e calling the police. My brain auto-dialed his number. “I'm so sorry.”

  “Cait.” He sounds wide awake now, voice sharp. “What's wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “He slashed my tires,” I whisper.

  Vic lets out a stream of profanity that would be impressive if I weren't terrified. “Get back inside and lock yourself in. I'm calling the police. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I'm still whispering.

  “Do it now, while I'm on the phone with you.”

  “Okay.” The tranquility of the night has vanished; every shadow holds nightmares. I rush back toward the café's front door, stumble and fall, going down on my hands and knees. My phone clatters onto the asphalt.

  The pain jars me from fear into anger. “Fuck!” Victor's voice comes distantly through the phone, yelling at me. Scrambling up, I snatch the phone and cover the remaining distance in a limping half-run.

  I jam the phone between my head and shoulder as I fumble the key into the lock. “I fell. Dropped my phone. I'm okay.”

  The door opens and I'm inside, locking it again even before I turn off the alarm. The panel's in the back, and I turn on lights as I go. I enter the code wrong even though I know it by heart and have for years, and have to force myself to punch in the numbers slowly and deliberately.

  The alarm stops beeping. I suck in a shaky breath and go back out to the front, where I can put myself in a booth, back to the wall, and monitor the fully-lit front room. I was vaguely aware of Victor's voice while I was doing all that, but he didn't seem to be talking to me. Now he comes back on the line and says, “I called the cops from another phone. I'm coming down but I'll stay on the phone with you until they get there.”

  “You don't have to do that,” I say softly. “I'm sorry I woke you.”

  Vic swears some more. “You wanna know how pissed I'd be if you didn't call me? Don't even go there.”

  For the first time since I saw the spray paint, the raw edge of my emotions softens a little. “Thanks, Vic.” A cruiser comes down the street, running with lights but no siren, and pulls into the parking lot. There's another one right behind it. “The police are here.”

  “Good. I'll see you in a few minutes.” Then he's gone and I watch the officers park on either side of my car, with an empty space in between, and get out.

  It's after I've talked to the police, and after Victor has given me first aid for my skinned knees and palms, while I'm sipping a cup of tea, that Antonio walks in. My heart squeezes hard in my chest. He comes right to me, his dark eyes searching my face.

  “You okay?” he says softly. Behind his concern there's anger simmering, held tightly in control. Vic must have told him what happened, and he must be worried about me or he wouldn’t have come down here in the middle of the night.

  It doesn't matter. Adrenaline is still coursing through my system, giving everything a painful clarity. “I'm fine,” I say coldly.

  He swears under his breath. “Cait … don't be that way.”

  “What way?”

  “I told you—”

  “Yes, you did.” I can't believe I'm talking to Antonio Adamo like this, but the words keep coming out of my mouth. “So go. Away.”

  His jaw tightens. “Cait—”

  “You don't get to do this, Antonio.” The first time I've ever called him by his name, and it's like ashes in my mouth.

  “Do what?” he says with narrowed eyes.

  “Care about me and then push me away.” His head snaps back. “I can't handle it. All right? I can't. So please, just leave … me … alone.”

  His eyes are blazing now, anger and frustration and something else. For a long moment he holds my gaze, a muscle working in his jaw. Then he turns without another word and walks away.

  I feel empty when he's gone. Empty, but not sorry. I did what I had to do. I just wish it hadn't left me with a hollowed-out heart.

  4

  Can’t Handle Me

  My car has been taken in as evidence, so Victor drives me home. It's almost 4 am; my parents will be up soon. I'm exhausted and drained, but my hollow feeling has been replaced by a throbbing ache, like there's a bruise on my heart.

  “You just rest today,” Vic tells me as he pulls into my parents' driveway. “I'll talk to you tonight, see how you're feeling. Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I hope you can get some rest too,” I say.

  “I'm fine, Cait, but thanks.” He reaches out and cradles my face in his hand, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone. An unexpected hint of sensation shimmers through me. “Talk to you tonight.”

  Why is he touching me like that? Brotherly concern? It doesn't feel brotherly, but I don't trust myself to know which end is up right now.

  “Thanks again for everything,” I say, and climb down from his SUV. My mind is whirling despite my fatigue as I let myself into the house. Instead of going to bed, I curl up in a recliner in the living room, waiting for my parents to get up.

  Pulling an afghan over me, I settle myself more comfortably in the chair. Sleep drags me under so fast I don't even feel it coming.

  It's four in the afternoon when I wake up in my bed. After rousing long enough to give the bare outline of what happened to my horrified parents, I crashed and slept all day. I'm not sure what woke me, and then I hear it.

  Someone's knocking on the front door. We have a doorbell, but they're not using it. It sounds like they're tapping quietly; I can barely hear it from the back of the house.

  I climb out of bed, pull on a bathrobe, and make my way to the front door. Maybe it's the police with an update or follow-up questions. As I get close, the tapping sounds again, very softly.

  When I look through the spyhole, my heart seizes. It's Antonio. Before I can think twice – or even once – I open the door.

  He's not in a suit; he's wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Despite everything, my body rockets toward the lust zone. His eyes move over me, but he doesn't speak, and after a couple of awkward seconds I realize he's waiting for me to let him in.

  I stand back and he moves inside so I can shut the door behind him. Pulling my robe more tightly around me, I wait for him to say something. Now that I'm not strung out on adrenaline, I'm embarrassed that I laid myself open to him that way. What was I thinking?

  My eyes fix on a bookcase across the room, letting me watch him in my peripheral vision. Then there's nothing to watch, because he moves in close and pulls me gently against him, wrapping his arms around me. He's solid and warm, and smells like leather and wood and his own masculine essence.

  My defenses crumble like centuries-old lace. A sob rises in my throat, and his arms tighten around me. “I can't …” I choke, trying to pull back, but he draws me back against him.

  “Shhh, bella. It's all right. Just let it out.”

  The endearment completely undoes me. One huge, deep, racking sob shakes me, and then another, and then I'm crying like a baby against his chest. The tears go on and on, but he doesn't seem to mind.

  I can't remember the last time I cried this hard. In fact, I'm not sure I ever have. When I finally stop, I feel warm and safe and tranquil, and I know it's because of the man who's still holding me close.

  Trying to ease back from him doesn't work. As soon as I move, even a little, his arms flex, keeping me near. “Tonio ...” I say softly, and then freeze.

  For a moment he's still too, and then he tilts my face up. There's a look in his eyes I've never seen before, and it makes me tremble with something that is very far from fear. Then his thumb comes up and strokes across my lower lip.

  Before I can think, my body responds. My mouth opens, my teeth catching the tip of his thumb, and then he's in my mouth and I'm sucking on him. His eyes go dark, his arms crush me against him, and his head comes down.

  When our mouths meet, I lose all control. My arms go up around his neck and I kiss him back, frantic, while my legs try to climb right up his body. One of his hands goes to the back of my head, the other clamps onto my ass, and need roars through me.

&
nbsp; I whimper into his mouth, and the kiss turns wild and deep. When he finally breaks off, my panties are soaked. Scooping me up, Tonio carries me over to the recliner and settles into it with me in his lap.

  “When I saw you yesterday,” he says without preamble, “I wanted you. All tits and ass and long dark hair, big blue eyes, cute little nose, and that mouth, fuck. Drove me nuts, being that close to you and not touching you, taking you.”

  He looks at me, his dark eyes stormy. “I'm no stranger to women, babe. You know that.” I ignore the pang in my stomach and nod. “Never felt that before. Not like that, not with anyone.”

  A warm glow fills me and I can't help smiling. “And then,” he says, “you stopped being shy and showed me your fire. After that, I wanted to fuck you right there in front of everybody.” I shudder, and his hand squeezes me.

  “Didn't act on it,” he says. “You know why.” My smile fades, and I nod again. “When I heard about your car I wanted to hunt that fucker Crane down and put him in the hospital.

  “I had to come down and see for myself that you were all right. When you said what you said … I realized I wasn't being fair to you. And I wasn't being honest with myself.”

  What changed? I want to ask, but I can tell he's not done. “This morning,” he says, “Vic called me.” I suck in a breath. “Did he make a move on you?” Antonio asks, very softly.

  “No, he didn't make a move on me. He was worried about me, and there was a hint of maybe something.” His eyes get dark and not in a good way, so I add hastily, “It was just a hint.”

  “I don't appreciate him taking advantage when you're vulnerable.”

  “Tonio,” I say – and now that I've used it once, I can't seem to call him anything else – “he didn't take advantage. He didn't do anything.”

  “He told me if I didn't make a move, he would.” I gasp, but Antonio goes on before I can say anything. “He's my cousin, and he's always been like a younger brother to me. And when he said that, I realized if he touched you, I'd kill him.”