“You’re, um, you’re just not my usual type, that’s all.”
Joey’s a man’s man, no question. Not my type at all. I loved my dad, but I didn’t love the life he gave me. The loss and pain. I’ve gone for softer men—artsy men, social justice sort of men, the kind who would stay home with the kids if I wanted to work. But I have to admit there’s a major appeal to an alpha male. Knowing he’d slay all my dragons if I asked. Hell, he already offed the car loan dragon, hadn’t he? And while he underscores everything I hate about the mafia—the violence at its core that caused the death of my father—he also reminds me of what I loved so much about my dad, too.
He smirks. He has a dimple in his cheek in addition to the one on his chin. “What’s your usual type?”
I can’t help but smile in return. “Not you.”
“Well, if I had a type, it would be you,” he says.
I snort. I’m sure he says that to all the women. “I heard you just broke off an engagement with someone.”
“Oh yeah?” He sounds surprised. “Where’d you hear that?”
“My Aunt Marie—you know, Tony’s wife? I called her after you came by yesterday.”
Is it just me, or does Joey look far too satisfied to find out I’ve been asking about him? Yes, there’s a definite note of triumph to his expression.
He shrugs. “Yeah, I just realized she wasn’t the right girl for me. Too empty.”
I study his profile with curiosity. I want to know more.
So Joey LaTorre is looking for depth? Why does that surprise me?
And why do I hope he finds it with me? I don’t. I definitely don’t.
Joey takes me to Epic, an upscale restaurant I can’t afford with majestic views of the ocean. The maître d’ welcomes him by name and seats us in a private booth by a window. Real candles burn in the glass holders on the table. The city lights glitter on the water, making it look magical. If Joey was going for romantic, he definitely hit the mark.
This guy has charm in spades, which makes him harder and harder to resist.
The waiter comes by our table to take our drink order. Joey looks across the wine menu at me. “Do you like wine?”
“Yes.”
“Red or white?”
“Red, please.”
He looks up at the waiter. “We’ll have a bottle of the Dal Forno Romano Monte Lodoletta Amarone della Valpolicella.” The Italian rolls off his tongue like he’s a native speaker. He probably is. It makes me wish I picked up more Italian from my grandparents while they were alive. I check the menu and notice he just ordered a four hundred-dollar bottle of wine.
“You don’t have to show off for me, Joey,” I say, when the waiter’s gone.
He appears amused. “No?”
“I already know you’re a big shot. Plus, you paid off my car loan–a favor I already told you I can’t repay.”
“And I already told you this is how you repay it,” he says smoothly. “So you might as well sit back and enjoy it,bella.I’m showing off.”
His declaration knocks around inside my body, making the muscles between my legs tighten, my belly flutter. Everything turns tingly and warm.
“How’s your back today?”
“It’s actually better.” He drags his thumb across his lower lip, considering me. “What was that thing you did that made everything warm up?”
My eyebrows shoot up. Color me surprised–most people don’t notice when I throw a little energy work into my massage practice. “You felt that?”
“Yeah. What was it?”
“It’s called Reiki. It’s an energy healing.”