The Devil Served Desire (19 page)

Add the rice and stir, until the grains are ready to burst, like
his
heart. Add the wine for a little sweetness from the vine. Now pour in a little of the stock, stirring and stirring until it's absorbed.

Risotto requires tending, just like a new love. So add a little stock, then stir more. Add and stir until the risotto is al dente and creamy. Now it's time to marry the cheeses. Bring in the sweet Gorgonzola with the nutty Fontina and stir together, until they have completely blended. Taste for extra seasoning and add if needed.

Sprinkle with walnuts, which the Romans say bring fertility to all who eat them. Then serve quickly to a couple who needs a good shove in the right direction—

The direction of the altar, of course.

Mamma was clearly on Dante's side. She seated him beside Maria. Before dinner, he noticed her pushing their chairs a tiny bit closer when Maria wasn't looking, too.

Taking the night off from Vita had been a damned good idea.

Dante poured the wine for everyone at the table. He noticed, however, that Maria didn't sip from her glass. Did she not want to bring back the memories of that night? Or was she afraid of a repeat performance?

Maria brushed by her grandfather on her way to her seat, giving him a kiss and a hug. Sal Pagliano gave Dante a wink from across the table, mouthing,
Give her time
.

Time didn't seem to work with Maria. The more Dante stayed away, the more distant she became. If he wanted her, he'd better put a plan into fast forward.

Of course, that would presume he
had
a plan. Between the restaurant's insane schedule and dealing with the problems of Vinny, Rochelle and everyone else, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had five minutes to think about his own life.

All he did know was that Maria intrigued him more than any woman he'd ever met. She had the perfect combination—brains, sass and a talent for chess. Every time he saw her, his desire for her multiplied. All he needed now was a way to steal her heart before she knew what hit her.

That required a plan, which he didn't have. Damned good thing he could improvise.

Sal cleared his throat and introduced Dante to his wife Ada, a diminutive white-haired woman sitting to Sal's right. "Pass the zucchini,
ma petite
," he said loudly to her when he finished the introductions.

"You old fool. I haven't been petite since you married me." But Ada passed the vegetables anyway.

Sal scooped some zucchini onto his plate, grinning at the woman across from him. "In my eyes, you are but a beautiful rose."

"You're legally blind."

"I can still see my heart's true love."

She scowled and reached for a slice of bread. "That's the cataracts."

"You have lost your romance. Where's the little butterfly I married?"

"She got old. Now pass the risotto."

"Are they always like this?" Dante whispered into Maria's ear. Her dark brown hair curled against her ear-lobe, and for an insane moment, he longed to toy with the springy tendril.

Probably not a good thing to do at the family dinner table.

"Pretty much." She shrugged, smiling at them. "Wait till they really get going. My grandmother's a little hard of hearing so they sometimes end up practically screaming at each other by the end of a conversation. Nonna and Nonno would give the best presidential candidates a run for their money at a debate."

"I think it's wonderful." He'd always craved that kind of family. That kind of life for himself. This exact kind of setting.

Maria turned and looked at him, fork hovering over her plate, big brown eyes catching his. God, she had gorgeous eyes. Like deep pools of mink he could settle into, and be comfortable there for a million years. "You need mental help," she said.

"Oh, come on, look at them. Still in love, still flirting."

"That's not flirting. It's verbal combat." But her voice was soft and admiring, full of love for her grandparents.

"Ah,
ma petite
," he whispered, his voice a lower, deeper version of her grandfather's, "where's your romance?"

Her eyes widened and filled with something that simmered hotter than the steam coming off the veal. He clenched his free hand in his lap to break the urge to reach out and touch her, to draw her to him and taste her ruby lips again.

"So, Dante, what are your intentions with my little girl?" Maria's father leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the back.

Dante straightened and coughed, tearing his attention away from Maria. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smirk. The grilling had begun. "To drive her crazy until she finally says yes and goes out on a date with me."

"He's a smart man, that one," Sal said to his wife, emphasizing the point with a fork. "Comes from strong stock. I know his father. Good man."

"What?" Ada cocked an ear at him, cupping her hand around it.

"I said he's a smart man."

"A smart-ass? You shouldn't say those kinds of things at the dinner table. There are young people present."

Maria's father turned his attention toward Dante again. "You have a good job?"

Dante cleared his throat. "I own a restaurant."

"A what?" Ada asked. "A rest stop? How can you make a living at that?"

"A restaurant," Dante repeated, louder.

Her father raised a brow. "And?"

"And that's it. It keeps me pretty busy."

"In my day, a man worked three jobs," Sal said, nodding. "Supported his family in style."

"What style?" Ada snorted. "I drove an Edsel. We lived in a two-room walkup with three kids for fifteen years. Style, my—"

"Mamma!" Maria's father cut her off. "There are young people present. Remember?"

She went back to her zucchini, muttering about Edsels under her breath.

Biba bustled in from the kitchen, depositing additional bread onto the table and then hurrying from place setting to place setting, refilling the wineglasses.

"Sit Biba," her husband said. "You never eat with the rest of us."

"My kitchen—"

"Will not burn down if you stop to eat." He grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward the chair beside him. "Maria's boyfriend is here. We need to make sure he's the one."

Dante grinned at Maria. She let out a sigh that said her parents had visited this territory more often than Lewis and Clark. "He's not my boyfriend. And he's not the one."

He thought about holding up a sign saying he was interested in the position, but figured Maria wasn't taking applications.

"Good for you," her grandmother said, adding salt to her zucchini. "Don't settle down. Men are a pain in the ass."

"Mamma!" Biba gasped.

"What? It's true. They're about as useful as a dead elephant in the freezer."

Dante stifled a laugh. Maria choked back one of her own.

Sal grabbed his wife's hand and brought it to his lips, giving it a loud kiss. "Later, I'll show you
useful
."

"Don't you dare." She jerked her hand back. "I took that self-defense class at the community center last year. I know how to use a fist."

Sal chuckled. "There's no defense against
amore
."

Ada let out a chuff of disgust. "Are you sneaking those Viagra pills again? I swear, that Sonny is a terrible friend, giving you those things. Make you act like an animal."

"Mamma!" Biba said.

She dug into her plate again. "I'm old. I can say whatever I want now."

Biba started in on her plate at a furious pace, her cheeks pink. Dante cast an amused glance at Maria, who made a concerted effort to ignore him. He could see the amusement in her gaze, though, and knew as much as she wouldn't admit it, her family and all their quirks were dear to her heart.

The ringlet was back around her ear again, teasing at him, making his fingers itch to brush it back.

As soon as she finished eating, Maria leapt to her feet to help clear the table. Biba got to her feet as well, like a rising chorus of the Rockettes.

Dante stood. "Mrs. Pagliano, please sit. Maria and I will clean up."

"But—" Mamma was half out of her seat.

"You work hard," Dante said. "Let us spoil you for once."

"Suck-up," Maria muttered to him.

"Smart man," Sal said.

"Don't call him a smart-ass," his wife said, swatting him from across the table. "He's a nice boy. Look how he helps."

Clearly, Dante had won over everyone at the Pagliano table. Except Maria. He now had a whole team rooting for him to win her stubborn heart. Dante smiled at Maria's mother. "Let Maria and I do the dishes," he said again.

Confusion flitted across Biba's face, as if she didn't know what to do with herself now. "Well, if you're sure..."

"I know my way around a kitchen." Dante laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and she slowly retook her seat. "And I promise to leave yours exactly as you would."

"I changed my mind," Ada said, grabbing Maria's hand. "Marry him. Even if he is a smart-ass."

Dante's Winning-a-Stubborn-Heart Sicilian Ricotta Cake

2 cups ricotta cheese, sweet and tempting

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 tablespoons vanilla sugar

Rind of one orange, finely grated

5 tablespoons orange-flavored liqueur

1/4 cup semisweet chocolate, chopped (the way to a girl's heart)

5 tablespoons candied orange peel, chopped and divided

1 pound sponge cake, sliced into 1/4-inch slices

1 cup whipping cream, sweetened, like she is

Combine the ricotta and heavy cream, beating until smooth and creamy, just like you wish everything was between the two of you. Add the sugar, orange rind and orange liqueur. Fold in chocolate chips and all but one tablespoon of the candied orange peel. Now you've made the filling completely irresistible.

Line a five-cup loaf pan with parchment paper. Layer sponge cake, then ricotta mixture, finishing with sponge cake. Try not to imagine you and she layered together after she tastes this creation of yours, or you'll end up ricotta-ing yourself.

Press down lightly, wrap with wax paper and plastic wrap, then refrigerate overnight while you dream about her eating that first delectable bite.

Before serving, invert the cake onto a plate and ice it with the whipped cream. Decorate with candied fruit.

Or, better yet, you can frost each other with the whipped cream and forget the cake altogether.

Dante could see Maria wasn't going to give him the time of day, much less the dish soap. She loaded the dishes into the sink, doing her best to ignore him, taking over every chore that she could and avoiding him, probably hoping he'd give up and go away.

"Wash? Or dry?"

"Huh?" she asked.

"Which do you want to do?"

"We have a dishwasher."

"Let's do it ourselves. Sometimes I like to do the dishes. It's... mindless." He picked up a plate, ran it under the faucet and watched the Arborio rice run off the side. "You can see the clean happen in front of your eyes. You feel like you accomplished something."

"You are a sick man." But she'd moved beside him and was already squirting Ivory liquid into the sink and filling the basin.

"Did you want to wash?"

"I'll dry. I have my manicure to think about." She tossed him a grin.

"You just want to see me wear the rooster apron, don't you?"

"Hell, yes. Might as well go for maximum humiliation. You'll score big in Mamma's book if you actually put your hands in the soapy water." Maria shut off the faucet and stepped away, opening a drawer and withdrawing a clean dish towel. "I don't think my father ever comes into the kitchen. Unless it's to ask my mother what time dinner will be."

"Are you serious?"

"He's your traditional Italian man. Wife takes care of him and the house; he brings home the money. He doesn't cook, clean or get his own coffee in the morning."

Dante began to load the dirty dishes in. "And as much as you love your father, that's not the kind of guy you want to marry."

Maria wrapped up the leftovers and started putting them into the refrigerator. "I don't want to marry
anyone
. I'm not the marrying kind."

Dante rinsed off the plate, then started on a bowl. "I think you tell yourself that, but I see you as a very different woman."

"You have me all wrong."

He paused to look at her. "No, I don't think so. One thing I am, is good at reading people. And from the minute I met you, I've seen a different woman beneath what you try to project." He chuckled. "Maybe that's why I haven't given up on you yet."

"Maybe you're a glutton for punishment."

"Quite the opposite." He grinned. "But if you don't date me, you'll never know. Not to mention how you'll disappoint your mamma," he warned, turning to wash another bowl.

"Don't forget Franco. The two of them could bemoan my old maid status over a bowl of wedding soup." Maria laughed.

"I don't think either of our Cupids would put down their arrows that easily." He noticed she'd managed to avoid answering him about the marriage question. Was he wrong? Or had he been right and she didn't want to admit it?

She'd called him a study in contrasts the last time they'd seen each other. But that wasn't true. She was the one who said she wanted one thing yet seemed so clearly meant for another.

Maria took the clean bowl he handed her and dried it, then placed it in the cabinet. She put a hand on her hip and looked at him. "You look like you're having a blast with the bubbles. Is there something I should know?"

He laughed. "I told you, I like doing dishes. It's a stress reliever." He leaned in her direction and whispered in her ear, lowering his voice into a sexy, teasing range, hoping to coax her back to the intimacy they'd had before. "Sometimes I even do them at home. Alone."

She moved back a few inches, but not before he saw her let out a staggered breath. "I hate anything to do with washing dishes. Paper plates were invented for people like me."