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“You’re persistent.”
“Is it working?”
Sighing, she stepped aside, and he made it over the threshold.
She locked the door behind him, and then touched her hair, which was pulled willy-nilly into a messy knot at the back of her head. Strands escaped, including one that trailed along her nape.
He wanted to loosen the band that prevented her riotous curls from cascading down. There was a large mirror in a yellow scroll frame behind Marisa, so he got a great 360-degree view of her. Underneath the apron, she was wearing a pair of black exercise shorts that hugged a well-rounded rear end.
He needed divine assistance. “You look like you worked out or are about to.”
He’d gone out on an early-morning run, but Marisa seemed to prefer to exercise after her school day was finished.
She looked uncomfortable. “I’m trying to get in shape.”
She had a fabulous body as far as he was concerned. Her shape was more than fine. Still, if she wanted to exercise, he knew how they could get a workout in bed...
She wet her lips and turned. “Come on in.”
He followed her from the foyer and down the hallway, deeper into the apartment.
“It’s a prewar building, so this condo has a traditional layout. No open floor plan, like those renovated old factory buildings that you might be used to.”
“Something smells delicious.” And someone looked delectable, too. It was only four-thirty, but maybe Marisa liked to eat early. There was a living room off the hall, done in a flower motif—from plum-colored drapes to a damask armchair covered by a rose throw.
“Parent-teacher conferences are tomorrow night. The school usually has catered fare for the staff, but I got a request to bring my eggplant parmigiana.”
They passed two bedrooms, but only the second looked occupied. It had aqua walls offset by white wicker furniture and a white counterpane. There was a mirrored dresser, and a vanity framed by floor-length window treatments.
At the end of the hall, they reached a bright but dated kitchen. The aromas stimulated his taste buds. If she’d been set on seducing him, she couldn’t have planned it better.
“I didn’t know you were going to show up,” she said, as if addressing his private thoughts. “I was mixing the ingredients for cupcakes.”
He was going down...but he adopted a solemn expression. “I understand. You’re cooking for others.”
She gave him a sidelong look. “Well, I did make an extra pan of the eggplant parmigiana to keep around. Would you like some? I just removed it from the oven.”
“I’d love some,” he said with heartfelt fervor.
Eggplant parmigiana was one of his favorite dishes, but ever since he’d moved out of his parents’ house, he didn’t often get a home-cooked meal. His specialty was grilling, not frying vegetables and creating elaborate baked dishes. His pasta came prepared from the gourmet market these days.
As Marisa retrieved a spatula, he spied an ancient-looking KitchenAid mixer on her countertop, right next to the fixings for cupcakes.
“Your mixer looks like it’s seen better days.”
“You mean Kathy?”
“You named your mixer.” He was careful to keep his tone neutral.
She adjusted a baking pan on the range with an oven mitt and then glanced at him over her shoulder. “It belonged to my grandmother. It’s an heirloom, so it gets a name. In fact, Nonna let me name it when I was six. Kathy KitchenAid.”
He watched her cut a piece of the eggplant parmigiana for him. Then he hooked his jacket over the back of a chair and took a seat at the well-worn kitchen table. Moments later Marisa set a steaming plate before him and handed him a fork.
The mozzarella was still oozing, and the breaded eggplant peeked out in thin layers—like a delicate mille fiori pastry.
He swallowed.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked.
