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She became free.
Her father hadn’t liked it; photography was fine as a hobby but its practicality as a career was null. Never mind the strange types of people it attracted—deviants and misfits, with their elaborate body art and seedy, unhygienic piercings. Even getting her photos on the restaurant’s walls had been a titanic battle, and he had only relented when she produced conservative portraits dripping in family values instead of the edgier explorations of beauty that had become her hallmark. Good girls don’t take photos of naked people, he had said.
Good girls don’t molest strange men in bars, either.
“It wasn’t planned, Dad,” she said. Not entirely. Sure, she had planned to seduce notorious man whore, Jack Kilroy and she had expected he would be a good kisser, a better-than-good kisser. What she hadn’t planned on was the heat and the need, nor how off balance she felt around him. She certainly hadn’t planned on liking him.
“I hope not, Liliana. DeLuca’s is a family establishment and that kind of behavior is bad for business.”
“You’d be surprised but this is the kind of thing that’s actually good for business. Along with the cooking show,” she added quickly.
“My daughter acting like—” He carved his hands through the air, grasping for an appropriate descriptor. It didn’t come. “In public is not good for business, no matter what you
think.” He stopped and finally looked her straight in the eye. “And I’m not sure this Jack Kilroy is good for anything.”
She could take the unspoken hussy jibe like the hussy she was but she didn’t like the sound of his dig at Jack. As much as she’d like to blame him for that toe-curling kiss and its fallout, she was just as guilty. More so. She had challenged him to match her and he had stepped up, in more ways than one. For a few moments while they teased and flirted, while he spoke about his sister, there had been a spark of possibility. Someone worthy of you, her mom had said.
Pushing those thoughts aside, she steeled herself for an argument. The family’s livelihood was on the precipice. They desperately needed Jack’s show and her father would have to put aside his disapproval for the sake of the greater good, namely, saving their pancetta.
“Dad, the show is going to be a boost. It’ll open us up to a whole new audience—young professionals, foodies. I have friends who could help spruce the place up and Tad’s got some great ideas for a new cocktail menu. We can jump start a new, more modern DeLuca’s.”
“And what about our regular customers? Are we to abandon the people who have been with us from the start just to become fashionable?” A tired sigh slipped his lips, matching the slump of his shoulders. “I will see you for dinner tonight, and do not be late.”
He stalked off into the house, his disappointment chilling her every cell despite the muggy heat. She tried to call on the moments when they had been simpatico—most of them involved the kitchen and a ball of dough—but the image of fear marring her father’s face when he gazed on her mother during chemotherapy trumped the good times.
Fear had a habit of trumping everything.
Fourteen
Jack stood outside DeLuca’s office, hand paused in mid-knock. Lili’s voice, unusually somber, rang out clear. “I should have done this years ago, but I was too much of a chicken. We’re finished.”
He pushed ajar the door to the smallest office he had ever seen and the sight before him pulled a smile from deep inside. Lili sat at the paperwork-laden desk, tan legs bare, crossed, and tapering to short boots with cutouts for her toes. Her fingers curled around a glazed donut and she was glaring at it with a mix of lust and disdain.
“Are you breaking up with a pastry?” he asked. She was so bloody adorable.
Her eyes met his, half pissed, half challenge. All sexy. “I’m cutting out the bad influences in my life. And that includes you.”
“Surely, it’s not as dreadful as all that.”
“You want to know how dreadful it is?” she said, mimicking his accent. Terribly. “There’s a Facebook page called ‘I hate Jack’s fat chick.’ It’s got over a thousand fans, Jack. A thousand.”
Tension spread through his body like a series of clenching fists. “That’ll be Min.”
“Who?”
“She’s the president of one of my fan clubs.”
“You have more than one?” she blurted incredulously.
“Yep. But Min runs the most vocal one. They hate everyone I date. You should have read some of the things they said about Ashley.” Of course, Ashley had scrutinized every single post like it was a criticism from her withholding mother.
“Well, we’re not dating, but it seems everyone thinks we are—or worse.” Her voice squeaked high in protest. “Someone posted pictures of us coming back to the hotel, and you look dazed and drunk while I look like I’m taking advantage of you with my big bear paws.”
“I’m hard to take advantage of.” Making light of it seemed like the best strategy here, though he was finding it mighty difficult to retain his composure. He plucked the donut out of her hand and took a bite. Cinnamon notes, the sweet glaze a little crunchy. Lili’s lovely lips parted and her eyes took on a sweet glaze of their own. The familiar tug of desire tightened his groin but now it was mixed with two parts anger and three parts protectiveness. If that wasn’t the recipe for an atomic fuck, he didn’t know what was.
The cluttered desk was starting to look awfully inviting. Just move that stapler to the left and the pencil sharpener to the right—
“And that’s not all.” She stood, her gaze still fixated on the donut. He bit into it again because she needed distracting. And he needed distracting from the way her skirt’s fluid fabric clung fondly to her hips.
