Debbie Macomber - Happy Mother's Day - Ready for Romance / Ready for Marriage

“I did so—and I’m not snapping!”

“That does it!”

Was he about to fire her for insubordination? Jessica stared up at him, wondering what would happen next.

“We’re going to dinner,” he muttered.

“Dinner! But Damian, you’ve already—”

“Pizza,” he said, “the deep-dish variety. There’s a small Italian restaurant around the corner. I swear it’s one of the best-kept secrets in Boston.”

“Pizza,” Jessica repeated slowly and her stomach growled in anticipation. “Well, if you insist, and it seems that you do.” She reached for her purse.

They walked to the restaurant, which was nestled in the basement of one of the older buildings. The marble floors were badly worn, and the architecture showed that the place had been built in the early thirties. Jessica had passed the building a hundred times and barely given it a second’s notice.

“How’d you hear about this restaurant?” she asked.

“From the security guard. He eats here regularly and recommended it to me. I’ve never tasted better Italian food.”

The proprietor greeted Damian as if he were a long-lost cousin, kissing him on both cheeks and speaking in Italian as he nodded approvingly at Jessica.

“What did he say?” she asked when they were seated at a table covered with a red-and-white-checked cloth. A candle flickered from inside a small vase, and shadows danced across the opposite wall.

He shrugged. “I don’t know the language that well.”

“In that case you did a good job of faking it.”

“All right, if you must know, Antonio assumed we’re lovers,” Damian said casually, opening the menu.

“You corrected him, didn’t you?” she demanded, putting a hand to her chest. She could feel the color rush into her face.

“No.”

“Damian! You can’t let that man believe you and I …”

“You’re probably right, I shouldn’t. Especially when it’s my brother you’re in love with, not me.”

Jessica set the menu aside and leaned forward until her stomach pressed against the edge of the table. They needed to get this straight, once and for all. “I’m not in love with Evan,” she whispered heatedly.

“All right, all right.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m convinced,” he said, without looking at her. Whatever was offered on the menu had apparently captured his full attention.

“Fine,” she said, picking up her own menu. She was about to suggest the sausage pizza when a basket of warm bread was brought to their table. The lovely dark-haired woman who’d delivered it caught Damian’s face between her hands and kissed him soundly on the lips. Jessica must have looked shocked, because the older woman laughed delightedly. “You don’t need to worry—I won’t steal Damian away from you,” she said, then added something in Italian.

Damian seemed to go pale at the woman’s words. Jessica’s own knowledge of Italian was scant, but she knew what bambino meant.

“Damian, tell me what she said.”

He was silent while the same woman poured them each a glass of wine and brought a plate of antipasto. Then he sighed. “Lucia says you seem nice and sturdy.”

“ What? Anyway, she said more than that.”

“Jessica, I already explained I only know a little bit of Italian.”

“You know more than me. She said bambino . Doesn’t that mean ‘baby’?”

Damian sighed again. “Yes. Lucia said you’ll make a good mother to my children.”

“Oh.” Jessica glanced at the woman, who was standing on the other side of the room, busy ladling minestrone soup into two ceramic bowls, which she then brought over to them.

“I guess we aren’t going to get that pizza,” Damian muttered after the soup was served.

Antonio returned with the bottle of Italian wine and replenished their glasses with exclamations of pleasure. Damian thanked him in Italian, then they spoke for a minute or two.

“When did you learn to speak Italian?” Jessica asked.

“I didn’t. I picked up a smidgen here and there over the years. I spent a couple of months in Italy before I entered law school and muddled my way through the country. That’s about it.”

“You’re a man of many talents,” she said, picking up her spoon and sampling the soup. It was rich and flavorful. In fact, everything was excellent—the meal, the smooth red wine, the cappucino and dessert. Each time she thought she couldn’t swallow another bite, Lucia would bring them something else she insisted they try.

“Either we leave now, or you’ll have to roll me out of here,” Jessica said.

Damian chuckled, settled the bill, and together they walked back to the office high-rise. The evening was glorious, and Jessica felt wonderful. She wasn’t sure if it was the result of the weather, the delicious food and wine or the company—or maybe all of them.

“Thank you,” she said in the elevator.

“You’re welcome.” Damian fell strangely quiet as they walked to the law library. Before she left for the night, Jessica wanted to shelve the volumes she’d been studying. Damian helped her silently. When they were finished, he preceded her from the room, automatically turning off the light.

The room was suddenly dark and Jessica bumped into a table.

“Jessica.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, moving toward the hall light.

“That’s the problem,” he muttered, reaching for her. She was in his arms before she realized it. “I’m not.” With that his mouth came down on hers.

This kiss wasn’t brotherly, nor was it uncomplicated. Damian’s mouth fit over hers, warm and coaxing. Jessica sighed and relaxed against him, giving herself up to the sensation. It felt right to be in his arms, that was all there was to it.

Her hands gripped the lapels of his jacket, her fingers crushing the soft wool as his mouth moved against hers. Damian’s hand curved around the side of her neck, his touch tender as though he feared hurting her.

The kiss was unlike any Jessica had ever experienced. She felt the sensual power of it all the way to her toes, the impact stealing her breath. She moaned and Damian did, too. When they broke apart, neither spoke. Jessica wished he’d say something, anything, to break the silence. She needed him to explain what was happening, because she was lost, taken by surprise, yet delighted to the very depths of her being.

Instead, Damian turned and walked away.

She couldn’t believe it. A tear slipped unnoticed down her cheek and dropped onto her silk blouse, the droplet bleeding into a small circle. She raised her hand to her face, taken aback by the tear.

Funny that when she couldn’t find the words to say what she felt, a tear would speak for her. She’d learned that lesson years earlier. Her mother’s tears had fallen onto her grandmother’s casket, and they’d said far more than a whispered farewell. Tearstains on a letter revealed more than its words.

A tear on her cheek now, after she’d shared a kiss with this man, spoke volumes. Only, to Jessica the language was one she couldn’t fully understand.

The sudden need to escape overwhelmed her. Collecting her purse, she stepped out of the library and proceeded down the hallway. She paused outside Damian’s open door. She saw him standing in front of his window, gazing into the night. His hands were clasped behind his back.

“Good night,” she called softly.

He turned and smiled briefly. “Good night, Jessica. See you in the morning.”

She wished they could sit down and discuss what had happened, but one look told her Damian was confused and not nearly as delighted as she was. He seemed troubled, burdened somehow. She wondered if he regretted having kissed her.