A Lick and a Promise. Jo Leigh

and mozzarella. With all the fresh, tasty surprises she’d spread out before him, he’d gone for the white bread. The mayo. As she saw it, she had a duty to step in. To introduce this man to the cornucopia of treats all around him. He lived in New York, for heaven’s sake, the melting pot of the world, where one could get anything, anywhere, anytime. The hell with contact lenses, he needed to expand his frame of reference, to step out of the box he’d built around his life.

      She had no idea about his architecture, but she’d be willing to bet her new job that it was as constricted and narrow as his pizza.

      What she wasn’t sure about was if he was willing to truly open his eyes, but so far, she had a good feeling about it. Hell, he’d put up with her weirdness, and she’d caused more than one man to leave skid marks on their mad dash out of her life.

      He stepped back, eyed his creation. Then he reached for the basil.

      Her heart swelled as he tore it into bits and sprinkled it over the cheese.

      When he was finished, he turned to her, his eager smile proud, yet a little unsure.

      She nodded. “Very, very nice.”

      “Fresh basil, huh?”

      “One of nature’s incredible wonders,” she said, moving toward him. “And there’s more.”

      His smile faltered the closer she got, but he stood his ground.

      “There’s rosemary and marjoram. Dill and lemon-grass. All of them fragrant, some of them spicy. Meant to be tasted. Savored.”

      He swallowed again, and she couldn’t blame him. She’d totally invaded his personal space. In fact, she was so near him she could smell the hint of his cologne, feel the heat of his breath on her cheek.

      “You ready?” she asked.

      “For what?” His voice was just above a whisper.

      “Adventure. Excitement. Derring-do.”

      He blinked again. It was incredibly endearing and she wanted to lick his chin like a cat. “Sure.”

      “Okay then,” she said. “Let’s get those pizzas on the grill.”

      His mouth opened, but no words came out.

      She sighed with happiness, then turned to the counter again. “Thank you,” she whispered, to whoever was responsible.

      He didn’t move at all as she took the laden boards and left the kitchen. Hopefully, he’d join her. He wouldn’t bolt, even though she’d left him the opportunity. She focused on her job, getting the food on the grill.

      She didn’t even look up when she heard the sliding-glass door open. She simply smiled.

      4

      DANIEL STOOD ON THE PATIO wondering what the hell he was doing there. Not the patio per se, but this situation, with Margot, grilling pizza. It was an experience that on the face of it shouldn’t be bizarre, but it was. She was…

      He didn’t have a clue what or who she was. Different didn’t say nearly enough. He’d never met anyone like her. Not even close.

      The way she spoke. It was like being in a Quentin Tarantino film, sans the violence. He had absolutely no idea what would come out of her mouth next, and he couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, that had happened to him. There was a rhythm to the conversations of his life, a logic. With her, there was nothing to hold on to.

      “So, tell me more,” she said.

      “More about what?”

      “You. Brothers, sisters, parents, friends. The entire scoop, please, leave nothing out.”

      He laughed. “It would put you to sleep, and you have to watch the grill.”

      “Try me.”

      He ran a hand through his hair, then moved to the far end of her patio to look over the edge. It would have been utterly appropriate if there had been an endless chasm below, but instead it was just the street with packed-in cars on both sides. “Well, my parents live in Port Washington.”

      “Ah, Long Island.”

      “Yep. I was raised there. I have an older sister, Gretchen.”

      “No brothers?”

      “Nope.”

      “Me neither. Go on.”

      “My father’s an architect.”

      “Do you work with him?”

      “Nope. I didn’t want to.”

      “Why not?”

      Usually, if someone asked, he said he’d wanted to make it on his own. No one questioned that. It was an honest answer. But not a complete one. “I don’t get along all that well with my father.”

      “Oh, bummer. Isn’t he happy you followed in his footsteps?”

      Daniel nodded. “Sure. And don’t get me wrong, he’s a good man. We just don’t…” He shrugged.

      “Talk?”

      “Yeah.”

      “What about your mom?”

      “She talks.”

      Margot smiled and it was like the sun moving from behind a cloud. She really was an extraordinary-looking woman. Lush, full, rounded. He kept wanting to touch her. Not that he would, but the urge was there. Her hair was incredibly shiny and thick, her skin glowed, and her eyes… When she looked at him it made his throat dry and his thoughts turn to mush. “Does she listen?”

      “Who?”

      Her soft laugh made the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up. In a good way. “Your mother.”

      “Sometimes. But mostly, she’s concerned with her… With herself.”

      “I see.” Margot looked at him for a long moment, then she turned back to the grill. “These are done. Let’s take ’em to Anya’s.”

      He got the boards, and she put the pizzas, which smelled incredible, on them. Then she led him through the apartment to the front door. He glanced at his jacket, still crumpled on the floor. There would be time for that later.

      HE CHECKED HIS WATCH and frowned at the time. It was almost one in the morning. He had to be up at six for work. At least they’d reached the end of the extended dinner. They were at Rocco’s, whose place was just as unexpected as everything else had been over the long night.

      The ex-boxer collected antiques. And he had one hell of an eye. They were seated in his living room, on elegant Louis XIV chaises. Across from Daniel on the smaller couch, Eric rested his head on Devon’s lap. Corrie sat cross-legged on the Persian rug with her back upright, as if she were standing at attention. It would have been impossible for him, but evidently her training as a dancer had been primarily about posture.

      Anya was in the kitchen with Rocco making tea. And Margot… Margot sat inches away from Daniel, her back against a silk pillow, her legs up on the chaise, her bare feet nearly touching his thigh. She’d painted her nails a brilliant scarlet, and she had rings, one white, one blue, around two of her toes.

      He kept his hands cupped around his brandy snifter but all he could think about was running his fingers down the enticing curve of her foot.

      It was nuts. He wasn’t into feet. He knew some men were, but he’d never given them a thought.

      He stole a look at Margot and was shocked to meet her very intense gaze. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

      “It’s all right, you know,” she said, her voice very soft, meant only for him.

      “What’s all right?” he whispered back.

      “You can touch