48 ~ Italian Cream

Jon smiled at Rachel as she dabbed her finger into the remaining crumbs of pistachios and mini chocolate chips, and licked the tip clean of Sal’s world famous cannoli.  He’d been surprised that she was so adamant about wanting to Sal’s Pizzeria when he asked her what she wanted for dinner, but he didn’t question it.  There had been more than one late night when he found himself calling the local parlor, haunted by visions of sausage, garlic and onions. 

Who was he to question anybody’s thirst for Italian?

But then she had gone at her meal like a starving truck driver.  It was crazy.  This perfectly refined, subdued woman was shoveling pizza in her mouth like she’d spent the last month on a boat from Darfur – and when that was gone, she’d ordered cannoli.  Not one, not two, but three of the damn things.

This was something she wasn’t going to live down anytime soon.

“Thank you,” she said with a happy sigh, blissfully rolling her eyes and leaning back against her side of the booth. 

“You’re welcome,” he returned with a cocked eyebrow.  “I think I dropped a chocolate chip over here in the floor if you want it, too.  Or a piece of pizza crust.”

Her wadded napkin bounced off the end of his nose and onto the table as she stuck out her tongue at him.  “Jerk.  It kills me to admit this, but pizza and cannoli are just not the same in California, so I’ve been craving this exact meal ever since I left.  Yanno, I had serious dreams about Sal’s sausage.  Woke up fantaszing about the perfect blend of pistachio, chocolate and mascarpone….”  She crossed herself in a move reminiscent of his old Sicilian aunt.

“So that’s a yes on the chocolate chip, then?” 

She bumped his ankle with her toe in a lazy, half-hearted kick as he bent over to and seek out the stray sweet.  Finding it only slightly fuzzy from being on the floor, he snatched it up and flicked it onto her side of the table, careful to keep his fingers clear for fear they’d get bitten off when she went for the chocolate.

“I am so content that you’re almost amusing,” she informed him, wrinkling her nose at his dirty offering before squashing the hairy chip inside a napkin and lightly dropping it into her empty plate.

“Yeah, but the question is, whose cream is responsible for that contentment?  Mine or the cannoli’s?”

She laughed out loud and immediately slapped one open palm over her stomach, her face scrunching in pain.  “Oh!  Stop it!  I’m so full, it hurts to laugh.”

“Serves you right,” he decreed loftily.  “Havin’ your wicked way with me, then tossin’ me aside like a used rubber to get your jollies from a pastry.”

Her smirk was as much evil as it was sexy as hell.  “Oh, honey,” she purred.  “Never a used rubber.  More like a vibrator, because I intend to use you again.  And again, and again….”

It was his turn to laugh out loud.  Smut talk was something completely out of character for his girl, unless she was on the brink of an orgasm, so the unexpectedness hit him as funny. 

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re in afterglow of a food-induced orgasm.”

“But, baby,” she purred, sliding her foot up his calf.  “You brought me here.  So it’s like you gave me permission to… yanno.  And you were right here with me the whole time, so – technically – you’re responsible for the afterglow.  Twice in one afternoon.  You should be proud.”

“Double your pleasure, double your fun?”

“True story,” Rachel agreed with a wide grin.  “Sex with you followed by Sal’s pizza and cannolis… Doesn’t get any better than that, baby.”

“Huh,” he grunted thoughtfully, catching that wandering foot and pulling it into his lap.  “I’ll bet you’re so appreciative of me and all my afterglow-inducing efforts that you’d do just about anything for me right about now.”

“I would.”  Her head bobbed in immediate agreement and Rachel didn’t even attempt to stifle the grin that had gone from sexy evil to wholly evil.  She was clearly enjoying their playful banter as much as he was.  “Whatcha got in mind?”

Jon sat back a little further in the booth and rubbed the skin left bare by her sandals.  It was unseasonably warm for April and she’d been lotioning herself even more than usual, making the tops of her feet like velvet.  It kind of reminded him of the skin on his –

Jon shifted in the seat and wiggled his eyebrows at her.  “What are my options?”

“Tell me what you’ve got in mind,” she countered, wiggling her toes.  “I’m feeling pretty generous right now.”

“You do realize my ego isn’t fragile enough to be dented by a cannoli, right?  No matter how good its cream is?”

She snorted softly, biting at the corner of her smile.  “I’ve never been worried about your ego. Giving you limitless options wasn’t an attempt to soothe it.” 

“Limitless?  My happiness is that important to ya, huh?” he teased, tweaking her big toe. 

The smile she’d been nibbling on got swallowed.  The playful light that had been dancing in her eyes had been dimmed by a cloak of somberness and when she told him simply, “I’d do anything to make you happy, Jon.”

Jon’s heart went a little soft. 

She would do anything to make him happy.  He knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt, because he’d do the same for her. 

The only difference was that he was bastard enough to take advantage of this tender moment in order to fulfill his own agenda.  Hopefully, his agenda would make her happy. 

Eventually.

“Well, well, well…  That works out beautifully, because I have the perfect opportunity for you to prove it.” 

Her eyes went from soft and doe-like to a sharp curiosity as he released her foot to lean forward and pull a small envelope out of his back pocket.  He slapped it on the table with a wide grin, keeping his palm over it for the time being. 

“What would make me happy is for you to open this and accept it without any hassle.   In fact,” he went on.  “What would make me very, very happy is for you to actually be excited by this little token of my affection.  Think you can do that for me?”

“Of course I can.  I adore your tokens of affection – especially the ones that come with a tennis court and swimming pool,” she teased with her own wide grin as she extended an open palm and waggled her fingers.  “Hand it over, baby.”

Jon, knowing that this wasn’t going to be as easy as all that, placed the envelope flat in her hand, cautioning as she curled her fingers around the edges, “Remember… happy.  Excited.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” she shushed him, shaking the little packet until its contents spilled onto the table.  She cocked her head and studied the “tokens” silently:  a set of car keys and two credit cards. 

The car keys he didn’t think would earn him too much grief.  The credit cards, however…  Jon had arranged for her to have a Visa and a black American Express – both embossed with her name and drawn on his bank account.  There was a better than average chance that Rachel was going to throw a fit over those.

Start easy…

“So, yeah.  Remember when you left for California and I told you I’d take care of getting your car back to the dealer?  I didn’t take it back.”

“I see.  So you stole it?”

“No, wise ass,” he chuckled, shoulders relaxing as he lifted his wine glass and cradled it in his hand.  “I bought out the lease and kept it.  It’s been sitting in your garage since the day you left.”

Her head tilted even further and her eyebrows knit together as she looked into his heart.  “Why?”

“Because I’m a pansy at heart?”  Jon mused with a self-deprecating chuckle and shrugged.  “Lame, maybe, but it was a tie to you.  So many ties had already been severed, that I couldn’t handle any more.”

As a general rule, he tended to keep his sentimental side to himself, but the truth was the truth.  It had been devastating to watch her climb on that plane and fly away from him, knowing she wasn’t coming back.  Devastating enough that he really didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility of her never coming back, so he practiced vehicular denial. 

That car sitting in her garage, just next door…  It had been a motivator.  Positive imagery or whatever those swami-guru types called it. 

Whatever it was, it made coming back to his ghost-filled house tolerable.  The memories of Rachel didn’t taunt him, they were just reminders of what had been and what would be again. 

“I don’t have words for how sweet that is.  How sweet you are.”  She swallowed hard, and he thought her voice might have threatened to break as she blinked eyes that could have been just the tiniest bit misty. The brightness of the smile that she used to break through them was like a ray of sunshine, though, when she said cheerfully, “Thank you, baby.  I always did like that car.”

The corner of Jon’s mouth tipped up affectionately.  Thank God, she wasn’t going to make this into some sappy Harlequin moment.  It was just a car, after all. 

“It suits you.”

“I always thought so.  Now…”  She puckered her mouth and gave him a pointedly accusatory look.  “Care to explain the credit cards?”

Ah, fuck.

He’d known the car would be the easy part.  The credit cards, however…?  Jon would be lucky if she didn’t try and rip him a new ass.

“Excited, Rach.  Remember?”  The haughty tip of her head told him that she remembered, but she still wanted her explanation and it better be a damn good one. 

Honestly, testosterone was the reason.  Every guy wanted to provide for the woman he loves.  It didn’t make a tinker’s damn whether she was financially independent and successful.  She was his woman, even if she hadn’t accepted any of his forty-eleven marriage proposals, and he was going to take care of her as such.  Whether she liked it or not. 

If she let him. 

Fuck that shit.  This is not optional. 

It wasn’t cheap to live his life, or to be a part of his life.  He was going to need her to fly away with him on a whim, or to pull together a dinner party, or wear a designer dress to a function, or any of a thousand other money-sucking things demanded by the celebrity lifestyle.  She damn sure wasn’t going to foot the bill for it all. 

This might get bloody, but he was up to the task.  She was going to keep – and use – those damn cards. 

“Fine,” he acquiesced, leaning his elbows on the table and meeting her suspicious gaze.  “I wanna make sure you’ve got any and everything you need.  In an emergency, for the house, whenever, whatever.  Period.”

“Period?”  Her eyebrows slid up on her forehead, as though she couldn’t believe he would dare dictate to her. 

Oh, you better believe it, baby.

“Yes, period.  Don’t fight with me on this, Rach.” 

“So…”  She tapped the plastic rectangles on the table.  “You don’t think I can take care of myself, or you want me to be a kept woman?”

“Your self-sufficiency has never been in question,” he snorted. 

“Kept woman, then.”

He lifted a shoulder, trying to appear nonchalant, even as he mentally girded himself for battle.  “Not in any way that would be insulting, but yeah.  A guy isn’t a man unless he can take care of his woman, and trust me, honey…  I’m all man.”

She squared her jaw and lifted her chin, giving Jon every reason to resign himself to an argument until he caught the twinkle in her eye.  “That you are, baby,” she confirmed with a grin and curled her fingers possessively around the cards.  “My very own black American Express card!  Do you know there are women all over the world would sell their mothers for one of those?”

Relief replaced resignation in one whooshing swoop.  If they weren’t going to fight over this, then they were invincible, as far as he was concerned.  It left him feeling pretty cocky as he winked at her and drawled, “Lucky for you, I don’t want your mom.  All I’m interested in is your body.”

“My body in exchange for the house, the car, the black American Express AND the Visa?” she clarified, the sparkle in her eyes now dancing like Fourth of July fireworks.  “That’s the deal?”

“That’s it in a nutshell,” he confirmed as the waitress put the check beside his elbow.  “Seems you’re making out like a bandit to me.”

Without responding, Rachel reached over and snatched the check, offering it back to the girl with a flourish – and her newly acquired Visa as Jon shook his head with a smirk. 

“Trust me, lover, this body can’t be bought,” she informed him saucily after the waitress had departed.  “But…  as long as that black American Express has plenty of credit on it, you may consider me leased.”