Page 17 of Call Out
“It was nobody. Just one of those nuisance callers.” He crosses the room. “Please don't leave, Viv. You haven't tried my meat feast yet.” A thumb swipes my lips, and in that second of silence, I sense his mood soften and watch his eyes glow to seduction all over again.
“Are we still talking about a pizza?” I roll my cheek into his hand.
Danny laughs. It's such a deep, sonorous sound that vibrates in my heart with joy. “Yup. Just good old-fashioned pizza tonight.” His cheek dimples.
With his gentlemanly gesture of waiting for the right time, my brain informs me he is in fact a criminal. I categorize his wicked grin as evidence, fully intending to advise my heart that this man is trying to steal it––if I don't silence the witness first.
He leans closer, and I hope he’ll kiss me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he grabs a spatula from the canister behind my shoulder. “We’ll use this to spread the tomato sauce over the sourdough base.” He takes a step away. “I have pre-made bases in the freezer.”
The hardened features he wore only moments ago have vanished, and now I doubt they were ever there to begin with. “How very organized.” I flash him a wide smile.
Danny removes a stack of frozen circles from the freezer and selects the top two. “These will take a few minutes longer in the oven, but they’ll taste just as good.” Then he dollops red goop in the middle of each and smooths the sauce to the outer edges.
“Can I help you?” I ask, fighting the urge to run my hands down his biceps.
“Sure, grab the mozzarella.” He nods to the double fronted fridge.
I scan the chilled contents. It’s all pretty normal, with typical products. No outlandish sign that Danny is a lady-killer. I roll my eyes at my stupidity. Murderers eat the same food as everyone else. Except for the odd few who might freeze human hearts and kidneys for supper. Shaking off my absurd overactive imagination, I give in to my gut instinct. He’s not cruel or twisted. Danny helps those in need, he doesn’t kill people—he saves them.
“Do you think I’m odd because I’ve never had a slice of pizza before?”
He finishes spreading sauce and pivots to face me. “Sure I do.” His amazing chuckle invites adrenaline. I blink in the sight of him, and before I can respond, he reaches for my arm and tugs me into his groin. “I like weird. It's better than bland. Hotter than normal and sexier than ordinary.”
“I’ve got it in abundance,” I announce, biting back rogue butterflies that want to choke me.
“Perfect.” His smile is pure seduction. A thousand times more tempting than any Hollywood actor who dishes out megawatt charm for the movies.
The room temperature rises. It must be the oven heating up or the fact that Danny’s lips are within kissing distance. My gaze fixates on his mouth until he pivots back to the pizzas, leaving me utterly breathless.
After a silent second, I collect my wild wishes and decide to gauge who my potential future sex partner really is. If he’s going to be my first, and possibly last, then I should find out who made the man so mannerly. “When did you move to Sunnyville?” I ask, opening the bag of grated cheese and setting it on the counter. “You have a certain twang to your accent, where’s that from, Texas?”
His eyes stay focused on the task. “Yeah, Texas. I moved here about six months ago,” he replies. “Do you like chorizo?”
I nod. “What made you decide to come here?”
“I applied for the job and was lucky they accepted me,” he answers simply, scattering fragments of cheese like he’s sowing seeds.
“And you don't mind leaving your hometown behind. What was it called again?”
Danny shakes his head and drops a few slices of circular meat on top of his creation. “I don’t miss home when I have Vivian Swann in the kitchen.” His cheek dimples, and he opens the oven door to check the temperature. “These are going to blow your mind. I’m honored my pizza will be your first.”
“Who taught you to make pizza?” I say with a flustered shift from foot to foot.
He gives me a sideways glance. “My mother. How about you, do you cook?” he adds, seamlessly diverting the attention back to me.
“My grandmother, Nonna. She wasn’t very adventurous in that department. Hopefully I’ll enjoy it.” I watch him slice up more sausage meat.
“I bet you’ll love it. If you don’t, I'll make you something else.” He shrugs like it's no big deal.
“Don't worry, I’ll eat it,” I answer, touched by his offer. “You’ve gone to all this effort.”
Perhaps Nonna was wrong all this time. Maybe men who ride motorcycles are just that—men. Decent, chivalrous guys who deserve a good woman by their side. That would explain why I’m so attracted to him. He’s accomplished in the kitchen. A good guy. A great guy. Definitely not a bad-boy.
“When was the last time you had sex?” I ask, secretly hoping it wasn’t in the last few days.
He slides the pizzas into the oven on separate shelves and washes his hands. “Ages ago,” he replies with a smirk. “The pizza won’t take long.”
And with that statement, my mouth dries, and my legs cross. All the images of what we can do together in the meantime shout for attention.Holy shit.I don't recognize myself anymore. He’s looking right at me like he wants to rip my clothes off, and I’m actually praying he will. I definitely wouldn't complain.
