All A Man Can Be. Virginia Kantra
the Losers in Your Life. You couldn’t always control the people around you, but you could control your reactions to them. And her pulse-pounding, breath-catching reaction to Mark DeLucca—which had to be apprehension, it would just be too awful it if were lust—well, anyway, that would have to stop.
She nodded decisively at her reflection and got an encouraging nod in reply. Yanking open the bathroom door, she marched into the hall and collided with her exquisitely turned-out roommate.
“Ouch,” the redhead said. “You’re in a hurry this morning.”
Nicole felt the hot sweep of blood in her cheeks. She didn’t care what the author of Losers said, it was impossible to control a blush. “Sorry. I don’t want to be late.”
Kathy lifted a penciled eyebrow. “Got a hot date with Delicious DeLucca?”
“Yes. No. Sort of. I don’t want to be at a disadvantage when I see him again.”
“Sweetie, a guy that gorgeous puts every woman at a disadvantage.” Kathy peered past her at the mirror, tweaking at her hair. “Well, almost every woman. The man’s a menace.”
“Yes,” Nicole said dryly. “So I heard.”
Kathy’s hand froze. “Who told you?”
“He did.” Nicole swallowed the lump of betrayal that burned in her windpipe. “You should have said something.”
Her roommate continued to fuss at her reflection in the mirror, still not quite meeting Nicole’s eyes. “What was I supposed to say? It happened months ago. Before I came to town. Besides, the paper said he didn’t do it.”
“I know.” She had checked the on-line archives of the McHenry County papers last night. “I also noticed that at least two of the articles were written by someone named DeLucca. Any relation, would you guess?”
“His sister,” Kathy said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the guy is innocent.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because they locked up somebody else.”
Nicole drew a deep breath. She hated confrontation. Which was one of the reasons her boyfriends had a tendency to wipe their feet on her before they walked away. But all that was changing now. She was changing. “That’s another thing. Why didn’t you tell me the former owner of the bar was convicted of murder?”
“Why should I? His wife was handling the sale.”
Okay. Still…
“You should have told me,” Nicole said stubbornly. “I might have been interested to learn that I was buying the business of a convicted killer and employing the other main suspect in the case.”
“See? That’s exactly why I didn’t say anything. I knew you’d blow things out of proportion. This was a good deal, Nicole.”
Kathy’s voice awoke the echo of other voices, other accusations. Her mother’s. Charles’s. Kevin’s.
Don’t make a fuss, Nicole.
I only kissed her. You’re overreacting.
Why do you always have to make such a big deal out of everything?
“A good deal for you,” Nicole said.
Kathy rolled her eyes. “Well, sure. This was my first big commercial property sale on the new job. What do you want me to say? I appreciate your business?”
Nicole was shaken. “No. I just—”
“Fine. Because I do. And thank you. But you were the one who couldn’t wait to get out of Chicago.”
“Yes,” Nicole said. “You’re right.”
But Kathy was on a roll. “You were the one who lost your job.”
“The owner sold the company,” Nicole corrected her.
“After he broke up with you.”
Nicole flinched. “Yes.”
“And didn’t you say you wanted to move further away from your parents?”
Nicole felt herself visibly shrinking, like Alice at the bottom of the rabbit hole, drinking from a bottle she never should have opened. “You’re right,” she said again. “I’m sorry.”
Kathy shrugged. “I just don’t like you thinking you’re doing me any favors. You were as eager to clinch that sale as I was. An established business in a great location with available living space doesn’t come along every day.”
“It’s a wonderful property,” Nicole said truthfully.
And wondered, as she drove carefully to work along unfamiliar streets, how soon she could renovate the upstairs apartment and move in.
With a sigh, she saw that Mark DeLucca had managed to get to the Blue Moon before her. His black Jeep Cherokee occupied the parking space closest to the entrance.
Nicole wasn’t upset. Really. It wasn’t like the space had a big sign on it that read Owner.
She tugged on the door. Locked.
Well, of course he would lock it while he was alone inside. Hadn’t she told him last night that she appreciated his concern for security?
She fished in her bag for her new keys, trying not to twitch with irritation. Her hand closed on her keyring just as the door opened, and Mark DeLucca stood framed against the shadows, every bit as lean, dark and dangerous as he’d looked last night.
He wore a navy work shirt with the cuffs rolled back, exposing his muscled forearms. His hair clung damply to his temples. A tiny bead of sweat streaked the harsh plane of his face.
Oh, my.
She wanted him the way a nicotine addict craves a last cigarette, wanted to breathe him in and hold him inside her.
Bad idea. Get with the program, Nicole.
He frowned. “Sorry I didn’t answer right away. I was in back cleaning up.”
“Oh.” Because that didn’t seem to be sufficient response, she added, “Thank you. I noticed last night that the place could use a thorough cleaning.”
His expression became shuttered. “I can get you a mop and bucket from the closet, if you want.”
Nicole blinked. Was he teasing? “I thought I would hire a cleaning service.”
He shrugged, already moving away from her toward the bar. “It’s your money.”
It was her bar. Still, she expected to operate it at a profit.
She nibbled her lip. “Do you think that would be too expensive?”
“Depends on what you call expensive.” He began to restock his work station with coasters and napkins, his movements so quick and practiced she had to wonder if he were even aware of what his hands were doing. “Commercial cleaning a place this size, including the degreasing, will run about fifteen hundred dollars. More, if you don’t want to close for the day and have to pay the crew to come in at night.”
She nodded. She would check his figures later, but what he said sounded reasonable. “I’d rather not close if I can help it. There will be enough disruptions with the remodel.”
“Hold the train. What remodel?”
Oh, dear. This was not how she had planned to introduce the topic.
“Well…” She would talk about her plans for the lunch room later, she decided. “There’s that empty storage space upstairs. That could be converted into an apartment.”
“Sure it could. If you could find somebody willing to rent rooms over a bar.”
“I wasn’t planning on renting. I want to live there.”
“What