Read Online The Devil Served Desire by Shirley Jump - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shirley Jump
Tags: Romance, Cooking, New York Times Bestselling Author, recipes, Comedy, Chef, Boston, USA Today Bestselling Author, dieting, pasta
Ads: Link
once...
She jerked a hand forward and reached into the cabinet to retrieve something forbidden and very, very illegal in the weight loss rulebook—Twinkies. Bliss in a box.
The phone rang. Maria jumped away from the cabinet, clutching the box to her chest. She picked up the cordless, pressed "Talk" and uttered a greeting.
"Maria," Antonio breathed into the phone, "are you decent?"
Every sense in her body went on high alert, as if his voice had pressed a magic button in her vagina. The box of Twinkies tumbled out of her hands and onto the counter.
"Depends on the day of the week," she managed.
He chuckled. "I'm going to be in town next weekend. How about a sneak preview before the reunion?"
Her loins cried yes, but her hips reminded her they had a long way to go before they'd look like an hourglass instead of a goblet.
Damned Twinkies. She grabbed the box off the counter and threw it into the trash.
"I wish I could, but..." Oh, why couldn't she have started her diet earlier? Like two years ago? That way she'd be ready anytime Antonio said "bed." "I'll be out of town. Uh ... catering convention."
"They have those?"
"Oh, yeah. All the time." Whenever I conveniently need one.
"Well, I hope you think of me when you're looking at all those pastries and pans."
She glanced at her trash can and gave the Twinkies a silent wave good-bye. "Oh, I will. More than you know."
"I'm heading into a meeting so I'll catch up with you later," he said. "But before I go, tell me one thing."
"What?"
"Do you still like skinny dipping?" He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that echoed naked and raw in her ear, then he clicked off the line.
It was all she could do to hang up the phone. Maria crossed to the trash, drove a fist through the box of Twinkies and stood there, watching the flap swing back and forth, feeling great satisfaction.
She did have willpower. Really.
Then she caught a glimpse of her kitchen cabinet, still open from her earlier snack foraging. Pop-Tarts, Doritos, Cheez Whiz in a jar, Ritz Crackers and a box of Italian cookies stared back at her.
Eat us. You know you want to.
"No. I'm sticking to this diet."
Oh, come on. One won't hurt. Just a bite.
Her mouth watered, her stomach growled. Traitors . She spun on her heel and dove for the refrigerator. Maybe there was a salad or an orange in there.
Uh, no. Big mistake.
Inside was an entire block of Fontina cheese, the still-leftover manicotti from Guido's, a lone ricotta-stuffed cannoli that she'd resisted as dessert at Mamma's the other day but had not been able to escape the house without, a stack of rum balls she'd brought home from the shop-She slammed the door shut The fridge rattled in place, clearly annoyed that she'd peeked and run.
That's what she should do—go for a jog. Exercise instead of eat. Burn off the calories rather than shoving them into her mouth. Yeah, except well, she hated to exercise. Hated it more than her annual gyno checkup, hated it more than getting her legs waxed, and hated it more than listening to her mother bemoan the lack of grandchildren in the Pagliano family.
The smell of pizza wafted down the hall of her apartment building, tickling at Maria's senses, urging her to dash into the corridor, yank the pie out of the delivery boy's hands and eat it before he recovered from shock. Those damned shakes hadn't filled her up. She might as well have had two hundred calories of air.
Maria had her hand on the doorknob when the bell rang. Could he be delivering the pizza to her? Some kind of psychic pizza service that sent over a margherita pie to the truly desperate and starving?
Oh, God, please let it be so.
But standing on the other side of her door was the exact opposite of the man she wanted to see.
And worse, he didn't even have any food in his hands.
"Hello, Dante." She leaned against the jamb and inhaled the retreating scent of tomato sauce, cheese and basil. "How'd you find out where I live? No, wait. Let me guess. Mamma
She jerked a hand forward and reached into the cabinet to retrieve something forbidden and very, very illegal in the weight loss rulebook—Twinkies. Bliss in a box.
The phone rang. Maria jumped away from the cabinet, clutching the box to her chest. She picked up the cordless, pressed "Talk" and uttered a greeting.
"Maria," Antonio breathed into the phone, "are you decent?"
Every sense in her body went on high alert, as if his voice had pressed a magic button in her vagina. The box of Twinkies tumbled out of her hands and onto the counter.
"Depends on the day of the week," she managed.
He chuckled. "I'm going to be in town next weekend. How about a sneak preview before the reunion?"
Her loins cried yes, but her hips reminded her they had a long way to go before they'd look like an hourglass instead of a goblet.
Damned Twinkies. She grabbed the box off the counter and threw it into the trash.
"I wish I could, but..." Oh, why couldn't she have started her diet earlier? Like two years ago? That way she'd be ready anytime Antonio said "bed." "I'll be out of town. Uh ... catering convention."
"They have those?"
"Oh, yeah. All the time." Whenever I conveniently need one.
"Well, I hope you think of me when you're looking at all those pastries and pans."
She glanced at her trash can and gave the Twinkies a silent wave good-bye. "Oh, I will. More than you know."
"I'm heading into a meeting so I'll catch up with you later," he said. "But before I go, tell me one thing."
"What?"
"Do you still like skinny dipping?" He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that echoed naked and raw in her ear, then he clicked off the line.
It was all she could do to hang up the phone. Maria crossed to the trash, drove a fist through the box of Twinkies and stood there, watching the flap swing back and forth, feeling great satisfaction.
She did have willpower. Really.
Then she caught a glimpse of her kitchen cabinet, still open from her earlier snack foraging. Pop-Tarts, Doritos, Cheez Whiz in a jar, Ritz Crackers and a box of Italian cookies stared back at her.
Eat us. You know you want to.
"No. I'm sticking to this diet."
Oh, come on. One won't hurt. Just a bite.
Her mouth watered, her stomach growled. Traitors . She spun on her heel and dove for the refrigerator. Maybe there was a salad or an orange in there.
Uh, no. Big mistake.
Inside was an entire block of Fontina cheese, the still-leftover manicotti from Guido's, a lone ricotta-stuffed cannoli that she'd resisted as dessert at Mamma's the other day but had not been able to escape the house without, a stack of rum balls she'd brought home from the shop-She slammed the door shut The fridge rattled in place, clearly annoyed that she'd peeked and run.
That's what she should do—go for a jog. Exercise instead of eat. Burn off the calories rather than shoving them into her mouth. Yeah, except well, she hated to exercise. Hated it more than her annual gyno checkup, hated it more than getting her legs waxed, and hated it more than listening to her mother bemoan the lack of grandchildren in the Pagliano family.
The smell of pizza wafted down the hall of her apartment building, tickling at Maria's senses, urging her to dash into the corridor, yank the pie out of the delivery boy's hands and eat it before he recovered from shock. Those damned shakes hadn't filled her up. She might as well have had two hundred calories of air.
Maria had her hand on the doorknob when the bell rang. Could he be delivering the pizza to her? Some kind of psychic pizza service that sent over a margherita pie to the truly desperate and starving?
Oh, God, please let it be so.
But standing on the other side of her door was the exact opposite of the man she wanted to see.
And worse, he didn't even have any food in his hands.
"Hello, Dante." She leaned against the jamb and inhaled the retreating scent of tomato sauce, cheese and basil. "How'd you find out where I live? No, wait. Let me guess. Mamma