ROMANCING SAL GABRINI

  ROMANCING SAL GABRINI

  By

  MALLORY MONROE

  Copyright©2013 Mallory Monroe

  All rights reserved. Any use of the materials contained in this book without the expressed written consent of the author and/or her affiliates, including scanning, uploading and downloading at file sharing and other sites, and distribution of this book by way of the Internet or any other means, is illegal and strictly prohibited.

  AUSTIN BROOK PUBLISHING

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious. Any similarities to anyone living or dead are completely accidental. The specific mention of known places or venues are not meant to be exact replicas of those places, but are purposely embellished or imagined for the story’s sake.

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  MORE INTERRACIAL ROMANCE

  FROM BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  MALLORY MONROE:

  THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND

  SERIES IN ORDER:

  THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND

  THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND 2:

  HIS WOMEN AND HIS WIFE

  DUTCH AND GINA:

  A SCANDAL IS BORN

  DUTCH AND GINA:

  AFTER THE FALL

  DUTCH AND GINA:

  THE POWER OF LOVE

  DUTCH AND GINA:

  THE SINS OF THE FATHERS

  DUTCH AND GINA:

  WHAT HE DID FOR LOVE

  THE MOB BOSS SERIES

  IN ORDER:

  ROMANCING THE MOB BOSS

  MOB BOSS 2:

  THE HEART OF THE MATTER

  MOB BOSS 3:

  LOVE AND RETRIBUTION

  MOB BOSS 4:

  ROMANCING TRINA GABRINI

  A MOB BOSS CHRISTMAS:

  THE PREGNANCY

  (Mob Boss 5)

  MOB BOSS 6:

  THE HEART OF RENO GABRINI

  RENO’S GIFT

  BOOK 7

  THE GABRINI MEN SERIES

  IN ORDER:

  ROMANCING TOMMY GABRINI

  ADDITIONAL BESTSELLING

  INTERRACIAL ROMANCE

  FROM MALLORY MONROE:

  ROMANCING MO RYAN

  ROMANCING HER PROTECTOR

  ROMANCING THE BULLDOG

  IF YOU WANTED THE MOON

  AND

  INTERRACIAL ROMANCE

  FROM

  BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  KATHERINE CACHITORIE:

  LOVERS AND TAKERS

  LOVING HER SOUL MATE

  LOVING THE HEAD MAN

  SOME CAME DESPERATE:

  A LOVE SAGA

  ADDITIONAL BESTSELLING

  INTERRACIAL ROMANCE:

  A SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP

  YVONNE THOMAS

  AND

  BACK TO HONOR:

  A REGGIE REYNOLDS

  ROMANTIC MYSTERY

  JT WATSON

  ROMANTIC FICTION

  FROM

  AWARD-WINNING

  AND

  BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  TERESA MCCLAIN-WATSON:

  DINO AND NIKKI:

  AFTER REDEMPTION

  AND

  AFTER WHAT YOU DID

  COMING SOON

  FROM

  MALLORY MONROE:

  ROMANCING TOMMY GABRINI

  BOOK TWO

  DUTCH AND GINA

  THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND SERIES

  BOOK EIGHT

  RENO AND TRINA

  MOB BOSS SERIES

  BOOK EIGHT

  ROMANCING AN OLDER MAN

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  CHAPTER ONE

  “You’re a glutton for punishment,” the bartender said as he worked the pumps and then slid the refilled beer mug across the countertop.

  “Punishment my ass,” Marsh Denning said as he stopped the mug’s slide and grabbed it by its thick handle. “This one is going to be worth every second of the pain.”

  The bartender glanced across the room at the dark-skinned woman. “She’s a looker all right, I’ll give you that,” he agreed. “But what I don’t like about her is the way she carries herself. She acts arrogant to me, like she’s got her head stuck up her ass. Like she knows she’s all that and nobody in the joint is good enough for her.”

  Marsh laughed. “You don’t know sisters very well, do you? There’s nothing arrogant about that woman! She’s confident, she’s self-assured, she’s a woman who knows what she likes and isn’t wasting her time on anything less.” Marsh took a big gulp of his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then, with drink in hand, started heading her way. “In other words,” he added gleefully as he glanced back at the bartender, “my kind of woman.”

  Gemma Jones glanced up from her smartphone as he began to head her way. She was seated at a table meant for two and would bet her law degree that he was going to make a play for the second seat. He tried it last night too, when she first arrived in town and had popped into the downstairs lounge for a quick drink. She turned him down then, because she knew for a fact he was married, but now he was coming back for more. He appeared to be an intelligent brother, was obviously good looking, but he seemed unwilling to take no for an answer. Although it was a trait she usually thought was admirable, the answer was still no.

  “Hello again,” he said with an enthusiastic smile and a rich, baritone voice.

  “Hello,” she replied with a purposely less-enthusiastic smile of her own.

  “It’s good to see you again. We meet again.”

  It was obvious that they were meeting again, so she didn’t respond to that.

  “I wanted to congratulate you earlier today after your seminar. I sat in on the second half and was impressed with your take on the issues. You were quite brilliant.”

  An overstatement if ever there was one, but Gemma took it. “Thank-you,” she said.

  “Your premise was too true. Logic is the key to every lawyer’s success, right, but it’s the last thing we entertain. To convince a jury, you have to think logically. Not legalistically, but logically. Because if your opening and closing doesn’t make rational sense to those jurors, they won’t buy any of your case-in-chief, which would doom your client. I couldn’t agree more. I wanted to discuss it with you further, after the lecture, but you got away before I could get anywhere near the front of the room.”

  “I had to conduct that same seminar, only in a different room on a different floor, and had less than five minutes to get there and set up.”

  “You had to hustle.”

  “I had to hustle,” Gemma agreed, nodding her head. “But fortunately I made it on time. But only just,” she added with a smile.

  He seemed to appreciate her smile. “I didn’t realize you were in here until I went to get a refill. May I join you?” he asked.

  They were in the lounge of the Briar-Brance Hotel in Seattle, far away from her home in Vegas and his in DC. Gemma saw him making the rounds earlier. She saw two other women turn him down. Which, all things being equal, should have been surprising. At these lawyers’ conventions people were hopping in and out of each other’s beds as if it were a sport and the main reason they came at all. But the men always outnumbered the women. Two to one, in some cases. And since the brother had already told her that he didn’t date women outside of his race, his pickings weren’t just slim, they were practically anorexic. And amounted to only three choices: Gemma Jones and two other females.

  Because he now seemed interested in talking about her seminar rather than her body ty
pe, she removed her purse from the other seat at her small table, and allowed him to join her. He was tall, at least six-two, was very well built in that muscular way she liked, was dark-brown like she liked it, and had that disarming smile.

  “Thanks, Gemma,” he said as he sat down. “It is Gemma, right?”

  “That’s right,” she said as she plopped her purse on the table beside her drink. “And it’s Marshall, right?”

  “Right,” he said with a grand smile. “I’m pleased you remembered. Especially since you turned me down last night just after I told you my name. I said damn. Maybe she doesn’t like the name. But you’re right, that’s my name. Although everybody calls me Marsh. Sounds less formal, don’t you think?”

  “It does.”

  “So, Gemma,” he said with a twinge of impatience as he crossed his long legs, “how are you enjoying the convention so far?”

  “So far so good. I’ve attended better, but I’m not complaining.”

  “With your pretty face to admire day in and day out,” he said, gazing at that pretty face, “neither am I.” He said this with a smile that Gemma didn’t return.

  “Is this your first time on the lecture circuit?”

  “Second time,” she said. “Last year I was asked to conduct a seminar on the same topic.”

  “Ah. Back by popular demand.”

  “Apparently you weren’t here last year. My seminar was so boring half of my audience ended up falling asleep.” He laughed. “I don’t think I’m back by popular demand at all. I think the guy they really wanted backed out, and they needed a last minute replacement who already knew the material.”

  “Well, you’re right. I wasn’t here last year. But apparently you changed your delivery or something because your seminar this year was off the chain.”

  Gemma smiled at his use of language. “Thank-you. But I didn’t see where I had a choice. That seminar was embarrassing as hell last year. It was so bad that when I finished speaking, I had to tell the people it was over so they could leave.”

  He laughed. “They didn’t realize it was over?”

  “They just sat there,” Gemma said, smiling too. “That’s how little they were paying attention.”

  “Man, that sounds,” he said with a chuckle. Then he shook his head. “That sounds brutal.”

  “It was. But I learned a valuable lesson.”

  “Which is?”

  “Don’t bore people!” she said loudly and he leaned over in laughter. Then she added: “It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

  Marsh couldn’t believe his good luck. She was obviously smart, enjoyable to be around, and a good looking sister in the extreme, in his view. And that body of hers, he thought as he glanced down that body. Slender, but not thin; curvaceous, but not disproportionately so; and that beautiful dark-chocolate face. All he could think about was heat when he looked at her. It was Monday night, he was bored to tears, and he was bound and determined to hit that tonight. That was becoming the bottom line for him. He wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  “Listen,” he said, once again displaying what Gemma perceived as an undercurrent of impatience, “I understand Seattle has a pretty rocking night life. Maybe we can go somewhere, check out some sets.”

  It was tempting to Gemma. Real tempting. He certainly had it going on in a lot of ways. He had the brains as well as the looks, it seemed to her, and the kind of outgoing personality she liked. But that pesky other thing made her continue to apply the brakes. “Thanks, but no,” she said, putting her phone back into her purse. “I was just getting ready to leave anyway.”

  “To go out?”

  “Up.”

  “Up?” he asked, amazed. “Ah, come on, Gemma! It’s not even nine o clock yet! The night is still young and hot and ripe for fun. You can’t go up yet. I know this cute little jazz spot---”

  “No, really,” Gemma said. “I’m calling it a night.”

  She could see the disappointment in his eyes. And something else, something kind of sad, that she couldn’t put into words.

  “You know how to drive it straight through a brother’s heart, don’t you?” he asked her.

  “I wasn’t trying to drive it anywhere,” she said with a smile. “I really was leaving.”

  “But couldn’t you go out on this one date with me?” Now he looked angry. “What’s so terrible about going out with me? Just to hang out?”

  He was scrumptious enough to make it certainly tempting, and she actually found herself giving his fine black body another perusal. But she would never be that desperate. “Can’t,” she said as she gulped down the last of her drink.

  “But why?” he asked with a high lilt in his voice, as if he couldn’t for the life of him understand why she wasn’t throwing herself at his big feet.

  She grabbed her purse and began standing on her own two feet. “I don’t date married men,” she said.

  Marsh looked floored, which surprised her. But his reaction, it seemed to her, was more in line with being found out than with what she actually said. And he played it to the hilt. He leaned back in his chair and opened his arms as if she was way off base. “Married?” he asked with incredulity in his voice. “Me? What are you talking about?”

  Gemma looked him dead in his amazed eyes. “You’re married,” she said.

  “But that’s ridiculous! Why would I be talking about going on a date with you if I were married? Come on now,” he said with a spark of irritation in his eyes. “How in the world do you figure that I’m, of all people, married?”

  “Because you are.”

  “What are you some damn psychic or something? Some gotdamn Madame Gemma or somebody? Did I tell you I was married? Well, did I? No, I did not. I didn’t say anything approximating that to you. So what I want to know is how do you, a woman who just barely knows my name, figure you know me like that?”

  Gemma didn’t like his suddenly aggressive attitude, and she really didn’t want to go there, but he did ask the question. He at least deserved, she felt, an answer. “Your pick-up lines are rusty,” she said.

  “That’s it? You don’t like my pick-up lines? You have got to be kidding me!”

  “Which means,” she continued, “you’re either a doufus when it comes to females, which I don’t believe for a second, or you’ve been off the market too long and only got back on because you’re away from home. Which leads me to believe that you’re probably not only married, but married with children, and because of those children you don’t risk having affairs in the town of your residence. You wait until you’re out of town on business or, surprise, surprise, at a lawyers’ convention.”

  He was ready to shake his dark head, as if she had it all wrong. But she wasn’t about to let him off that easily. She went on. “That indentation on your ring finger is far too fresh and far too deep,” she said. “You not only removed that ring, but you removed it not all that long ago. Like yesterday when you arrived in town, for instance. Besides,” she added with a disarming smile of her own, “and I don’t mean to make your head any bigger than it probably already is, but what self-respecting sister would have let you remain single this long? So let’s keep it real. You’re married, you have children, and you’ve been married with children for years.”

  When she finished, she gazed at him. “Am I wrong?” she asked. “Do you deny your wife? Do you deny having kids?”

  She already pegged him as a man too vested in his family to go that far. She found that out before the convention, when she received the applications of the attorneys who had signed up for her seminars. She remembered Marshall Denning, not because he was some famous lawyer, but because of his humorous and sweet response to the question all applicants had to answer: why did you want to take this seminar? Marshall wrote that the seminar would help him continue to be a successful lawyer so that he could continue to keep his “beautiful” wife and “adorable” kids in the lifestyle with which they had grown accustomed.

  She remembered showing tha
t application response to one of her fellow female lawyers in Vegas, and how both of them went aaah; and how both of them wished aloud that they could find themselves a husband like Marshall Denning. His name, thanks to his response, had become a euphemism in her office.

  When he introduced himself last night, she, of course, remembered his name. But then he went sideways on her with his pickup lines and flirtations. But now, as she looked at him, she wondered if she had read him wrong. Would he deny that family he wrote so eloquently about?

  But sure enough, he didn’t deny them. He, instead, threw it back at her. “I can say the same thing about you,” he said.

  That threw Gemma, as he undoubtedly knew it would. “What same thing can you say about me?”

  “You’re married too.”

  Gemma studied him. What game was he playing at, besides the can I get into your panties game, she wondered. “Oh, yeah?” she asked. “And how do you figure that?”

  “It’s easy. It’s logical. You teach logic, right? What self-respecting brother would have allowed you to remain single this long?”

  Gemma smiled. And then laughed. Looked the brother up and down again. Yeah, it was tempting all right. “Good night, Marsh,” she said, and then made her way to the hotel’s elevators.

  Marsh stood up, too, out of respect for her departure, because he was telling the truth. How could a fine looking sister like that, with that rocking body of hers, still be on the market? What were these brothers thinking? If he had still been available, he’d be all over that. All over it! He wouldn’t have taken no for an answer to be sure, if he wasn’t already spoken for.