He quibbled good-naturedly with her until she pulled the car over to the side of a street. He looked at the corner and then back at her, dismay written all over his face.
“A hot dog stand?”
“Best hot dogs in Philadelphia,” she informed him as she got out of the car. “If you haven’t eaten one outside, you don’t know what you’re missing. It’s all in the presentation and ambience.” He followed her reluctantly. She was obviously not the only fan. There were several other people waiting in line to be served.
“Do you know what they make these things from?” he asked in a loud whisper.
“Yep.”
“They make them from animals’ intestines.” He didn’t know that for sure, but he thought he’d heard that once, and it sounded suitably disgusting.
“I like intestines,” she responded imperturbably. She bought two hot dogs and handed him one. He took it resignedly and moved aside to heap it with various condiments. He eyed her askance as she munched contentedly.
“Aren’t you at least going to put relish on it?” he asked, holding up a spoonful.
“I don’t eat green things.”
He shook his head in mock regret. “You really need to be taken in hand. Your dining habits are deplorable.” He eyed the hot dog suspiciously before giving an inward sigh. Hunger won out over the desire for nutrition. He devoured the meal hastily, but not before a large drop of mustard landed on his shirt.
Madeline bit her lip to keep from laughing at his aggrieved look. “It’s your own fault. You had your hot dog piled too high. There’s an art to eating without a plate.”
“Obviously,” he mumbled, dabbing at the stain with a napkin. “This was my favorite shirt, too.”
“Considering what I’ve seen of your wardrobe so far, you probably have a dozen more just like it,” she answered without sympathy.
He looked affronted. “Are you implying that my wardrobe lacks imagination?”
“No,” she responded, “just taste.”
He grinned at her then. “Speaking of tasteless, you have ketchup on your face.”
Madeline scrubbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Where?”
“You missed it, it’s right…” His finger went to the corner of her mouth just as her tongue swept her lips, searching for the errant drop. The tip of her tongue barely grazed his finger, and his breath hissed in at the scorching wake of sensation.
The entire scope of his focus narrowed to her lips. “Here,” he said huskily, wiping away the minuscule trace. His eyes followed the movement of his finger.
Madeline looked up, a little embarrassed, but forgot what she was going to say when her gaze caught his.
Hot. Her stomach jumped crazily. How could eyes that dark look so heated? She was unable to tear her gaze away. His face came closer, and still she couldn’t move. Instead she watched, entranced by those hypnotic eyes. They weren’t really black, she thought a little dizzily. But they were so dark a brown that the pupil showed only at a close range. This close. Kissing close. Unconsciously her lips parted, and her eyelids grew heavy.
“Cruz!”
Madeline looked up, a little dazed, but came back down to earth with a crash when a pretty young woman came running up and launched herself into Cruz’s arms, kissing him soundly. “Where have you been?” the woman scolded. “I’ve missed you.”
Chapter 4
Madeline tore her eyes from the embracing couple with difficulty. Movements suddenly jerky, she walked a few steps to throw her napkin into a nearby trash container. She felt like a fool, and she didn’t enjoy the emotion. The girl had saved her from looking even more foolish, though. If it hadn’t been for her arrival, Madeline was quite certain that Cruz would have kissed her. And she was very much afraid that she would have let him.
She forced herself to turn back to the couple. She observed the affectionate way Cruz had his arm draped around the girl’s shoulders. And she wasn’t much more than a girl, Madeline noted. She looked no more than twenty, and had a figure normally found on centerfolds. She was a full foot shorter than Cruz. She was exactly the kind of woman who’d always made Madeline feel like a giraffe, as she towered over her from her own height of five-ten. She squelched the urge to slouch and cross her arms.
Cruz was laughing at something the girl had said, and, turning, he introduced the two. “Madeline, this is Maureen. She’s-”
“Hush,” the girl said, clapping a hand over his mouth. “I’ll bet Madeline can tell who I am. Can’t you, Madeline?”
“It’s pretty obvious,” Madeline agreed tightly.
Cruz rolled his eyes at the dark-haired woman’s crow of delight. “See! I told you, I look just like you. You’re the only one who refuses to see it.”
Madeline froze. For the first time she really looked at the woman. Dark hair tumbled in artful disarray down her narrow shoulders. Her face was heart shaped, lightly made-up, but there was a trace of resemblance in the eyes. Madeline’s gaze bounced to Cruz as he continued the introduction.
“As I was saying, this is my younger sister Maureen. My baby sister,” he stressed, earning himself a punch on the arm.
Madeline smiled tentatively. “Nice to meet you.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Cruz asked Maureen. “Don’t you have classes?”
“Not until three,” she replied. “And that bookstore,” she said, pointing across the street, “is where I started working part-time last week, which you would have known if you hadn’t missed the last two Sunday dinners.” She continued chattering, barely pausing to take a breath. “You’re in
“Maureen!” Both women blinked at the tone of command that had entered his voice, but it accomplished its goal. His sister’s mouth snapped shut. Then, in a normal voice, he continued, “As I’ve tried to explain, I’ve been busy recently. But tell Mom and Pop I should be able to make it this Sunday.”
“You call and tell them,” his sister retorted calmly, plainly unfazed by her brother’s order. “I’m sure they have lots to say to you.” She reached up and kissed him lightly again. “Gotta run. See you this weekend. Bye, Madeline.” Her voice carried over her shoulder as she waved blithely and hurried back across the street.
Madeline smiled at the look of sheer frustration stamped on Cruz’s face as he watched his sister swing away. “Who was that masked woman?” she joked.
He shook his head wryly. “My conscience, she thinks. She could give Jiminy Cricket lessons.”
“And do you need an extra conscience?” Madeline asked, suddenly serious. She was again thinking of what he’d been accused of. At times like these he seemed so real, so human, that she wondered how he could be a suspect. But she knew too well that the most successful criminals didn’t look the part. Getting others to trust them was their stock-in-trade.
He nodded and said with mock solemnity, “Sometimes. My own doesn’t have a very loud speaking voice. I can’t always hear it.”
As they walked back to the car he explained, “I’m one of six kids in what is a pretty close-knit family. Too close, sometimes. It’s kind of an unspoken rule that if you live in the city, you’re expected home for dinners on Sundays, unless you have a good excuse. Mom doesn’t accept too many of those. Since all of us live here when everyone’s out of school, the weekly dinner gets to be pretty wild sometimes.”
She tried to visualize the scene he’d just described, a large warm family gathered around a dinner table, voices vying to be heard. Though she’d never experienced such a scene, it was easy to picture. She was curious to hear more about his family, and finding out from him would save her some checking. At least, that’s what she told herself. “Where do you fall in the family?”
