Chapter 5

Gia slowly glanced at the numbers of the rooms until she reached 415. Giving herself a quick once-over, her nerves settling in the pit of her stomach, she swallowed hard, then gave a light tap to the door.  Why the hell was she so nervous?  It wasn’t like it was her first date. 

Jon opened the door, a lazy smile playing on his lips as his eyes raked her body.  “Well, good evening.”  He winked, and stepped aside.  “Come on in.”

Gia paused for a moment, taking in his appearance: black silk pants, white dress shirt--unbuttoned, causing her heart to race and her underwear to grow moist.  Her eyes shot back up to his hair, which was haphazardly done, and those eyes...well, those eyes.  Mentally scolding herself for just standing there devouring him with her eyes, she sweetly smiled.  “Good evening.” 

She stepped inside, taking in her surroundings.  Hell, these aren’t no beach bums, that's for sure.  Living with her aunt for so long, she could sense money, not that was the one thing she wanted in a man.  Hell, she didn’t care if he was dirt-poor and working in a pizza joint.  But this man, he was so different from all the men her aunt tried to hook her up with.  He didn’t come across as snooty.  Cocky, yes, but to her that was a typical male trait. 

He watched as she gave his place the once-over and wondered at her non-reaction.  Most ladies were easily impressed by obvious wealth, but Gia didn’t even bat an eyelash.  Interesting, very interesting.  “So, I wasn’t sure what to get.  Guess I should have asked earlier, but hell, I figured good old-fashioned Italian usually works for anyone, so...”  He sauntered over to the table and removed the silver lids from the dishes, revealing savory chicken Parmesan, a tossed salad, and garlic bread.  He shrugged.  “It smells wonderful, but I’m sure it ain't as good as Ma’s home cookin’.”  He grinned.

Gia’s heart immediately ached at the mention of the word Ma.  Quickly shaking the sadness that had remained in her heart, she smiled.  “Its smells fantastic.  I love Italian.  Then again, what Italian wouldn’t?”  Then,  flashing him a wink , she sat down.  “You certainly know how to charm a girl.” 

Jon couldn’t hold back a snort.  “I do?!”  He looked positively baffled.  “Never thought of myself as a charmer, really,” he admitted as he pulled out a chair for her.

“Oh, don’t play coy with me.”  She grinned, then grew serious.  “You mean you don’t think you’re a charmer?”  She held her glass up as he poured a vintage red wine.  One thing she was an expert on was wine, and this was no cheap bottle.  She caught herself before making a spectacle of herself; this wine was at least three-hundred dollars a bottle!  “Good taste in wine, too?” 

Jon shrugged.  “I just have a taste for the finer things in life.”  He sat across from her and picked up his fork.  “I got a bottle of this, too.”  He motioned toward the single-malt whiskey sitting beside the wine carafe.  “You did say you liked anything with alcohol, so I thought you might appreciate a good after-dinner whiskey.”

Gia’s eyebrow raised, then she nodded.  “Yes, I did.  You remembered.”  She was pleasantly surprised; most guys, even the rich jerks, tended to forget she had a mouth and could speak, and usually went what they wanted, whether it was drinks, dinner, or even--with the four men she’d slept with--their favorite positions.  She held up her glass in a toast.  “Here’s to a nice evening.” 

He nodded as he toasted with her, then, taking a small bite, said, “So, Gia...who are you?”  Normally, he wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t really care.  He knew they both wanted the same thing, so it didn’t really matter, yet he just felt the need to know a little more than just her name.

“Do you want my aunt’s version of who I am, or do you want who I was supposed to be?”  She scoffed, then quickly apologized, “I’m sorry.  I’m Gianna Ricci.  I’m from originally from Jersey, but I was raised in California since I was about six-years-old.  I’m Italian, and proud of it.”

“Jersey?  I’m from Jersey.” 

Gia’s smile grew.  “Really?  I’m from a town called Woodbridge, but I don’t remember much of it.  I was very young when I moved to Beverly Hills.” 

“Woodbridge?  Cool.  Richie’s from there.  Me, I’m from Sayreville.  Most people know--er--” he cut himself off.  He realized she really didn’t know who he was.  She couldn’t possibly know.  She would have said something by now ,and for some reason, he wanted to keep her unaware.  “I mean, uh, most people from that area know the neighboring towns pretty well, too.”

“I unfortunately don’t get out there.  My Nana still lives there, but she comes out to California to see me,” Gia replied, her voice tinged with sadness.  “I hope to--in fact, I would love to move back there someday.”

“So, you live with, um...what’s her name?  Emily?  Emmie?  That chick Richie’s got the hots for...”

Gia chuckled.  “Yeah, I do.  With her mom and dad.  Her mom is--was--my mom’s sister.” 

Jon nodded.  It made sense now that she’d used the past tense when speaking of her family.  He sensed the sadness in her and decided to change the subject.  “So what’s the occasion, then?  You here just for a vacation?  Celebration?  What?  Two hot young ladies off on their own...out on the prowl?”  He waggled his eyebrows.

“Vacation.  Em?  Not so much on the prow.”  Gia grinned.  “Though your friend might be the one to change her mind.  Me?  Anything to piss my aunt off, I do it.” 

He chuckled and mumbled, “I can almost guarantee it,” took a sip of wine, then looked at her curiously.  “If you hate living with your aunt so much, why don’t you just leave?”

“Hell, I don’t know, other than, at least if I'm there, she lays off Em.  She isn’t evil, it’s just she doesn’t like the Italian part in me.  Or more that she hated my dad, for some reason, and she’s trying to make me into a California girl, groom me into the next Queen of England or something.  Em, she’s had to be the perfect princess.  I do and say the things I do to make my aunt have the vapors.  My uncle laughs behind her back, of course, but does what she orders to be done to keep her happy.”  Gia paused a moment, taking a long gulp of her wine.  “Sorry, didn’t meant to damper this nice evening.”

Jon shook his head.  “Not dampening at all.  I find it amusing.  I probably shouldn’t, though, since it bothers you so much.  But seriously, I’d like to meet this woman.  I’d have her--what did you call it?--in vapors for good!”  He laughed heartily.  “She sounds like a real piece of work.”

A true, genuine burst of laughter escaped her as she visualized her aunt’s face if Gia brought Jon home for dinner.  “You would send her into a tizzy, that's for sure.  Definitely not the type I should be with, though keep in mind not many would want me if they knew I had Italian in me.  Go figure.  So I speak Italian most of the time, just to grate on her nerves.” 

Jon shook his head.  “Doesn’t make sense.  Where I come from, that’s what a mama wants for her boys: a good, strong, opinionated bitch of an Italian woman.”  He laughed.

Gia laughed too.  “Well, you’re in luck.  I just happen to be one,” she said, bringing her glass to her lips, her eyes capturing his.  “So, what do you do for a living?  Definitely not a beach bum.” 

“A beach bum?”  He laughed.  “No, not a beach bum.  Me?  I just, ya know, do a little of this, a little of that, but, um, mostly dabble with music,” he answered as honestly, yet as vaguely, as possible.

“Ah, so you’re a musician?  That’s cool.  Rock, I suppose?” Gia asked, taking her last bite of chicken Parmesan. 

“Yeah.”  He chuckled.  “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, with that long hair, you’re either a beach bum, hippie, or into rock.“  Gia laughed.

He laughed.  “True, I guess.  But seriously, the only reason my hair is long is to piss off my dad.”  He grinned cheekily, surprising himself by relaxing so quickly with her.

“Your dad?  Why you say that?” Gia asked.  “I think it looks...nice.” Her eyes twinkled with desire, and with a bit of orneriness.

“ ‘Cause he’s a barber.  Hairdresser, ya know?  And a haircut, in my family, was punishment, so...”

“Oh, it’s a sin to cut that beautiful hair.”  Gia leaned over the table, and her hand, as if having a mind of its own, reached out and gently ran through the soft tresses. 

Jon grinned and grasped her hand gently, pulling her around the table and onto his lap.  “So, I’m guessing we’ve learned enough about each other to leave the small talk behind, hmm?”

“I believe so, yes,”  Gia leaned in close.  Those eyes were gonna be the death of her if she kept staring into them.  Her eyes darted to his lips and she licked hers in anticipation of what was going to happen next. 

“Well then, far be it from me to keep a lady waiting.”  His hands grasped her waist firmly and set her on her feet.  He rose and took her hand, leading her, with a devilish glint in his eyes, to the bedroom.