by Howes, Ann
Despite his seemingly relaxed posture, he emits such a powerful energy that I’m sure if I touch him, he’d crackle like a downed power line after a storm, both thrilling and deadly.
Not willing to risk the power surge, or the electrocution, I keep my distance.
He makes no move towards me either, but studies me for a long moment, before he speaks in a low, measured voice. “Hello, Shelley.”
I’d forgotten what that voice did to me. Smooth and deep, like whisky and chocolate. Intoxicating and addicting.
“Been a while. Nice of you to come.”
“Of course.” I swallow, not trusting the way he says it. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He offers no immediate answer, instead continuing to study me, eyes narrowing and probing past my sunglasses.
I feel it in my belly. Something deep and disturbing that unsettles my equilibrium. I’m about to sway from that all-consuming intensity when he says finally, “Perhaps that’s something we need to clarify.”
My head jerks a little as I try to make sense of his comment. What on earth would there be to clarify? I’m here to pay my respects.
However, Billy saves me by stepping in and breaking the tension. He hugs Gianni, doing that power patting thing that macho men always seem to do before grasping his face between two giant paws.
“I loved that little bastard.” His voice cracks and he takes a second, his throat working, before he continues. “May he find some peace.”
Gianni’s face is grim and it’s not lost on me that he does some swallowing of his own. Despite his aloofness, I know their history. The two brothers had their issues, particularly with each other. And sometimes those issues involved me.
When they separate, Billy blows his nose, shoves his handkerchief in his pocket, and slides an arm around my shoulders. He cuts a glance at Gianni and Mama Cadora. “Excuse us for a moment. I want to reacquaint myself with my favorite girl.”
Gianni lifts his chin in acknowledgment, then shifts his gaze to me, resuming that flat, suspicious look the Cadoras seem to have trademarked.
Billy catches the change in expression directed at me. I know because he gives me a gentle, reassuring squeeze and guides me forward, down the wide, red-brick church stairs to the parking lot.
A spot on the back of my head tingles but I refuse to look back. That sensation grows with each step, until we reach a quiet area underneath the canopy of gnarled cypress trees, away from everyone. Billy pulls me into an embrace, lifting me off my feet and holding me for a long time.
“Billy…can’t breathe,” I wheeze into his chest.
He chuckles and lowers me to the ground. “Don’t want to kill you, just missed you, kiddo.” With those long arms attached to my shoulders, he studies me. “I lose one little bastard but I have you back. Look at you. All grown up and gorgeous.” His face scrunches up, then he pulls me back into his arms and kisses me on top of my head. Something he used to do when I was younger. “How is your mother?” he asks when he lets me go. “She good?”
“Haven’t talked to her lately, but she’s still in LA. I’m back in San Francisco.”
“What? How long you been back?”
“About three months.”
“And you didn’t call?”
“I wanted to be settled. You know, find a job and a place to live. Things kinda…got a little intense after that.”
“Yeah.” His face gets hard and I figure he’s referring to the edges of my bruise visible under my sunglasses.
“But I’m here now.”
“We need to talk about how intense things are.”
“Billy, please.” I put a hand on his forearm. “I’m sure there’s plenty of time for that, but not today?”
He wrinkles his nose and sniffs. A sign I remember from my teens when he didn’t like something but was willing to concede.
“Please?”
He lets the air out in a long, slow breath. “Okay, I’ll let it go for now. I’m too damn happy you’re here, don’t want to spoil that.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Later.” He catches my eyes.
“Okay.”
“But what’s with all the tension between you and Gianni?”
“I don’t know.” I swallow. “I haven’t seen him since Mom and I left. Maybe he doesn’t like my dress.”
Billy snorts and cocks his head.
“Or maybe he just likes holding a grudge,” I continue. “He never liked me. Treated me like an annoying little twerp and only tolerated me because I was with Joey.”
He clears his throat. “Whatever. We’ll deal with that later too. So much to talk about. Looks like I need to feed you, fatten you up.”
I let out a little giggle. “That sounds so good. I think I missed your lasagna almost more than I missed you.”
With his craggy, round face, Billy’s not handsome but when he smiles, he lights up and those dark, cinnamon-colored eyes with coppery flecks sparkle.
“Hmm,” he grunts and lifts his head, focusing on something over my head. “Speaking of Gianni…we have incoming.”
The sound of approaching footsteps crunching over gravel coincides with the beginning of an itch at the base of my spine.
“Shelley,” Gianni says to my back.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“A word please.” It isn’t a request, and not wanting to appear rude I angle my body so my back isn’t entirely to him.
“All right.”
“In private.”
Crud.
I twirl a stray strand of hair around my fingers. Billy looks at me. I shrug. Suppose he can’t do much to me in public except set my blood on fire.
“You sure?” he asks softly so only I can hear. “I can stay.”
“Yep. I’m a big girl. I can handle him.”
“I’ll be there if you need me.” He points with his chin to the steps of the church and I watch as he lumbers over to a small group of mourners standing at the foot of the red-brick stairs chatting with Mama Cadora. The limp from a bullet he took to his upper thigh years ago still pronounced.
I pull in a deep breath and count to three before sliding my eyes to Gianni’s—they haven’t softened at all.
“I’m gonna ask you this once and you better fucking tell me the truth. What are you doing here?”
Keeping my voice as even as I can despite my pulse fluttering like an injured bird in my neck I answer. “I came to pay my respects, Gianni. I didn’t realize I’d be so unwelcome, but don’t worry, I’m not staying. I’ll be gone in a few minutes.”
“You sure that’s all it is? Paying your respects.”
“What else would it be?”
“You here to spit on his grave?”
“What?” My hand flies to my throat. Joey cheated and then dumped me, but that is not grave-spitting-worthy.
“So help me, woman, you do anything to hurt my mother…”
“Are you crazy? Why would I do that? I love your mother and I would never do anything to hurt her. Besides, I’m not even going to the burial, let alone spitting on his grave.”
Like earlier, those eyes drill into me, but then he shakes that handsome head and turns away so his back is to me for just a moment.
“Fuck me,” he mutters so softly I have to strain to hear it, and probably wouldn’t have if the soft breeze carrying his voice wasn’t blowing my way. “I’m fucked.”
This seems like a strange reaction, one I don’t understand at all. Some sort of apology? And just when I think he’s satisfied with my answer, he turns back and takes a step closer, blocking the early November sun. Before I realize what his intentions are, in one quick movement, he snatches the sunglasses off my face.
Shit, dang it.
Strong, warm fingers wrap themselves around my jaw.
“Who did that to you?” His voice is rough and clipped. Nothing like the whisky or smooth chocolate I detected earlier. He angles my face for a better look. He’s close enough I can smell him.
&
nbsp; Delicious, some kind of spice layered with soap, clean and all male. If that isn’t intoxicating enough, the man oozes sex and pheromones, sending my hormones into a tizzy.
All those feelings I buried under complicated layers of teenage anxiety years ago bubble up and resurface, as the specter of his face did earlier in my apartment. Fortunately, before my ovaries begin to vibrate and explode, I find the strength to shove his hand away.
“Butt out, Gianni!” I say, with a little more spice than I intended. “You don’t get to manhandle me. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got people to see.”
I attempt to walk away, but a hard grip on my upper arm stops me abruptly, then steadies me when I stumble on my heels.
“Jeez. What the hell?” Great, now I’ll have more bruises to hide.
“I don’t care who you’ve got to see, you don’t walk away from me,” he growls. “I’m not done with you, Shelley.”
“I’m not a teenager anymore and I’m not part of your little family. You can’t boss me around.”
His face gets closer until it’s within inches of mine. I find myself echoing his words from a few seconds ago. Fuck me, because I am fucked as I have the craziest impulse to kiss him. All I have to do is lean in and touch my lips to his.
Good Lord, the man scares me—not in the way you’d think a badass alpha jerk would, but in what he does to my body because I want to lean in. It takes all my strength not to.
“You’ve been gone a long time. Maybe forgotten how things work around here.”
“I’ve forgotten nothing.”
“Really? From where I stand it looks like you don’t remember a fucking thing.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I murmur.
“When were you ever afraid of me, Shelley?” Something other than anger flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone before I have a chance to read it. Leaves me wondering if I imagined it. “It’s what I always liked about you,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
I blink. Either I’m having some kind of delayed reaction to Dean punching me, or I misheard him. But I don’t have time to think about it anyway, before he demands, “Who’s the asshole that hit you?”
“Stop it.”
“Shelley…”
“I said stop.”
His grip tightens.
“Ow!” I jerk my arm, but his grip is relentless. “What’s your problem?”
God.
I’m so done with controlling men, but somehow, I keep attracting them.
“You’re my problem. You’ve always been my problem.” He pulls me closer, getting in my face.
“You’re hurting me, dammit. You men are all the fucking same.”
That does it.
Because this time it’s him who blinks and the pressure on my arm is gone so fast it makes me stumble again. He takes a small step back as I regain my balance. And then another, still holding my eyes. His are steely, but no longer cold.
He shoves his hands into his suit pants pockets and looks away, while I rub my arm and glare at him. By the way he’s working his jaw, I can tell he’s fighting. What, I couldn’t begin to guess.
The weird thing is, I kind of like I’m having this effect on him. Payback for all those years he unwittingly tortured me.
“Who’re you protecting?” His voice is softer, but by no means gentler.
I shake my head. No way in hell I’m telling him. My life is complicated enough without adding him to the mix.
“Well, shit,” he says in that drawn out, sarcastic way he laid on me all those years back. “Stubborn as ever. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to explore this further right now, but I will find out. You can count on it.”
He closes the distance between us, leaning forward until his lips are close to my ear. “In the meantime”—his warm breath fans across my neck—“you tell that piece of shit he touches you again, he’ll have to deal with me.”
Goosebumps pop up all over and a shiver I can’t suppress runs through me.
Too bad he notices, and it only takes a beat before the corner of his mouth curls up. Those sexy-as-sin eyes drop and focus on my swollen bottom lip, then to my nipples. The traitors have perked into noticeable peaks. When he catches my eyes again, his are dark and full of…satisfaction?
“You get me, De Luca?”
I swallow and stare back.
“Say the words, Shelley.”
“I get you, Gianni,” I whisper.
His lips quirk, then he turns on his heel and walks away with long, easy strides back towards the crowd gathering around the red-brick stairs.
Hoo…boy.
Did I get him?
Clear as church bells.
But that wasn’t all I got. Along with my nipples poking through my dress, I tingle in places that are immoral at a funeral. My fingers shake so badly, it takes a few attempts before I manage to secure the strand of hair that’s escaped its pins back behind my ear.
No getting away from it, even when he’s scary as crap, the bastard still does it to me.
2
Delightful as your ass is
* * *
It isn’t until he’s back at the church that I realize the handsome jerk has my sunglasses. They may be second-hand, but they’re vintage and considering I love them, I want them back.
Facing him again, however, isn’t an option. Well, technically it is, but not one I want to handle.
A blast of wind brushes over my body, swirling around my legs and lifting my skirt, reminding me how inappropriately I’m dressed for cool weather. The cypress canopy offers little protection and I rub my fingers up and down my arms. They brush against the other bruises Dean gave me.
What the hell’s wrong with me, that I kept my mouth shut?
A couple minutes pass as I wait for my heart to slow. When it reaches a somewhat normal beat, I aim myself towards Billy and the small crowd of mourners he’s talking to.
Mama Cadora’s about to step into the waiting black limo when she sees me and motions me over.
“Shelley.” She squeezes my hands. “Come back to the Sea Cliff house for a small celebration…it’s been so long. Don’t let my son’s behavior keep you away. I want to hear about you and your mother.”
“Wish I could, Mama, but I need to get back to the city.” Guilt makes my eye twitch, but there is no way I’m exposing myself to questions about my face or screwed-up love life.
“There’ll be food,” she goes on, eyeing me like I’m a starving refugee. “Looks like you don’t eat enough, makes me want to feed you.” Her eyes are sweet, and the tiny upturn of her lip, sweeter, considering I can’t imagine what she’s going through. Joey’s death is one of many in a long line of family members.
Despite her petite frame, an underlying strength, her secret weapon, shines through. Anyone caught underestimating Isabella Cadora would be making a big mistake. I often thought she was the real power in the family, keeping her sons from killing each other, and everyone else together.
“I’ve always been kind of skinny, like my dad,” I mumble.
“Ah yes, Jimmy. You have his eyes. That same golden brown, but yours are softer. Papa always said they reminded him of a good cognac.” Her voice breaks on cognac and she stops, closing her eyes. After a few seconds she continues, “Another time?”
A lump forms in my throat, but I smile and nod.
“Don’t be a stranger. I’m so glad you’re back.” Her gaze shifts to the swelling around my eye and lingers. “Take care of yourself, pretty girl. You know where to find me if you need anything.”
Again, I nod. This time acknowledging her unspoken message, then kiss her cheek, helping her into the limo, and waiting as she slides across the black leather seat.
I close the door, bending at the waist to wave through the tinted window and step back when my butt slams into a wall.
Large, warm hands clamp around my hips and I squeal like a piglet.
“Jesus, De Luca,” Gianni grunts. “Careful.”
My pelv
is thrusts forward, as far as his grip will allow and away from what I realize is his crotch. This causes me to wobble (again) in my four-inch heels. “What are you doing?”
“You backed into me.” Somehow his hands are still on me, holding me in position, my back to his front. “You gonna fall or should I let you go?”
“Let me go,” I quip over my shoulder. “You’re too damn close.” And his hands are too damn hot, burning through the fabric of my dress.
That scarred eyebrow shoots up, but those hands stay where they are. “This is my fault?”
“Of course, it’s your fault. You snuck up on me.”
That crackling energy I felt earlier is back as he releases me and steps away, folding his arms across his broad, undoubtedly hard chest. And leaving a cold spot on my hips .
“Why would I do that?” The words are said low and frosty enough to give a polar bear the chills.
I have no answer and stare, capturing my bottom lip between my teeth.
“Hmm. Get this straight, De Luca, delightful as your ass is, I wouldn’t sneak up on it. If I wanted my hands on your ass, I’d make my intentions known beforehand.”
“Oh.”
Delightful?
Under normal circumstance that might be considered flirting. But then this is Gianni. He doesn’t flirt, at least not with me.
“Um…okay. I may have overreacted…a little.”
“Think so?”
“Didn’t mean to imply you were groping.” Honestly, though, I kind of wish he would. I’m still tingling from earlier.
“Right.”
“Guess I’m just a little edgy.”
“Hmm.”
Okay.
Why isn’t he getting in the limo, and where the hell is Billy?
“Don’t let me stop you,” I say, waving a hand and stepping away from the car door.
“You’re not.”
“I’m not?”
In order to keep my eyes off him I do a sweep of the parking lot, and find Billy standing by the stairs, chatting with a tiny man in a suit way too big for him. When I slide my eyes back to Gianni, he hasn’t moved and his eyes are still on me. What’s he waiting for?
“Why are you staring at me?”