by Jeanne Adams
Hey dude! she’d written. He could almost hear her saying it out loud, so he smiled.
You’ve got some doozies here. Context would be helpful, but here goes:
Hai unpo di pasta da un’altraparte is literally, you have pasta elsewhere. It means you’re getting some on the side, or you have a piece—woman—on the side.
Riprendi la buona strada is literally, “Walk the straight road,” but what it really means is, in essence, “Mend your ways,” or as we would say, “straighten up and fly right.” Somebody’s warning his pal here to be really, really careful about his flirtations.
Non ti lascieremo smerdare la nostra famiglia is literally “Don’t cover people with shit” but means that your words embarrass the family. This usage is a definite warning. It’s about the family, so about the good name or reputation and this person is in danger of sullying that.
Non la smettiti faemo fuori is literally “We’ll put you outside,” but it’s a serious threat. It’s a death threat. “We’ll put you outside,” is essentially, “We’ll kill you.” Same idea.
And the last one, Falla finite con quella putana is literally “Get rid of the female dog,” but it means stop whoring around.
The other one, Avrai a che fare con noi, is literally “You’ll have business with us” but is another threat, and is only used as a threat. They’re telling whoever this is that they WILL take care of business. They’ll kill him, if he doesn’t stop embarrassing the family and/or whoring around.
What’s this all about?
God, if he could only tell her. Maybe, if he could…
He thought about it for a moment. No. He’d already put her head on the block with his fuck-up in Rome.
He hit REPLY and typed back.
Hey babe! You’re a lifesaver. I’ll fill you in over drinks in a few weeks when I’m back on the left coast. Heatin’ up the town in Ottawa right now on a low key op.
He was actually in White Plains, New York, but neither she, nor anyone else needed to know that.
Back to ya’ shortly. Appreciate the help.
He sat back, comparing the two sets of translations. Both of them were warnings to stay away from other women or the wife would exact revenge.
Wives. Families. Warnings to stay on the straight and narrow. What the hell did it mean?
“Warnings. Warnings. Warnings,” he muttered. He got up to pace again. Wives. Mistresses. Two wives. A mistress.
“Oh no, you didn’t,” he said, as an idea, a crazy idea, shot into his mind. Racing back to the keyboard, rearranging data, moving the translations around in his timeline, he ignored the rumble in his stomach, the sweat plastering his shirt to his back. He powered through the info, shifting things, and in the repositioning, a new pattern emerged.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed, knowing the issue had now escalated beyond all reason.
“You stupid, crazy son of a bitch.” He leaned back in the chair, seeing the full pattern for the first time. The idiot target was a bigamist. Each of his wives had become aware of another woman in his life. Both fathers-in-law were issuing warnings. Added to that, the idiot was seeing a third woman in California as well.
He got back up to pace. “How the hell does he have the stamina? Not to mention the time.”
Obviously, his target liked strong women, and couldn’t stay away from either the two wives, or the other woman he’d met. He’d been so hooked, he’d married both the Greek in New York and the Italian in New Jersey. Idiot.
“Neither family is going to let him get away with cheating on the only daughter,” he muttered, sitting back down to make more notes. The two wives seemed tolerant to a degree—he thought of them as pragmatic. However, after a year of this, both women were becoming suspicious and territorial. Both had powerful families who were pressuring the target to stay home more. Both families were exerting pressure on the target in their own way.
Slimy bastard spoke both Greek and Italian, ran with both major families as if he were the prodigal son, and juggled the wives and the families so carefully, so easily and cheerfully that you had to admire the sheer brass cojones of the guy.
“This one is so gonna get dead,” he said as he made notes. “He’s gonna get so dead, one way or the other. Either one of these women is gonna shoot the hell out of him, or one of their brothers or dads.” He sighed and mocked, “Nobody treats daddy’s little girl that way, capiche?”
He wasn’t sure what the Greek equivalent was, but he was pretty sure the Greek father-in-law felt the same way. Soon his freight-flying target was going to get himself dead. Problem was, this guy was the keystone to what had gone down in Rome, so TJ needed him alive, and talking.
“You can’t get dead, dude,” he said, returning to the keyboard. “Not yet.”
It was time to do some serious work. He snagged a cold piece of pizza and popped open a warm soda, cracked his knuckles, and got down to the business of hacking.
Ana strode purposefully toward the patrol car, stopping about ten feet away. Both officers were rigidly attentive, watching her every move.
“Officers, I’m Agent Ana Burton, CIA,” she stated, keeping her hands clear of her raincoat, well away from her body. “I just wanted to let you know I was in for the night. And to thank you for your service.”
“You’re welcome, Agent, now get back in the car. You’re a target,” the driver replied.
She nodded her thanks, pivoted, and got back in the car. Damon took the vehicle smoothly up the drive and parked outside her building. He made no move to open her door, so she turned to Gates.
“Come in,” she said, making it a request, not a question. “I don’t think Dav expects you back tonight.” She opened the door herself, drew him out. “Come in.”
With a smile, he tapped the driver’s side glass. “Thanks, Damon. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Very good, sir,” he replied, never taking his eyes off the steering wheel. “I’ll wait till you get in.”
Ana skirted the back of the car and went up the steps, feeling Gates right behind her. It was like he was a furnace at her back, heat radiating out of him, warming her, making her feel safe. She fumbled with the keys, but only for a moment.
“Ana?”
“It’s okay.” She opened the door, took his hand to draw him in. “I want this. I want you.”
“I can just be here,” he said, pulling her close, leaning them both against the closed door. Keeping it light. “If that’s what you need,” he murmured into her hair, kissing her forehead like he would a child’s.
“Gates,” she whispered, feeling powerful, feeling as if nothing could touch her here, in his arms. “What I need is you, touching me, making me feel alive and whole. You touch me.” She laid a hand on his cheek. “You touch me, and it’s like I want to explode right there.”
He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her chin slightly so he could see her eyes in the dim light. “You’re sure?”
To answer him, she dropped her things to the floor, unfastened her coat, and let it slide away. Pressing him into the door with her body, she rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, just as he had kissed hers earlier, a whisper of a touch.
“I’m sure.”
He groaned and dragged her mouth to his, plundering and taking all she would give.
Just as eager, she fumbled with his belt, jerked the tail of his smooth dress shirt from his pants so she could run her hands up the heated skin of his back. He groaned into her mouth and pressed her into his body, imprinting the feel of his erection on the softness of her belly.
“Here,” she muttered, pulling off his suit jacket, tossing it toward her dining room chair as they moved backward together in a blistering sexual tango. Her own blazer followed, and he somehow managed not to pop the buttons on her shirt as he wrenched it open to feast on the curve of her neck, slide lower to press feathery kisses to the high mounds of her breasts that showed over her conservative bra.
“Your bed,” he demanded, picking her
up, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist.
“There, down the hall to the right,” she gasped, bending now, from her higher vantage point, to kiss his neck, push his shirt as far off his shoulders as she could in order to taste him, scent him, feel the pulse hammer in his throat. That rapid-fire beat only fueled her desire for him.
His need, his almost frenetic pace was a balm to her soul; it filled some empty place inside her she hadn’t known existed. Feeling it, she could slow down, savor, touch.
“Shhhhh,” she soothed as he turned to lay her gently on the bed. God, he was strong, to lift her so easily, set her down with no strain or stress. “Come here, come to me,” she murmured drawing him with her.
They knelt, face to face in the center of the bed, stopping to caress and appreciate as they stripped one another, peeling away the layers of the everyday that stood between them and the primal urges that drove them both. “You’re so beautiful.” He pulled her close, matching them perfectly from knee to breast. “So soft.” He caressed her cheek again, leaving a trail of warmth and comfort that made her want him more than ever.
“You’re beautiful too,” she said, locking her gaze to his, feeling the passion rising faster between them, faster than she could—or wanted to—tame. She laid a hand on his heart, let the pulse of it excite her. “Oh, God, you are so sexy,” she said, sliding her hands up to fist in his hair, bring their mouths together, lock them irrevocably into this passionate spiral. “Touch me, touch me everywhere.”
“I want to see you,” he declared, between kisses, pulling her toward him so he could take charge, lifting her as he laid them down together, still face to face, but now in a tangle of arms and legs.
He moved back, just a little, letting his hands and eyes speak for him, murmuring appreciatively as he spread his long fingers around her breasts, to massage and tease. “Beautiful,” he repeated, gliding his hands to her back now, shaping them around her backside, letting her set the pace.
She followed his lead, but instead of pulling back, she moved in, rolling him to his back and rising above him, straddling his hips. Unpinning her hair, she let it fall free, and brushed the tips of her hardened nipples over every inch of his chest. Slowly, with agonizing lightness, she skimmed her body over his, as she dropped the pins on the bedside table.
“Temptress,” he murmured, locking her in place with the strong band of his arms. Taking advantage of the position, he laved her breasts, tugged the nipples into his mouth to suckle them one after the other. “Such a magnificent temptation,” he said, just before he reversed their positions, trapping her under his superior weight, but without any effort at all.
“Now,” he said, a gleam in his eyes, “I’ll look my fill.” He leaned on one elbow and proceeded to kiss his way down her body.
“This is lovely, this right here,” he declared, running the point of his tongue over the curve of her taut belly. “Exquisite.”
The slow, delicious torture of his exploration had her so hot, so ready to explode that when he eased his hand between her legs, still kissing his way down her belly, she gasped and cried out, letting the blinding orgasm blast through her.
“Yes, Ana. Oh, yes,” he murmured, sliding up to capture her mouth, kiss her deeply, share the ride as she pressed into his hand, gripping his wrist so he wouldn’t move, couldn’t move until she’d milked every last erg of energy from the explosion.
“Oh, my God,” she moaned. “That was…that was…” She stuttered to a stop. What the hell did she say? What was it?
“Amazing, gorgeous,” he groaned right along with her. “God, woman, you are magnificent.”
Everything within her lit up with his praise, the scent of him, of her own passion, of them together made her want to leap and dance. She hadn’t felt this free since before her failed affair in Italy, maybe since college.
She wanted more. She wanted him.
“I need you, Gates, inside me. I need to feel you, please.” She tugged at him, trying to bring them together more quickly.
“Wait, honey, just a minute, okay?” He fumbled in his pants, protected them both.
“Now-now-now,” she demanded, pulling him back to her, lifting her hips to give him access. When he hesitated, about to speak, she denied that. “Now. I won’t change my mind.”
“Now,” he agreed, easing into her slowly, inch by agonizingly luscious inch.
“Ahhhhhhhhh!” The cry was drawn out to a crescendo as he locked them together, fully engaged in her body, throbbing to the racing beat of both their hearts.
“Ana,” he growled. “Ana, open your eyes.”
Through the haze of pleasure she heard him and obeyed, reveling in the sight of him above her, the inferno of their mutual desire sparking in his gaze. “Watch me, Ana. See me as I move in you, make you wetter and wetter.” The words were hot, demanding, and they fueled her need, her hunger for him.
“Yes,” she rasped the words. “I see you, Gates. I see you. I see what it does to you when I move with you.” She timed her rhythm with her own thrusts, nearly faint with pleasure at the heat they were creating, the power, the rising blast of another mind-blowing release.
“You’re beautiful, Ana.” He quickened the pace, then slowed it, then drew out only to come back to her in a rush. “You make me crazy with wanting you.”
“Gates.” She found his name, but could say little else as her body responded to his thrusts, to his words, to the intensity that built between them. “Give me…”
“What? What do you want, Ana?” he demanded, one hand braced on the headboard, the other lifting her to give her even more pleasure, letting her feel even more of him filling her, firing every nerve.
“You, I want you, now,” she moaned, writhing in her need to bring him closer, extend the feelings that swamped her, cresting higher and higher. “Gates!” she shouted as she exploded around him, driving him even deeper into her body as she rose to meet him, her hands on his hard, muscled ass.
“Ana!” he echoed her cry, finding his own release in the blazing glory of hers. “Ana,” he gasped, still driving forward, extending her pleasure as well as his as he rocked them together, continuing to murmur her name until they were both panting and spent.
He began to move away, but she stopped him. “No, stay.” She reinforced the words, wrapping her legs over his hips to keep him still.
“I’ll crush you,” he said, resting his weight on his elbows, his head bowed nearly to her breast, his hot mouth teasing her skin as he tried to slow his breathing.
“No, you won’t.” She ran her fingers through his hair and down the expanse of his back. Damn, he felt so good in her, and around her. Nothing had ever felt this good. Nothing.
They lay together, letting their pounding hearts slow to a normal beat, silent in the dark room, enjoying the feel of one another’s bodies with tender caresses and long, slow kisses.
He brushed the hair from her face and smiled, rubbing his thumb over her lip. “I think I bit you,” he said, obviously unrepentant. “Sorry about that.”
“Uh-huh. Sure you are.” She let her hands roam where they would, loving the long strength of him, the warmth that seemed to blanket her. “Somehow, Mr. Bromley, your body language tells me otherwise. You know, they teach us how to read body language in agent school.”
“Agent school, eh?” He laughed, bending to dance kisses up the left side of her jaw. “So what is my body telling you now, Agent?”
“That you want me,” she murmured with delight. “Again.”
“Ah, you are a marvel, Agent,” he said, his voice muffled in the skin of her shoulder as he skimmed more kisses down her collarbone. “You have the most delicate bone structure here.” He traced a finger up her sternum, between her breasts, and down the opposite line of her collarbone. “Deceptive, that delicacy.” He nipped her chin, then kissed her mouth.
She got lost in the drug of his mouth for several minutes then, and only when they broke apart, panting, did she question him. “
Deceptive? How? What do you mean?”
“Relax, Agent.” Amused now, he lifted away, and she was instantly chilled. “I’m not impugning your strength, body, or character. It’s a compliment.”
“Well then, I guess I can take that,” she said, leaning onto his chest. “You’re pretty strong yourself there, Mr. Bromley.” She wanted to stretch and purr in sensual pleasure at the memory of him lifting her up, bringing her to orgasm with just his hands.
“Hmmm,” he murmured, and she could sense how relaxed he was, how near sleep. He was still aroused and so was she, but when he yawned, she followed suit and every bit of the day’s trauma’s came down on her like a wall. All she wanted to do was sleep.
She needed to get up, wash her face, check on Lancelot. The cat didn’t like strangers, so she knew he was hiding somewhere.
“We should move,” he said, yawning again. “Get cleaned up.”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” she agreed.
He pulled her closer, then flipped the covers over them, tugging them from one side so they cocooned them both in warmth. “So sweet,” he murmured, nuzzling her hair. “So beautiful. Ana.”
“Mmmm.” She let herself drift in the motion of his fingers on her back, loving the hypnotic sensation of the sweeping motion.
It was nearly dawn when she woke. Lancelot had jumped onto the bed and curled himself into a furry ball behind her knees. He looked at her for a moment, then purred loudly as he put his head down on his paws and closed his eyes. Sandwiched between Gates and the cat, she decided to just close her eyes for another minute. Just another minute, then she’d get up.
“Ana?” Gates murmured her name into her hair. His arms were banded around her, his body a furnace of warmth that made her want to stretch like Lancelot and luxuriate in the feeling of being held so tight.