I touched a perfectly curled strand, so fragrant, and the color—chestnut in the darkness—glistened in the light, a few red strands making sparks. “Yours is a face that shouldn't be covered up.” I took her hands, taking a step back. “Now your body—”
She laughed, her cheeks matching the color of the dress. “I thought it was safe.”
“Safe,” I repeated.
“Mmhm,” she nodded. “Since tonight is going to be all friends and family?”
“You’re a rotten fisherwoman, baby. Give it up.”
She threw back her head and laughed again.
“We still need to discuss this dress.”
I twirled her around, watching as the bottom moved some with her. It was form-fitting and floor-length, but she could still dance. On the turn, I pulled her body against mine, hard.
“Signor Fausti,” she said, a wide smile on her face. She rubbed up against me, taking advantage of my disadvantage. “Should we stay home? You smell…” She inhaled. “Mmmm…cigars and cognac and something that’s all you.”
After getting lost in her hooded gaze, I leaned in closer, and she sucked in a breath. Our lips were a breath apart. “Egli è il tuo,” I whispered. Then I pressed my lips against hers until her body surrendered to mine. Moving further down, I licked the deep shape of the neckline, coming up to meet her eyes. “Lei è mia.”
“He is yours,” she breathed out, translating my words.
“And she is mine,” I said.
“You really could be a poet,” she said, her voice soft and almost slurred. Her weight came against me even more, melting into my shape, and I had to fight the urge to laugh.
She shoved against my chest, knowing that I was. “What’s so funny?”
“You.” I kissed her nose.
“And what aboutyourhair? Look at this!” She waved a hand and then followed the stroke of my hair. I’d taken Romeo’s advice and instead of slicking it back, I’d dried it. “You’re so handsome.”
I reached around and took the wrapped package from the mantle. “Surprise.” I grinned at her. “Happy Birthday, baby.” I handed it to her.
Weighing the package in her hands, her muscles flexing, she smiled. “Don’t you mean, ‘Happyaren’t you glad your parents had sexDay’?”
“I prefer the classic, not Maggie Beautiful’s version.”
“I told her she should sell it. Can you imagine that on a greeting card?” She almost snorted. With precision and care, she opened the gift. “A rock!”
“Yeah.” I laughed. “I bought it at the drug store, for your rose garden on Snow.”
“Do not urge me to leave you or turn back from following you; for where you go, I will go, and where you lodge, I will lodge.” She sniffed.
I made anoof!noise when she collided into me, the rock coming between us, right in the gut. It had enough heft to break a toe.
“Thank you,mio marito. I love it.”
I had bought the woman countless pieces of jewelry, cars, whatever she saw and admired, but it was the simpler things that got this reaction. It did something to me that I couldn’t even explain in words.
Prying the rock from her grasp, I set it back on the mantle. “Close your eyes, baby.”
“Another surprise?”
“The night’s just beginning.”
“Ooh, I love surprises!” Our hands were entwined as I led her out of the house and to the street. I trusted her to keep her eyes shut tight—she loved not knowing what the hell was up. “It’s still muggy out, so I know we’re still in New Orleans,” she teased.
“I’m good, but I’m notthatgood.”
