“Yeah. I told you, if it was anyone else but Mitch, he could do as he wished and handle his business. But he said they parted without any lines drawn. Funny how a woman is quick to drop her husband’s name when presenting herself to another man.”
He reflected on that a moment before he continued.
“I had a talk with Romeo. I didn’t want him to claim her and make me take sides in a war. Mick will be back. It’s one thing to part without any lines, another thing entirely to know lines are being crossed.”
“Mitch?”
“He’s going insane.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to have both of them come to the race.”
“Good idea.”
We both went silent, neither of us ready to talk about that yet. The box Brando had given to Romeo sat on the roof of the Ferrari, and it caught my eye.
I pointed in its direction. “What did you give him?”
He lifted the glass to my lips, and my head tipped back with the motion, the rest of the wine gliding down my throat. He kissed me not even a second later, his tongue sweeping in, taking some of the wine for his own.
“A gift.” He ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “For Rocco.”
“A gift?”
“Yeah. The perfume he gave you. I returned it.”
“Oh,” I said, putting a hand to my overheated neck. “That might insult him?”
“He insulted me. It’s not appropriate for a man to give a married woman a gift like that. Not my wife.” He cocked his head to the side, listening. “Dance for me, baby.”
“Here?”
He looked around. “No one can see us. It’s only you and me.”
“But we need to talk—about the race, about the situation with Rocco, Dario, and Romeo—”
I took a step back. He was coming for me.
“We can save those words for the daytime. The night is for us.” He winked. “Rocco is calling me tomorrow to set things up.”
I took another step back, but he caught me. He ripped the thin lace, sending it over the terrace with another surge of wind, just as he had done with my robe.
“Brando!” I said, laughing. “If you keep ripping my clothes, I’m not going to have any left!”
“Good. Your closet isn’t suited for a married woman either,” he said without an ounce of humor. “All of those—” he waved a hand around “—thin clothes. If I can rip them barehanded, they’re not suitable for outside wear. The others, the ones you wear around the house, are layers. I hate fucking layers between us. That’s all those frilly things are.”
“What will I do withoutanyclothes?” I giggled a bit. The wine was becoming friendly.
“Besides making me a happy man, you mean?” His eyes glowed with plenty of suggestion and inspiration.
“Should I go to the store naked?”
“You wouldn’t get past our bedroom door.”
“You just proved my point.”
He left me outside with a murmuredgive me a secondbefore he returned and handed me a picture.
“Oh,” I said, smiling. “It’s one of the ones I took for you.” I showed him the picture, as if he hadn’t seen it, but I pointed out the stone fence. “I took a few around the property so that when you finally came here, you could find all of the different spots where I took the pictures.”
He tapped at picture me. “I found that one already. The stone fence.”
