“You didn’t ask me,” I whispered.
His eyes narrowed.
“You didn’t ask me for my stipulations for staying on this island with you all alone, Rocco Fausti. You are adangerous man, you know.”
He gave me a serious look and nodded. So, that was his asking technique—got it.
“There are no rules,” I said. “Except for the one we’ve alreadyestablished. Only you.” I touched his heart. “Only me.” I pointed to myself.
He gazed into my eyes, like he was attempting to gauge all that no rules entailed. For a man who lived by them, I knew this was going to be a challenge for him. Then his face relaxed, and I almost jumped off his lap, but I decided to hold my ground. I cocked my head to the side, probably looking like a German Shepard, trying to read the mischievous glint in his eyes.
“No rules, ah?”
Okay.
That tone paired with the look made the butterflies in my stomach flitter in fear and excitement. I felt breathless. Achy. Anxious. My hands curled around the collar of his expensive suit jacket. I didn’t know where to release the sudden energy. He wanted to go slow with the physical side of our relationship. I could tell. And I would respect that—for now.
“No rules.” I confirmed with a solid nod. “Except for?—”
He cut me off by kissing me, then lifted me up, throwing me over his shoulder. I beat against his back, laughing all the way to the bedroom.
The ending tone to that night seemed to carry the mood for the remainder of the week—when Rocco’s family and the Fausti guests were still around. We were spending all our time with his family, even though we were both eager to have the island to ourselves. The longing was in every other breath, in the lingering touches and intense eye contact—you, me, and the island, the promise stated. That was all we needed. The thought alone made my heart beat erratically and my breath tremble out.
It felt like I couldn’t catch my breath anyway.
If it wasn’t his touch causing me to feel breathless, it was all the things we were doing with his family. There were beach days, dinners in town, the women getting together to cook meals fitfor our men, while it also gave us time to connect and grow closer.
“Add chili peppers to that list!” Juliette said, pointing at the paper in front of me.
“Chili peppers,” I mumbled, writing downstinkin’ chili peppers, like that would somehow offend the mean pepper picker.
Scarlett read the list over my shoulder and exploded with laughter. Maggie Beautiful, which Margherita had instructed me to call her, wanted to knowwhat’s so funny, honey…
Scarlett looked down at me and quirked up an eyebrow.
“Go ahead.” I sighed.
Scarlett squeezed my shoulder and told the kitchen of women what had happened between me and the mean pepper picker.
Maggie Beautiful narrowed her eyes, tapping her tooth with nails that were the same color as the chili peppers. “Let’s go get these peppers,” she said. “We’ll be the judge of how spicy they are.”
“Maggie Beautiful.” There was a warning tone to Scarlett’s voice, but when we left, she was the first one out the door.
This was like my very own women gangster squad. Maggie Beautiful grabbed my arm and Scarlett’s, then I grabbed Carmen’s and Scarlett grabbed Juliette’s. Mia grabbed Mari’s arm, who was Mac’s wife, and another line built behind us. The men escorting us into town didn’t look so sure. Occasionally, one of us would catch a glimpse of the worry on a man’s face and we’d explode with laughter, making the rest of us laugh.
I loved these women!
The smile fell from my face when we rolled up to Peppina’s stall, and a group of women worked behind the counter with her. It was like she had grown an army of mean pepper pickers to watch her back. When she noticed us, her eyes grew hot. She pursed her red lips and put her hands on her hips.
“You ruined my peppers,” she snapped at me.
“I didn’t ruin anything,” I snapped back.
“You came here and caused my stall to be almost destroyed.”
“Did not.”
“You are a child!”
