Crossing to the wine fridge, I say, “Gee, I don’t know why, could be that home invasion we just had.”
Under her breath, she says, “Or something a little more hung.”
I whirl around and stare at her. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
She blinks innocently. “What?”
“Did you just say the word…hung?”
She pretends to think. “Did I?”
“You know what? I don’t want to know. I’m getting you your wine. Now please never speak again.”
She shrugs and holds out her glass.
At that exact moment, Quinn saunters into the kitchen.
Mamma cackles. “Aha! The plot thickens!”
He looks at me. A furrow forms between his brows. “What did I miss?”
I snap, “The entire period after childhood when you were supposed to grow into an adult.”
He looks at Mamma.
She says, “You can try to respond to that, but it will be molto dangerous.”
After a moment of thought, he simply sits down across from her and shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair beside him.
Mamma chuckles. “Good call.”
I grab a bottle of wine, get the wine opener from the drawer, and hack away at the foil on the top of the bottle until it’s shredded. Then I stab at the cork with the corkscrew until Mamma says to me softly in Italian, “It isn’t the home invasion that’s got you so worked up.”
I stop what I’m doing and glance up at her.
She nods, holding my gaze. “Now take a breath and calm yourself. You’re my daughter. You’re made of iron, like me. Forged in fire. Unbreakably hard. You can withstand anything.”
She inclines her head in Quinn’s direction. “Including your attraction to him.”
It’s a humbling thing, having someone who knows you so well. Someone who sees past all the walls you’ve erected, past all the smoke and mirrors you’ve thrown up to protect yourself and lead everyone else astray from the truth.
I set the corkscrew down slowly on the countertop, close my eyes, and exhale.
Into the ensuing silence, Quinn says, “Maybe I can get that for you.”
When I open my eyes, he’s pointing at the bottle, a questioning look in his eyes.
“You’re shot, you fool.”
“I’m used to operating under less-than-ideal circumstances.”
That makes me laugh. “I’m sure you are. By the way, why are you in here? I thought you were going to the basement.”
“I did. Everything’s fine down there. Gianni wants to stay there with Lili until his men arrive, and I agreed with that. So now I’m back up here.” His voice drops. “With you.”
Ignoring Mamma’s piercing stare, I say, “If you’re staying, you’re getting stitched up.”
He wrinkles his nose.
“No arguments. I don’t want your blood all over my clean floor. I’ll pour us all some wine, then have a look at your wound. Whether you like it or not!” I add loudly when he starts to protest.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “How about if we make a deal? You can stitch me up, but after that, I’d like you to make me supper.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Oh, the master of the universe is issuing a request? And here I thought you only knew how to bark orders.”
“I’ve noticed that you don’t respond well to orders.”
When I don’t say anything, he adds softly, “Please?”
We gaze at each other for a moment as Mamma looks back and forth between us. Then she raps her wineglass against the table, muttering, “Prisoners get better service than this.”
Quinn sends her a fond smile. “I’m glad you said it and not me.”
“If the two of you are going to gang up on me, nobody’s getting wine!”
Irritated by their easy camaraderie, I pour Mamma her wine, then get two more glasses from the cupboard. I serve Quinn his, then stand beside the table and guzzle an entire glass of Chianti in one go.
Watching me, Quinn is silent.
When he stands and loosens his tie, I’m still under control. It isn’t until he unbuttons his black dress shirt and pulls it off that I almost topple over backward in a dead faint.
The muscles. Good God, the muscles.
His chest is broad and rock-hard. His nipples are pierced with small silver studs. His abs look like they were carved from marble. His shoulders are wide and his biceps bulging. Everything is hard, defined, and tight. There isn’t an ounce of fat on him.
And the tattoos.
Mercy, the tattoos.
How can a collection of colorful ink be so devastatingly sexy?
His right arm has a full sleeve, shoulder to wrist. An elaborate scrolled font in a language I don’t know snakes in an arc across the top of his chest, from shoulder to shoulder, just under his collarbone. There’s some kind of tribal symbol decorating his left biceps, and another on his left shoulder.
And that spiderweb on the side of his neck, of course.
Somehow with him stripped naked to the waist, even that damn spiderweb tattoo has taken on a seductive allure. I want to trace every line with my tongue.
Where he isn’t tattooed, his skin is smooth and golden, like he works shirtless outdoors in the sun.
This man could be a pinup model.
At least my vagina thinks so. A five-alarm blaze has erupted in my underpants. I’m going to have to go in search of a fire extinguisher to put these roaring flames out.
Quinn’s brows draw together. Examining my expression, he says, “What’s wrong?”
Mamma and I share a stunned look before I pull myself together. “That bullet wound is serious.”
He glances down at his arm. There’s a ragged gash on the top outer part of his shoulder. It’s surrounded by bruised tissue darkening to purple, and it’s leaking blood.
He says, “It’s barely a scratch. He only clipped me.”
“A few inches lower and that bullet would’ve torn straight through your heart.”
“But it didn’t. Luck of the Irish, I suppose.”
I’m shocked by how casual he sounds. He could be discussing a hangnail for how nonchalant he seems.
“Have you been shot much?” asks Mamma.
“Depends on how you define much.”
“More than once.”
“Then, aye. This makes…” He pauses, thinking. “Five? Six?”
I’m astonished. “You’re not sure?”
He cocks a brow at me, smirking. “You seem impressed.”
“Only you would think that. It’s unfortunate your maker decided to finish you without giving you a brain. Sit.”
He winks at Mamma. “Look who’s barking orders now.”
She smiles knowingly. Then she rises and grasps her cane in one hand and her wineglass in the other. “I won’t stay for the gory part. I don’t have as strong a stomach at the sight of blood as Reyna does.”
A stomach I earned through years of cleaning my own blood from clothing, carpet, and my skin.
As Mamma hobbles out, Quinn watches me, his hazel eyes sharp as an eagle’s.
“You okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Today has been…”
“All sorts of fun,” he says, chuckling.