Page 34 of Thorns of Death
“We’ll see.” I smiled wolfishly. “Now stop with the Mr. Marchetti bullshit.”
Another eye roll. “Fine, fine. And you stop thinking about my asshole.”
“Ah, but I already have,” I said, smirking. “Which must mean you are thinking about it, becauseyouwant me playing with your ass,dolcezza.”
She let out an exasperated breath, then put both her hands on my arms and manhandled me—only because I loved her hands on me and let her—to stand in front of the salad.
“Start mixing, mister, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
Goddamn it, I could already picture the way she’d be, bossing everyone around in our own household. Yes, marrying her was sounding better and better by the second.
Once the salad was tossed, we both put some on our plates and dug in. I waited until she put a forkful in her mouth before I said, “You’re an accomplished violinist. Have you been playing for a long time?”
Her gaze met mine. She finished chewing before answering. “Thirteen years or so.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe a bit more. I’m bad at math.”
“How did you get into it?”
Her eyes darted to the large windows framed with tasteful draperies drawn open. “By accident,” she admitted. “I was taking piano lessons and got to my lesson half an hour early. There was this boy there playing the violin, and I fell in love.”
“With the boy?”
She scoffed. “Heck no. I don’t even remember the boy. But the music he made with that violin.” The dreamy smile on her face had my heart turning over. “It was magic. When my lesson started, I told Mrs. Chekov I wanted to play the violin. She had a spare one. The violin and bow felt so perfect in my hands. Like a limb I didn’t know I was missing.”
Shit, why did that make me feel jealous of her damn violin?
“What would you do instead if you didn’t play?”
She brought the wineglass to her lips, pausing for a moment, then grinned.
“Maybe I’d be a world-famous model.” I cocked my eyebrow as she tucked the hair behind her ear, mischief shining in her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know, I’m not tall enough. Nor slim enough.”
“You’re enough.” My voice came out on a grunt. “You are perfect, just the way you are. Your height. Your weight. Every single inch of you is flawless. Exquisite.” I watched as a blush spread over her porcelain skin. I couldn’t stop looking at her. She was the perfect size for me. Soft, rounded curves. Creamy skin. And an ass I couldn’t wait to hold in my palms. I longed to bite those cheeks from the moment I saw her at Reina Romero’s fashion show. Then she blew me a kiss and I actually got a hard-on. “I’d let you model lingerie for me.”
Isla laughed, and it sounded like the sweetest symphony. “Hmm, okay, I’ll consider modeling lingerie, then.”
A growl vibrated in my chest. She must have misunderstood me.
“You’ll model only for me,dolcezza. Anyone else sees you in lingerie, and you’ll be signing their death warrant.”
Her eyebrows rose up to her hairline. “So are you saying you wouldn’t hire me to model for anyone but you?” She gestured to herself, her hands waving up and down her body. “You’d hide all this from the world?”
“I’d hire you to wear other stuff,” I grumbled.
She chuckled again. “Like what? Men’s suits?”
I threw my head back and laughed for the second time today, and the sound sounded strange after going so long without hearing it. She kept throwing me off guard.
“That’s a good idea,” I admitted. “You can model men’s suits. That way every inch of your creamy, silky skin is completely hidden from hungry eyes.”
She shook her head, but was still smiling. “Men.”
“Women,” I retorted back, amused.
Silence followed and we continued eating. She seemed to be contemplating what to ask me next. I’d give it to her, she was clever. Maybe not in the same brutal way as her big brother, but she had a different kind of wisdom about her. And compassion always lurked in her eyes, ready to offer a hand to the world. I wondered if it was part of her, or if she’d been through something that made her this way.
I wanted to know everything there was to know about her.
“So, you’re not married…” she started.
