Page 8 of Saving Mr. Norcross
“You seem tense.”
“I’mfine,” he gritted through his teeth.
“Did you fight with Brynn?”
Vander took the corner fast. The Ferrari Purosangue SUV he’d rented handled well and the V12 engine growled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It helps to talk it out. Haven’s always telling me if I keep it bottled in, it’ll blow eventually.”
Vander swallowed a growl. “So people keep telling me. Repeatedly.”
“Ah. Brynn’s trying to dig into that locked-up-tighter-than-Fort-Knox psyche of yours. Let her. She’s your wife and she loves you.”
He fought the urge to punch his brother in his smiling, handsome face. “Can you drop it?”
“Okay. For now.” Rhys shifted in the leather seat. “So how far to Justin’s?”
“Not far.” They drove through the winding streets of Taormina. The town really was beautiful, but Vander wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the scenery. His thoughts were on Brynn.
He’d taken her hard, roughly. He could’ve hurt her. His hands flexed on the steering wheel. He was always well aware of how strong he was and that he’d been trained to kill in a lot of different ways.
He needed to get his head screwed on straight.
A few minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of a small house on the edge of town. It had buttery-yellow walls, brown shutters framing the windows, a terracotta tiled roof, and lemon trees in the front yard. There were pots of colorful flowers on the small porch.
A second later, a tall man stepped outside. Justin had red-brown hair and a beard to match, and by the looks of it, hadn’t gone soft since he’d left the military. He was all hardpacked muscle but built in a way that said he could run for hours if needed.
Vander exited the car, and a smile broke out on his friend’s face.
“Norcross. Damn glad to see you.” Justin jogged down the front steps.
The two men hugged, slapping each other’s backs.
Justin had been injured on a Ghost Ops mission. Shrapnel had ended up lodged close to his spine, and he’d been forced to retire.
“You look good,” Justin said.
“You, too.”
“It looks like marriage agrees with both of us.” Justin shook his head. “Never imagined we’d live long enough to get out, let alone find women to tame us.” His brown gaze swiveled to Rhys. “Rhys, man. Good to see you.”
“Hi, Justin. Nicer to see you here than the last time we crossed paths.”
Justin’s lips twitched. “Think it was in a barren hellhole of a valley in the Afghan highlands, so I agree.” They shook hands.
“Where’s the poor woman who agreed to marry you?” Vander asked.
“Alessandra. She’s gone shopping, but she’d love to have you and your wives over for a meal. She’s a hell of a cook.”
There was a loudwoofand a brown dog of dubious heritage loped over, tail wagging.
“This is Pavarotti. Let me put him out back, and we’ll head into town. I know this great place for coffee. Plus, I have a little job to do. Hoping you can help me out.”
Not long later, they were sitting in a tiny coffee shop in central Taormina, excellent cappuccinos in hand, with a view over a bustling, cobblestone square. The three of them were crowded around a tiny table. He usually drank his coffee black, but Justin had told him cappuccino was for the morning.
“So, after I got out and healed up, I decided to travel to countries where people didn’t shoot at me.” Justin sipped his coffee. “Came here to Sicily, was enjoying the pizza and sunshine, and I ran into Alessandra. Literally. I accidentally knocked her off her bicycle. She had a basket full of flowers, and they spilled everywhere. She was all fire and sass, cursing and spitting at me, hands waving in the air. She’s got long, black hair and killer curves. I fell in love instantly.” He grinned. “Took me a while to talk her win her over. She’s a florist. I showed up with flowers for her every day and eventually wore her down.”
“Happy for you, man,” Rhys said. “When you find the right woman, you know.”
