Page 16 of Blood and Fire

She retrieved her hand with a yank. “I don’t have a problem.”

“Ding, ding. Gotcha,” he said quietly. “That’s a lie.”

The color faded from her face, making her make-up look even more startlingly. Her eyes dropped. She grabbed the napkin, made a fuss over wiping some sweet goop or other off her chin. He waited.

“Have you run away from home?” he asked.

A bitter laugh jerked out of her. “I wish,” she muttered, not looking at him. “At the moment, I don’t have one to run from.”

“Well, that’s a problem all of itself.” He reached for her hand again. She whipped it off the table and hid it in her lap. “Did someone hurt you? Your husband, your ex-boyfriend? Something like that?”

“No. No, it’s…” Her throat bobbed. “Really. I’m fine.” Her voice vibrated with tension. “Just stop, please. Or I’ll have to leave.”

He sipped his coffee, giving her a moment to get over her freak-out before he tried again. “Is there something I can do?”

“About what?” she snapped.

“About your problem,” he persisted. “Does somebody’s ass need kicking? I can take care of that for you. I kick some serious ass.”

Her laughter rang out, sweet and bright and gorgeous. “Wow,” she said. “You’d do that for me? After, what has it been now, a fifteen minute acquaintance? Twenty, maybe, tops?”

He considered that, and opened his mouth, and the raw, uncut, uncensored truth just plopped right out. “Yeah,” he said. “I would.”

Her mouth hung a little open for a moment, totally flustered. And apparently charmed. “Supposing there were a whole lot of asses?”

He shrugged. “Then I’d just have to kick them all.”

“Wow,” she said. “That’s bold. Whiz, bang, and suddenly you’re my champion. That’s really sweet of you. Not smart, but sweet.”

Bruno sipped his coffee and let his statement stand. But her words did something to him. Doors, opening up inside him, letting in light. Things lighting up from the inside, coming into focus.

He’d been dead serious. He really would kick ass for her.

And she was right. It wasn’t smart. Not smart at all. But there it was.

He scooped up more rice pudding, covered his embarrassment with chatter. Quick, before he turned red. “So what else can I be honest about? Any other secrets you want to know about the male mind?”

She rolled her eyes, snorting. “Never mind the male mind. Men are mostly dogs and pigs. Tell me about you.”

“Tell you what?”

“Start at the beginning,” she said. “And keep it simple.”

“Not much to tell,” he said. “I was born in Newark. Spent the first twelve years of my life there.”

“Parents?” she asked crisply.

“I was raised mostly by my Uncle Tony and my Zia Rosa here in Portland,” he said.

“And before, in Newark? Who raised you then?”

He flinched away from the question. “It’s your turn, isn’t it?”

“Who said we were taking turns?” She wound her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “You’ve evaded my question twice. Not very skillfully, but that means you’re starting down the slippery slope towards dishonesty. So give up the goods.”

He blew out the tension with a sharp sigh. “I don’t know who my father was. I was a bastard. My mother never told me. Her family was ashamed of me, so it was just the two of us. She raised me alone.”

She looked startled. “Ah. Um—”

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