And then she went stiff. Her mouth stopped and released his tongue. She wasn’t breathing. With a rush, he remembered her ribs and let her go.
“I’m hurting you.”
She took a halting breath. “It’s okay. I don’t want to stop.” When she stepped up and reached her arms to his shoulders, she winced and tried to recover before he could see, but seeing was part of who he was. He pulled her arms from his neck.
“No. We’ll wait until you’re healed.”
“Nick…” She made a face like a pout, and he laughed. At the sound of it, her bright smile filled her face with sunshine again.
“We’ll wait until you’re healed.” He brushed his thumb over the healing scrape on her cheekbone. “I’m not gentle, Beverly. I want you healed first.”
Her eyes widened and her pupils went fully open. He knew if he put his hand between her legs, she’d be hot and wet. It took immense self-control not to do exactly that. Instead, he took her hand. “You said you were hurting already. Do you need your pills?”
With a little shake of her head, she found her equilibrium. “Probably. But they knock me out. If you’re going to be here, I don’t want to go to sleep.”
He led her to her sofa and sat her down. “I have work to do, so I can’t stay all day. But take your pills, and I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. You can tell me about your shitty day.” He wanted to know more about her fight with Chris—he was getting a sense that there was a problem there that needed solving.
He went into the kitchen, where he’d seen her pills. He got her a glass of water and then opened the bottle. Before he shook a dose out, he checked the contents, estimating that she’d only had four doses up to this point.
After he handed her the pills and the water and she took them, he lifted her legs and turned her to lie on the sofa with her legs over him. He tried to think if he’d ever done something like that before. He didn’t think so. He’d had quiet nights in with women, watching television, and he’d put his arm around them and held them close, or swung them around for a fuck. But what he was doing now was something new.
“What happened with Chris, bella?” His hand moved in circles over her thighs; he could feel her heat.
She arranged a pillow under her head, comfortable and content with their position. “I don’t want to talk about him. Why do you call me bella?”
“It means beautiful. You are.” She blushed; it made him smile.
Then she asked, “Do you speak Italian?”
“A little. Mostly sweet nothings and threats.” With a chuckle, he added, “Whispers, both.”
“Can you say, ‘I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse’ in Italian?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What I do isn’t a joke, Beverly.”
“I know. Trust me, I know.” She didn’t know half what she thought she did, but he didn’t intend that she ever would. He was about to bring their talk back to Chris, when she grinned brightly. “But you know, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“C’mon. Please?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Gli farò un’offerta che non potrà rifiutare.”
“God, that’s really hot,” her voice was low, her eyelids heavy with desire. “Say more. Say something sweet.”
She was completely open and trusting with him again, the fear gone from her lidded eyes. He felt the satisfaction of it like heat low in his gut, making his cock swollen and stiff. “Dolce means ‘sweet.’ Dolcezza is something like ‘sweetheart.’” Feeling her arousal radiating from her, he shifted and leaned over, careful to keep his weight from her. The movement put her thigh hard against his erection, and he groaned. “Cara is ‘dear.’ Tesoro means ‘treasure.’ My mother called my father tesoro mio—‘my treasure.’”
At the memory his words evoked, and the seism of grief that followed on the memory, Nick closed his eyes. He felt Beverly’s hand brush his cheek, and then the backs of her fingers passed slowly, softly over his mouth. He opened his eyes again and kissed her fingers. “My Aunt Angie calls me carino, which is like ‘cutie.’
A sweet, surprised laugh burst from Beverly’s lips. “‘Cutie’? Does she know you?”
Catching her laugh with one of his own, he nodded. “Since I was a little cutie, yes. She has a long memory. My Aunt Teresa called me and all her boys cucciolo—‘puppy.’” He slid his hand under her top and caressed the bare skin of her side and belly, warm and soft, trembling under his fingers. “Sei bella,” he murmured, “Ti desidero. Ti penso sempre.”