She wanted to be offended, but honestly, the man was too agitated to be held accountable. Slipping her hand into his, she allowed him to pull her from the car and into the lift. The elevator doors slid closed and a dense silence descended.
"I rather liked her," she mused. "Perhaps we could be friends."
A pungent Italian curse echoed around them.
"We could compare notes." She dipped her head, hiding a grin.
The big male body beside her froze. Then one long finger pressed on her chin. When she met his gaze, his black eyes widened. "You are teasing me," he grumbled. "About a past lover."
"Is that another one of your rules?" She chuckled. "I can't tease you about a past lover?"
"You are not jealous?" He frowned as if this insulted him.
The man was seriously cute. And there was no way she was going to admit to the twinge of jealousy. Not even to wipe that frown off his face. There were other ways to do that. "Not a bit."
His frown deepened.
"Is that yet another rule of yours? I have to be jealous?"
Before he could respond with an actual scowl, she gave him something to smile about instead. Her hand slipped over his silk covered stomach and then down. Down.
He gasped.
She laughed.
"There is a rule about teasing your husband." All at once, his hard heat pushed her solidly against the elevator wall. A growl rumbled from his throat as he pressed his lips to her skin. "You will pay the price I dictate."
"Gladly." Her word was swallowed under his searching mouth.
Chapter 17
"Dante the King … cooking?"
His wife's voice was laced with her familiar teasing. He glanced across the wooden counter to see Lara poke a piece of fresh artichoke into olive oil and then pop it into her mouth. Her lovely, wide mouth.
"King?" He chuckled. "When did I get that title?"
She swallowed before giving him an ironic smile. "Probably when you were born."
"I don't believe so. However, though I might not be a king, I am a man of many talents." He wiggled his brows and she gave him a reluctant laugh.
"I can testify to that." Her warm honey gaze caught his.
The familiar buzz ran through his body. Stifling the hot images pumping through his mind, he turned and slid the copper pan onto the flame on the stove. The butter started to melt in golden clumps. "Don't eat too much of the pinzimonio, bella. I promise you my sogliola alla fiorentina will be worth the wait."
"Still, I love pinzimonio." She chewed on a piece of carrot and gazed at the red serving dish filled with a variety of fresh vegetables. "This is more than enough for both of us."
"But then you would miss my famous Florentine sole."
She laughed again at his dramatic grimace of dismay. "Okay. I'll stop snacking."
He slid the fillets coated with flour into the pan and took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of heated butter and the sizzle of cooking fish. His mamma had made sure all of her children knew how to cook, yet for him, it had become more than a family tradition. Cooking was a way to unwind, a way to let his mind rest from the myriad of daily decisions he had to make. This was the first time he'd had a chance to stay at home with his new wife and show off.
He chuckled to himself.
Who was he kidding? He was always trying to show off for her in one form or another.
"What's so funny?"
"My ego," he admitted.
"I'm amazed you can laugh about the subject."
Looking over his shoulder, he smiled. "Why are you amazed?"
His wife gave him an arrested look. "You should do that more often."
"What?"
"That smile," she said. "A real one. Not the fake thing you pin on for the peasant class."
He shook his head at her foolishness before turning his attention back to the fish and flipping the fillets with a skillful move. "Peasant class. Why do you make so many mistaken assumptions about me? I don't think of people that way."
"Really?" Her tone turned wry. "Not even when you glare down that long nose of yours?"
"I thought you liked my nose." He poured a dollop of Vernaccia wine on the fish. "Weren't you the one kissing it last night?"
"Certainly it wasn't your friend, Anika."
The memory of last night's meeting flashed through him. He still felt guilty for letting the situation intrude on their evening. Anika had always been a bit of a troublemaker. "Again, I apologize."
His wife sighed. "It's not as if I didn't know you had women before me."
"But they shouldn't be pushed in your face."
"I have a feeling we'd have to hole up here and never leave if I'm going to avoid meeting any of your past women."
"That is not so." He gazed at her with a pointed look, wanting to make sure she believed him. "There have not been that many."
Her head tilted to the side, her eyes brimming with instant interest. Could there be a hint of jealousy too? "How many?"
He groaned. "Give me a break, bella."
"I'll give you a kiss on your nose if you tell me." Her eyebrows wiggled just as his had earlier.
He turned back to the fish and started to put a layer of fresh spinach in the pan. Why did he feel embarrassed? He'd never played the field with the ferocity some of his friends had. Aside from his grief at losing Lara, he'd been too damned busy keeping the company afloat and his family in line. When he'd finally lifted his head from his duties, he wanted women who were easy on the eye and easy on his time. Because of his financial position, they were easy to find. And he'd found that once he had a woman in place, he was content to keep the status quo. It was one less thing he had to deal with.
Her mistaken assumption that he was some playboy was totally untrue. Still, did a man want to admit he wasn't one? Did he want to admit he was monogamous in nature? Would she like that better, or secretly, did she relish the idea of a playboy?
"Come on." She kept provoking, his wife. "Open up for once."
What the hell? The truth was what it was and if he disappointed her, so be it. "I've only had two mistresses in the past few years. Anika and a French woman I'd meet when I was in Paris."
A cool silence answered him.
"That's all." He kept his gaze on the sizzling fish. "Only two."
"That can't be true." Her voice was filled with disbelief.
"Nevertheless, it is." He forced himself to focus on the cooking, trying to banish his frustration with her perverse need to always cast him in the worst light.
"I have a vivid childhood memory of several blondes being paraded around your family villa's pool. In bikinis."
Glancing at her, he met her skeptical gaze. "Dio. I was a kid."
"Not that much of a kid." Her voice went dry.
He concentrated on her face intently and decided to take a stab in the dark. "You were jealous."
Her honey eyes snapped with sudden anger, but the blush rising from her neck told the true story. "I was not."
"You were," he crowed, trying not to laugh. Trying not to read too much into this.
"I find it amazing I can fit in this room with the size of your ego."
"Bella, bella." He shook his head and twisted back to the stove. "I was a teenager and you were a kid. I couldn't and wouldn't think of you that way-"
"I don't care-"
"Then."
His one word was filled with lust and desire. She grumbled under her breath, yet he felt her anger subside. "What do I care if you fooled around with tons of girls when you were a horny teenager?"
"Not many. And not for long." He flipped the fillets one more time. "When my father became sick and died that life came to an end."
His wife sighed. "I suppose it was hard to keep everything together."
"Si. For a couple of years after his death, I only had time for the business and the family. Once I got circumstances under control, I wanted peace in my private life." Once Lara was out of reach, he hadn't much cared about anything other than finding some release. There'd been no thought of falling in love with another woman. "Mistresses fit the bill."
"Only two?" The words were laced with skepticism.
The steam coming off the pan wafted around his face. That must be why the sense of warmth swept his skin. "You're disappointed."
Another silence. "No. Actually, I'm not."
He gave her a startled look over his shoulder. Her countenance gave little away, yet the slight smile gave him hope she was telling the truth.