I decided to stretch out as well, even if I wasn’t wearing a bathing suit like Leona. Thinking about my situation, I had no intention of becoming that kind of fool. Falling in love with someone without emotions would be a horrible mistake.
In the early evening, I was back at the piano, tinkering with my song, when Nino walked in. My fingers stumbled over the next few notes. He was dressed in only fight boxers, his skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat that made his tattoos stand out even more. My eyes trailed down his ripped stomach then followed over to his muscled arms and his strong hands wrapped in white tape. They were red in places. I quickly tore my eyes away, too late of course, because Nino regarded me with a knowing expression. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything.
“Remo’s ordering pizza for us now. I’m taking a quick shower then we can head over.”
“Sure,” I said slowly. “I’m not sure Remo likes to have me around all the time when you have dinner.” In the past few weeks, they had been increasingly busy planning their attack on the Outfit, so I often had dinner with Leona in our wing or even ate with Adamo, who wasn’t involved in the Camorra’s dealings yet. Nino had also taken me out to dinner twice. Thankfully, spending evenings with all of the Falcone brothers had been a rare event.
Nino tilted his head. “You are my wife. You are family. He can deal.”
My eyes lowered to his chest again, wondering how it would feel to explore every inch of his skin with my fingertips. I’d only briefly touched his chest.
Something in Nino’s expression shifted, and he prowled over to me. There really was no other way to describe his movements. He lowered himself to his haunches beside me so we were almost at eye level as I sat on the piano bench. My breath caught in my throat when his mouth curled into a smile and his eyes reflected warmth.
My God, he was so good at faking affection. Too good. This was going to be my downfall, I knew it, but I could not tell him to stop. The scent of him washed over me, manly sweat and something that was only Nino.
My breathing quickened and so did my pulse. Nino reached for my hand, which lay limply on my thigh, and pressed his thumb to my wrist. Then he brought it up to his face and pressed a kiss to my palm, his gray eyes on my face the entire time. And I stared at his face in turn. That beautiful face, always perfectly cold but now filled with consciously created warmth. Even though I knew this was a lie, a lie that could break me in the end, I leaned forward and kissed him because with him giving me that tender look, I needed to be closer.
He returned the kiss and touched my cheek with his calloused hand. Not wanting him to read what this did to me, I closed my eyes. If I wanted this to work, I needed to either make peace with the truth that Nino was faking emotions for me or I would have to try to pretend they weren’t faked. I knew the latter would be easier because Nino was so scarily good at simulating.
Pushing any thought out of my mind, I allowed myself to drown in Nino’s kiss, in his closeness and scent, and my body sprang to life. When Nino pulled away eventually, my cheeks were flushed, and I was panting. His thumb was stroking my pulse point lightly, and the small touch traveled through every part of my body. He wasn’t only good at simulating emotions, he was good at this as well. Genius and monster.
“We can do some more exploring after dinner if you like?” His voice was deep and raspy.
I gave a small nod, not trusting my voice to come out as more than a squeak. Nino kissed my palm again before he stood, giving me a view of the bulge in his fight shorts, before he turned and headed upstairs to shower. My eyes followed his muscled, inked back, his narrow hips, and his firm butt.
I pressed shaking fingers to the piano keys. Where had I left of? I couldn’t remember. Instead, I turned my current emotional state into music. It was fast and erratic, but eventually the melody mellowed out, and my heartbeat calmed. I found my way back to the song I’d been working on before Nino had arrived. With every passing minute, I relaxed further.
“You have been working on it for a while now,” he commented. I jumped. As usual, he moved so quietly that I didn’t hear him approach. Now he leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. He was wearing a tight white T-shirt that accentuated his muscles and showed the dark outlines of his tattoos beneath.