“We were out for a run.” Gia covers her sports bra with her hands. Not exactly the appropriate attire for meeting a priest. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I hand her my sweatshirt. She thanks me with her eyes and slips it on. I immediately miss all the skin but seeing her in my clothes has my stomach tightening.
“Father Paul Michael, Rocco has told me much about you and your church.”
I give her a sideways glance. I’ve done no such thing. She tugs me to the chair across from the priest and wedges herself in it with me. The leather chairs are large, big enough for two small people to squeeze in, but I’m not small.
I don’t mind having her body pressed up against me, even if it is only from hip to knee, and we have a priest interviewing us. She keeps our hands interlocked and moves them to her lap. If I stretch out my fingers and shift our hands two inches to the north, I’d be able to feel her pussy. I’m not that much of an asshole, but the thought does cross my mind.
As if reading my thoughts, she moves our hands two inches down her leg. It’s better this way.
“I’m sorry to say I haven’t seen Rocco in mass in a very long time. Or confession.”
“Rocco and I are looking forward to mass. We’ll be there. Soon. I promise.”
Only a handful of people in my life call me by my given name. Three are dead. The others are my childhood priest and my cousin. The rest of the world calls me Stone.
And then there’s Gia.
Last night I told her to let me guide today’s conversation. That would be expected. This is my turf. My priest. I’m the man. I’m in charge. Always.
Only, Gia strips all that from me.
“It would please me very much to see you both in church. Tell me how you two met.”
I open my mouth to recite what I had practiced in my head over and over again.
“Oh, you know Rocco. He’s a tough nut to crack. I was sampling the wines Elena had given me, enjoying the scenery, nibbling on my celery.” She leans forward. “Did you know he doesn’t eat vegetables? I mean, it’s going to catch up with him someday. I swear, he eats like a child.”
A child? I do not. I eat some of the finest Italian cuisine on a daily basis.
“You two will have children, yes?”
I swallow the lie I am about to tell, but Gia beats me to it. “Oh, yes. Someday I’d love to have children. When the time is right. It’s not something I want to rush into.”
I release my breath and start to speak when Gia cuts me off. Again.
“As you know, Rocco doesn’t have many family members around, and I’m an only child. My father is...he is not in my life, and my mother, well, I’m all alone here in Italy.”
She’s good. Really good. She hasn’t revealed anything about herself and yet hasn't told a lie, unless the bit about children isn’t true.
“I’m sorry to hear that, cara mia.” Father Paul Michael looks to me then returns his attention to Gia. “You’ve been living here, with Rocco, for long?”
She laughs, bringing a genuine smile to the priest’s mouth.
“You know Rocco. He isn’t terribly romantic with his words, but he pretty much swept me off my feet and carried me across his threshold. I’ve been here ever since.”
I, too, want to laugh, until she lifts our joined hands and kisses my knuckles. It isn’t erotic. It isn’t sexy. Hell, it’s as innocent as a kiss can be, yet I feel it deep in my core, and not my dick.
What. The. Hell.
I don’t want her kisses.
I don’t want to feel anything in my core except the pull from my orgasms as I come inside her.
“Rocco?” Father Paul Michael says.
I curse myself for not only having dirty thoughts about Gia five feet away from a priest—again—but for missing the conversation.