CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I’m in no mood to dealwith the laughter coming from the patio off the kitchen. I step outside now that Gia has moved my morning breakfast to the center island or patio instead of the dining room or at my desk where I can eat and work simultaneously.
Because we need to keep up the farce of a real marriage for my staff, I put up with some of the changes. Not many, because that would be pushing the façade too far,
Maria jumps up from the chair next to Gia and straightens her apron. “Good morning. Mrs. Parlatore requested spinach and egg white frittatas. Would you like a side of wheat toast or a cranberry orange muffin?”
I give Mrs. Parlatore a side eye as I sit in the chair across from her. “I’ll have whatever my wife is having.”
“Yes, sir.” Maria does a terrible job hiding her excitement that her surly boss has settled down with a woman as sweet as Gia.
“What’s on the agenda today, hubby?”
I wait for Maria to leave. “There’s no need to lay it on so thick.” I scroll through my messages from my men.
“Um, the morning after our wedding and you’re grumpy and on your phone instead of blissfully happy with your new bride is a sure way to get your staff to gossip.”
“Grumpy?” I slide my phone into my pocket and lean forward, staring Gia in the eyes. “I’m as grumpy as any man would be the morning after his wedding if he didn’t get laid.”
Gia rolls her shoulders back and picks up her coffee. “You could at least pretend.” She blows on her hot brew and takes a sip.
Pretend? If she wants me to pretend like I’ve spent the past eight hours fucking the brains out of my new bride, I’ll gladly oblige. When I see Maria coming with my coffee, I stand and move behind Gia. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I lean down and whisper in her ear.
“You want me to play the part of a groom who can’t keep his hands off his bride?” I slide my fingers down her neck and follow their path with my tongue.
Maria is behind us. I can sense her. She’s respectful enough to keep her distance and can’t see what I’m doing to Gia, but Gia doesn’t need to know that. I let my fingers continue their journey across her collarbone and down the valley between her breasts.
I feel her gasp more than hear it. She doesn’t push me away. If anything, she cranes her head away, giving me more access to her neck, and her breasts jut out a fraction as if begging for my hands on them.
If she was any other woman, I’d bark at Maria to leave, then turn her over and fuck her on the table. With Gia, however, I find myself enjoying the chase. The tease. Getting her hot and bothered is one hell of a foreplay.
I let my fingers brush across her nipple before backing away and returning to my seat. “Better?”
I hide my grin as Maria crosses the patio and sets down my coffee and muffins then scurries off, clearly as embarrassed as Gia.
“I mean...” Gia lifts a shoulder then picks up a muffin. “There’s no need to grope me in front of Maria.”
“Babe.” I pour a dollop of cream in my coffee, hiding my shock at the use of the word babe. Terms of endearment have been gone from my vocabulary since my family was murdered. “That wasn’t a grope. It wasn’t even a touch. You know what it feels like to be touched by me. Unless you’re screaming out my name, it doesn’t count.”
Gia looks away and breaks off a chunk of muffin, stuffing it in her mouth. If I was the laughing sort, I’d have chuckled. I’m not, though. There hasn’t been anything in my life to laugh about in more than a decade.
We sip our coffee and finish our muffins in silence. Maria comes with the rest of our breakfast, and we eat much the same. I even appease my wife by eating the rabbit food mixed in with my eggs. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I slip it out. Parisi is demanding a meeting this afternoon.
I put my phone away, not responding to his message, and place my napkin on my plate as Maria comes back to clean up after us. I look across the table and see Gia’s nipples still hard and erect. She is as affected by the simple touch as I was. I am.
“Do you have any requests for dinner tonight, Mr. Parlatore?”
“My wife and I will be leaving for our...honeymoon this afternoon.”
Both women raise their brows in shock.
“Of course. I can pack your bags for you, Gi—Mrs. Parlatore, if you let me know what you’d like to bring.”
Gia places her hand on Maria’s forearm as if they’re close friends. “Just because we’re married now doesn’t mean you have to go back to formalities. Gia is fine. And I can pack my own bags.” She turns to me. “Is this a casual, fancy, or formal trip? I’m not sure what kind of clothes to pack.”
“It’s a clothing optional trip.”
Maria chokes and picks up the dirty dishes, bolting for the house. This time I do let out a laugh.