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How’d he hear me coughing over the loud Bon Jovi song playing? The man really was great at watching over us.
“Good,” I mouthed back with a slight nod.
“Oh no.” Natalia’s knees bumped mine from under the table. “You’re doing it again. Making googly eyes with one of the Costa brothers.”
“And if I was?” I arched a brow, eyes back on my overprotective sister.
It’d been seven years since I’d seen anyone in the Costa family. The last time I’d been in New York was for a funeral. Not the greatest memory.
“You came out of your shell at dinner last night at the Costas’ house. Flirty. Funny. Living in the moment. I loved it.” She was stalling. Why? “But redirect that sexy energy elsewhere. You don’t know the brothers like I do. Before I moved here, we only saw them a handful of times, and we were younger. And now, well, just trust me when I say you should consider them off-limits.”
But out of all the Costa brothers, only one managed to inspire a sonnet of sexy prose to echo through my head like a chorus tonight. A soft hum of pleas to walk straight up to him, fist his shirt, and pull him down for a kiss in front of a room of strangers. The perfect hot birthday kiss.
I thought back to last night and how Enzo had sent his parents’ chef home for the evening and put his culinary skills to use. Watching him cook had been nearly as gratifying as eating his food.
Enzo had seemed different in the kitchen than the man in the expensive suit tonight. With his sleeves rolled up, faded denim jeans, and wearing a backward ball cap while he’d chopped veggies, he’d been warmer. Softer. More like the younger version of him I remembered from the few vacations we’d spent together as kids at their third home in the Hamptons.
Some of my best childhood memories were from their house at the beach. Splashing around in the chilly waters and building sandcastles.
Bianca Costa, Enzo’s twin sister, babysat us when our parents went out. She was an avid reader and the one who turned me into a fan of books.
And then ... she was viciously murdered seven years ago at twenty-four, and it was a reminder of why the real world was awful.
I did my best to shuffle my thoughts around, hoping to place my head back in the present. “So, what’s their story now?”
“Bianca’s death changed them all in a way that ...” What was it she didn’t want to say?
“I mean, of course something like that would change them.” I quietly sat with my thoughts for a moment, the tragedy of her death washing over me again.
Bianca had believed in happily-ever-afters. That fairy tales were possible. And she’d want her brothers to fall in love, I was sure of it.
“They’re heartbreakers, Maria. That’s the easiest way I can put it.”
I wasn’t looking for love tonight. “I just want a hot birthday kiss. Not a proposal.” And preferably from the youngest brother, Enzo.
Last night had been the first time I’d set eyes on him since Bianca’s funeral. And what a way to greet him—I’d tripped on a rug inside their fancy foyer and flew right into his muscular arms. He’d circled my waist, and my breasts had smashed against his hard chest.
After that, I began a list in my head of all the naughty things I wanted to do with him, or for him to do to me.
“A hot kiss, huh?” Natalia snatched her drink and took a big gulp, clearly hating the idea.
I looked at the Costas again, thinking about our dinner together. The three brothers had sat on one side of the twelve-person table with their parents at each end. Natalia, myself, and the youngest Costa, Isabella, had been opposite the devilishly handsome men.
A few moans of pleasure had escaped my lips with every sinful bite of Enzo’s food, drawing his eyes more than once, as well as a slap on my thigh from my sister, since it sounded as though I were orgasming at the table.
While I’d indulged in a second helping of the best veal Milanese I’d had in my life, I’d also given the brothers labels in my head.
The Broody Genius was Constantine. He was thirty-five, and he’d spent a good part of his twenties in the navy, leaving only a few months before his sister was killed.
The Playboy was Alessandro. He was thirty-three and had devastatingly good looks with light-gray eyes that pierced through you. He’d also served, but in the army and only four years.
Then there was the Sexy Chef. Enzo had turned thirty-one last month in July, and although he’d originally planned to go to culinary school after high school, he wound up serving in the army for six years.
“Are you done with your inner monologue so I can have your attention again?” Natalia smirked.
“Yeah, I think so.” I took a more cautious sip this time. “But I’m still not convinced these men are walking red flags. You’ll have to give me more than ‘heartbreakers’ to scare me away.”
“Of course you’d say that,” she teased. “You love the bad boys in fiction, but I thought you had enough common sense to avoid them in real life.”
