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“Dead,” Toni snorts. “But my dad is somewhere around. Probably having more fun than the two of you tonight. My Uncle Santa is—”
“Santa?” Gina lifts a brow.
“Only close family calls himthat,” Tina retorts.
“I’m supposed to be his future wife.” Gina shrugs.
“Oh, then I have more questions for you. Santa’s my favorite person in the entire world and . . .”
My palm claims my niece’s mouth. “Shut up, or the other day will have become the last time I save you, kid.”
Toni snorts then takes the two bottles from Gina into the kitchen. I’m alone in the tiny living room with Gina now. While her gaze is cast down, mine travels over her body, memorizing every square inch. When she finally meets my eyes, mine lower, darkening with immoral thoughts.
Her breathing shakes out. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, fingers stroking the curve of her shape. Her hands fall on mine, and I command in a low growl, “Don’t fucking make me stop.”
While my eyes burn with an intense hunger, hers warm over with empathy. “I’m trying to apologize to you, Santino. But you’re staring at me like thebig, bad wolf. I should’ve waited.”
“Bella, you don’t have to apologize, and yes,” I pause, gripping at her hips. “You should have waited for me.”
My name becomes a throaty moan in Gina’s mouth. Her body weakens into me, and thick lashes fan down over her cheeks. She groans, “You’re absolutely right. In the span of a couple of hours, you had me feeling like Christmas morning. Ahem, anyway,” she says, sliding away from my touch. “Now, you’re aware of how petty I am. You should have left my feet in the cement.”
“Why’s that?”
“It would have made it more difficult for me to get away.”
She looks around at photos of my family. Her thumb caresses over an image of me when I played baseball.
“Looks like you could’ve gone pro.”
“Minor leagues.”
“Nice.”
“Eh, no Bambino.” I could tell her something came up. Like my sister’s death. That would lead to how I became a de facto parent and ended up helping Ma with little Toni. In the beginning, I had no idea how to raise a little girl. Sympathy is a non-factor and might lead to how I once made a quick dollar.
“Ballroom dancing?” Gina’s eyebrow lifts as she plucks a picture of Ma and me. The photo is old, grainy, and good for blackmail material. When I attempt to take it, she slides it behind her back. “How old were you? Ten, twelve?”
“That’s not me,” I joke.
“Who is it then?”
“My cousin . . . Santorini.”
Peering up at me, Gina’s eyelashes flutter. “Liar.”
“First, you’re too fucking tiny to call me a liar.” My chest crushes her; all the ass I can’t wait to own is pressed back against the end table. With half her mouth tipped in a smile, she’s waiting for me to drop a kiss right there. “I have a cousin named Santorini, really. I don’t dance though.”Not since you came into my life.
I’m hypnotized by her mouth. I’m ready to go in when I hear footsteps. My ma enters the room, wiping her hands on her apron. I turn around, holding my breath, but she has a knowing gleam in her eyes.
Oh thank God.Ma remembers their chat.
* * *
For the next hour,we sit around the table; each conversation segueing into another. Our plates are empty when Ma recalls how she was supposed to watch a movie with Gina.
“No, Ma. Not tonight,” I reply, running my thumb over the back of her hand.
