How in the world am I going to survive here one night downstairs on the couch when I know she’s just a few steps away, alone, in her room wanting me to come and teach her things a little girl needs to learn one day.
But not at the hand of a thirty-nine-year-old man whose hands have spilled blood, broken laws, and crushed the hopes and dreams of rival families all in the name of La Cosa Nostra. I just need to keep my hands off her for seven days, until she leaves for graphic design school. Until that time I can keep myself busy outside the house during the day, and just come back here to sleep. Once she’s gone I won’t have any way to get to her, not to mention she’ll be way too far away. Then my problems will be solved for good or at least the bambina in front of me will be out of my life.
“Tim, you want to join us for coffee?” I call out, making sure he can hear me from the other room, but when I don’t catch his response I listen harder and all I can hear is the sound of him snoring. Gabriella’s lips curve up at the ends as she slithers toward me like a snake in the grass, ready to offer me that forbidden fruit of hers, but thankfully it’s only a cup of coffee.
Or at least it should be, but of course, it’s not.
Bending her knee, she places her shin on my thigh and leans across me for no reason, setting the coffee down in front of me, and her breasts a hairsbreadth from my face. If I stuck out my tongue I could flick her rock hard nipple that’s poking through the paper-thin fabric of her tank top, but instead, I remain leaned back in my seat.
My hands find the edges of my chair and I grab them hard, trying to will myself in place like I’m in a straight jacket, my arms pressing into the sides of my massive frame.
Her body slides back slightly until she’s able to pull some sort of contortionist move where her body is still impossibly close to mine, while her lips come insanely close to grazing my ear. “Uncle Gio,” she whispers, “I prepared a little something for you, to welcome you home.”
“I’m Italian,” I growl. “This isn’t my home and I’m not your uncle.”
“But you lived here when my dad was…younger than me. And you even used to sleep in my room.” She pauses. “Maybe you’d like to sleep up there one more time, for old times sake…and new experiences too.”
“In Italy, you serve coffee with a glass of water. You took the time to learn how to cook lasagne that well, but you didn’t learn the basics of Italian coffee presentation,” I ramble. It’s true, but it’s completely inconsequential at this point. I just need to be stern with her and get her away from me before I explode. “Understand?”
“I understand a lot more than you realize?” she fires back, yet sulks toward the fridge, her lower lip jutted out as she drops ice cubes into a glass.
“And Europeans don’t use ice cubes like you Americans do.”
“I know that it’s just that with all that sweat coming off your temple. I thought you might want some help cooling off. Or do you prefer to keep the temperature turned up?” she asks over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.
It’s clear from her banter that this tesoro mio reads, which is also evident by her Kindle sitting on the table next to her sketchbook. I bring my hand to my face, wiping my brow. Of course, the little girl who’s got me sprung is quick-witted with a fiery tongue. Her dad says she’s as independent as they come, a loner because no one her age can keep up. I already know that every interaction with her is going to be fireworks, I just hope the pyrotechnics these little conversations I’m trying to avoid don’t blow up in my face.
And speaking of faces, I need to quit staring at those youthful, feminine features of hers as she refuses to take her eyes off me. Normally the primal superiority contest that manifests itself in the form of stare-downs is my thing. But why am I trying my hardest to avoid sustained eye contact with a girl who’s not even old enough to drink, while everything in my mind and body tells me to drink in the sight of her…because there’s no one else like her in this world?
But her life is just beginning, and the world is there for the taking for a girl who’s sharp as a tack like she is. The last thing I want to do is step on her toes and keep her here where she grew up, clipping her wings before she even gets airborne.
“Come on, let me show you, Gio,” she purrs as she sets the water down next to my coffee, trying to play the same game with my thigh again but I scoot my chair just in time and she comes up empty. “Don’t you want to support a young girl’s education? Show her if she understands Italian culture correctly or not? I thought you Italians were fiercely proud.”
Is she really going to tempt me with all seven of the deadly sins in a period of a few hours?
“Ok, bambi. Whatchu got?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest partly in a display of defiance and partly to remind me to keep my hands to myself.
Never taking her eyes off mine, she reaches for her sketchbook and slides
