“Nothing,” G.G. said soothingly. “I’m fine. Ildaria just—” He paused to glance around then, looking for her, she realized when he turned and spotted her on the other side of the island. His eyes widened incredulously as he caught sight of her in her boots and tea towel, and then he pulled from the blonde’s hold and hurried around the island.
Ildaria backed up instinctively when he neared, a squeak of alarm slipping from her when he reached out as if to hug her.G.G. froze at once, realization streaking across his face. Touching would not be good. Not with her naked and him sportingthe erection now tenting his T-shirt. It had popped up the moment he spotted her, telling her that no, he hadn’t tucked himselfaway.
Cursing, he pulled his hands back, hesitated, and then with his back to the group, tugged his T-shirt off over his head andimmediately dropped it over hers. It was huge on her, falling to her knees, she noted with relief as she released the teatowel to slip her arms through the short sleeves.
While she did that, G.G. set to work tucking himself away and doing up his jeans. It appeared to be something of an effortwith the erection he was now waving around, but he managed it with a pained grimace or two. She noticed he was very carefulabout the zipping part though, and really, the bulge once he was done was as obvious as the tent had been.
Sighing, G.G. shared a grimace with her and then stepped to her side and turned to face the four people watching them fromacross the room. Shoulders straightening, he said proudly, “Mother, Father, this is Angelina Ildaria Sophia Lupita GarciaPimienta, my life mate.”
Ildaria’s mouth dropped at those words, and she wheeled on G.G in dismay.
Thirteen
G.G. stared at Ildaria with a somewhat bemused expression as she ranted at him in Spanish, although ranting wasn’t quite theright word for what she was doing. She appeared to be having an emotional meltdown; dismay, despair, and accusation were alternatingon her expression as she spat words in rapid-fire Spanish, her hands all over the place. She was definitely upset about something.In fact, his brave little warrior looked like she was on the verge of tears . . . or choking him. He wasn’t sure which.
He really needed to learn the language, G.G. decided. He was catching a word here and there he thought he understood, likemadre and padre. He knew that was mother and father. He was quite sure he’d caught hacienda in the avalanche of words pouring from her lips too, which meant house or home or something like that. But she’d also spat out puta at one point, which he knew translated to whore, and he couldn’t figure out where that could work into the conversation.
“Oh myyyy. She speaks Spanish,” his mother breathed with awe when Ildaria ran out of steam and just glared at G.G., probablywaiting for him to say something. “It sure is a pretty language,” she added, and then asked, “What did she say? Does she speakEnglish, dear?”
“Yes, of course she speaks English,” G.G. muttered.
It was Mirabeau who told them what she’d said. Lips twitching with amusement, the woman explained, “Ildaria is upset at beingcaught so . . . unprepared. She apparently didn’t expect you to arrive so soon. G.G. had told her you wouldn’t arrive fora couple of days.”
“Joshua!” his mother said with dismay. “Why would you tell her that? You knew we were flying out right away.”
“I didn’t tell her that,” G.G. assured his mother. When Ildaria made a snorting sound, he turned back and reminded her, “Youwere the one who suggested they most likely wouldn’t arrive for a couple days. I was about to correct you and say their planewas probably halfway here already when Lucian showed up and you went to let him in.”
Ildaria stared at him silently for a moment and then her head bowed, her shoulders drooped, and she simply turned and leftthe room.
G.G. watched with a small frown, his gaze dropping to her bare legs, and H.D. abandoned him to follow her as she took a wide route around the group across the kitchen. The little fur ball caught up to her as she passed through the living room, and pranced along at her side as she headed up the hall toward the bedrooms, his little head turned up, watching her with concern the whole way.
There was a day the dog wouldn’t have left his side for anything. Obviously, those days were over. Ildaria had somehow usurpedhis position as H.D.’s favorite person. He didn’t blame the mutt. She was his favorite person too, and frankly, he’d ratherbe trailing her to the bedroom himself right now. In fact he should be. She was upset and needed soothing. He couldn’t blameher. This wasn’t how he’d planned her first meeting with his parents to go either.
“She’s beautiful, son.”
G.G. turned his head at his mother’s words and nodded wearily. “Yes. She is. Inside and out.”
“Well, of course she is,” she said with a nod. “You’re lovely inside . . . and would be outside too if you didn’t try so hardnot to be,” she added, scowling as her gaze traveled to the Mohawk on his head and then dropped to the tattoos winding overhis now naked shoulders and down his arms.
G.G. grinned. His mother hated his Mohawk and tattoos, considering them mutilations of her beautiful boy. Much to his amusement,she never missed an opportunity to let him know that either. It didn’t upset him, but did remind him that he was now standingthere shirtless in just his jeans.
Frowning, he shifted on his feet, and then said, “Ildaria seemed upset. I should go talk to her and get my shirt back.”
“No!” The four people facing him said the word at the same time. A brief silence followed as they all glanced at each other a bit wryly, and then his mother turned back to him and said, “Of course, she’s upset, the poor dear. This isn’t
