Page 36 of Heaven Help Me

I run right past her, down the stairs, and into the kitchen where the pan that held our fajitas is charred and smoking like a chimney. I grab a dish towel and throw the whole pan outside in the backyard where I turn on the hose and spray it down. The water hits the overheated metal with a hiss. Valentina leans in the doorway, gun out of sight, cocky smirk back in place.

“Way to burn the house down, ciuccio.”

I stare at a spot over her shoulder. I don’t dare look directly at her. She’s like a siren song, luring me in to my own destruction.

“I hope that sugar scrub turns your leg permanently green.”

She laughs and turns away while I continue to water the smoking pan. Instead of thinking about her naked body or the moment that just happened in the bathroom, I take out my phone and order a pizza delivery.

I should know better.

All paths that lead to Valentina also lead to death and possible dismemberment.

I’d do well to leave her the hell alone.

And from now on, I will.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Valentina

I’m no prude. One can’t live in foster care and then in a world of men and be precious about covering every inch of skin. I use my body to my advantage, and I’m not ashamed to say it. Isn’t that what men do when they use their physical strength to their advantage every fucking day?

I’ve got a body men like, and therefore, I wasn’t horrified when Deuce walked in on me in the bathroom. I was mostly horrified he saw me sprawled out and dazed with green goop all over my leg. My pride would have preferred to be in skimpy lingerie or poised just so on the bed when he walked in on me. He hasn’t seen me naked since I was a teenager and I’m so much more seasoned now, in all the best ways. Sadly, he got the klutz version of me instead of the sexy siren.

I hear his bellow of a laugh out on the sales floor of Saint’s Suits. I’m huddled in the back storage room like a dirty secret, barking orders from my phone and putting together the best damn Battle of the Boutiques this small town has ever witnessed. I’m at my best barking orders, which sadly hasn’t happened much today. Twice now I’ve blinked and realized I’ve been staring at the blank wall for who knows how long, reliving the bathroom scene.

Not the naked part.

The part where I leaned into Deuce and felt a steel pipe in his pants. A not-so-little present, just for me.

The part where Deuce trailed his fingertips across my skin and I felt it in every secret part of me.

The part where he lowered his head and we breathed the same air for a split second before being so rudely interrupted.

Shit. There I go again, staring at the damn wall with a flush to my cheeks. Bettina would be horrified to see me so distracted by a man. Hell, I’m horrified to be distracted by a man.

Especially Deuce.

The thing is, the day I shot up the porta-potty broke the tension between us. Sure, we’ve still been teasing each other ruthlessly, but there’s no heat behind it. We’ve become…friends.

Gah. There it is again. My least favorite f-word.

But it’s true. We make conversation easily in the car, while making dinner together, even when Deuce brought me along to his dad’s latest chemo treatment. What else could this be but a budding friendship?

I still don’t trust his story about telling people the details after we slept together, but damn, that was over twenty years ago. When I stepped back from organized crime, I told myself I’d let go of some grudges just so I could have some peace in my life. My panic attacks couldn’t handle any more stress, so I was forced to let stuff go. Bettina has grudges she’ll hold fisted tightly even after they lower her into the ground. I don’t think my nervous system can handle being burdened by hate that way.

“You good for dinner with Betsy, Silas, Rhett, and Mary London?”

Deuce’s voice makes me jump. I spin in my chair and give him a dirty look. It’s a reflex. He caught me daydreaming again and it’s flat-out embarrassing.

“Tonight?”

He grips the door to the storage room, holding it like a shield. I can only see his head and one well-dressed shoulder. His expression is unreadable.

“Yep. They’ll bring the babies too, so maybe you should watch a few YouTubes about how to hold them.”

I glare so hard my vision narrows to a pinprick of light. “I hope the inevitable diaper explosion happens when you’re holding the baby and some of it gets in your mouth.”