Speak Low (Speak Easy 2)

“Come here. It’s OK.”

I circled his torso with my arms and buried my face in his chest, loving the warm feel and smell of his skin and detesting myself for ruining this moment. Weeping like a child, I let him hold me. Joey kissed the top of my head and rested his chin there, rubbing my back with slow, soothing strokes.

Thankfully, my insanity passed and I was able to stem the tears after a minute or two. “Sorry.” I sniffled. “I suppose I’m just emotional.”

“You? Emotional over me?” He squeezed me tight. “Then go ahead. Cry all you want, doll.”

I slapped his chest and picked up my head to look at him—messy hair, smiling mouth, and best of all, eyes full of content and adoration. No one had ever looked at me that way before. “No, I’m done now.”

“Oh. Well, in that case…” He deftly slipped underneath me so I was sitting on his hips, my hands propped on his chest. We were still connected, and I felt him stirring inside me again. “God, you’re so beautiful. Even with a red nose and puffy eyes.”

I slapped my palms over my face. “Don’t look at me.”

He took my wrists and brought them to his chest again. “Let me.” As his eyes took me in, they warmed with unmistakable intention.

I wouldn’t have thought we had anything left.

I was wrong.

Chapter Fourteen

“I said sprinkle, not pour!” Joey rolled his eyes when he saw how much sugar I’d dumped over the apples in the pan. “That looks like an avalanche.”

“Well, sorry,” I said, laughing. “I thought I was sprinkling. And you never said how much to sprinkle so I just guessed.” He was teaching me how to make a dessert called Brown Betty Pudding, but I wasn’t a very good student. Who could blame me? We’d been in his bedroom for hours working up an appetite, and Joey was still shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of black pants that sat low on his hips. He’d offered me one of his shirts to wear, and I insisted on the one he’d worn today. I couldn’t stop sniffing it.

“Jesus. Give me that.” Joey took the canister of sugar and spoon from my hands. “Go into the pantry and get cinnamon and bread crumbs.”

“You’re supposed to be giving me a lesson. How am I going to learn to cook if I miss what you’re doing?”

“I’m just adding the butter and salt. Did you at least manage to heat the water?” He looked skeptically at another pan on the stovetop.

“I think so. Even I can’t screw that up.”

Joey didn’t look convinced of that, but I was in too good a mood to bicker so I went to the pantry. I found the cinnamon pretty quickly, but didn’t see any bread crumbs

. “Joey?”

“Yeah?”

“I need help.”

A moment later he appeared in the pantry doorway. “Geez, Tiny, I’m beginning to think even lessons from me aren’t going to help you. Maybe you should stick to rum running.”

“Ha, ha. I found the cinnamon but I don’t see any bread crumbs. Are they in a box?”

“Oh. No, they’re probably in a container but it might be labeled in Italian.” He glanced up at a shelf and pulled down a canister with something handwritten on the front. Flipping the lid, he peeked in, a curious expression on his face. “Aha.”

“Bread crumbs?”

“Nope.” He reached in and pulled out…a gun?

I jumped back. “Jesus, Joey! What is that and why is it in your pantry?”

He set it on the shelf and closed up the container. “It’s a pistol. My dad’s. He used to keep it in there just in case, and my mom probably forgot about it. Don’t worry. I won’t shoot you, even if you ruin dessert.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he swept me up in one arm and kissed me. “But if you stick that tongue out at me again, I might have to end this lesson early.”

I grinned and kissed him back. When he let me go, I couldn’t resist hopping from one foot to the other out of pure joy. Joey laughed at me as he set the empty canister back on the shelf and retrieved the bread crumbs.