Mr. and Mrs. Rossi

“We got married,” a deep, sexy voice answered from under the pillow.

Disappointed in herself, Harley shook her head for her lack of judgment on the stranger. “I figured.”

“What gave it away?” the voice asked, more alert. “The ring on your finger or your back being blown out all night long from consummating our vows?” His body shifted and as he rolled toward her, his hand cupped her butt cheek and his thumb massaged the spot at the tip of her tailbone. A hard erection pressed against the top of her thigh.

Confident ain’t he, she thought to herself and shivered with excitement, nothing more of a turn-on than confidence—especially one who knew how to back it up. Her body filled with the all too familiar pleasurable ache stemming from a satisfying sexual tryst. He had the body and the moves but with his face covered, she didn’t know what to expect. As he rubbed her back, his muscles rippled, arms flexed like a boxer’s, and stomach defined muscles worth climbing. She’d always had a weakness for a well-built man.

A shrilling sound interrupted her mental intoxication of looking at him. Somewhere in the tornado of clothes on the floor, her cell phone in the pocket of her jeans began to ring. Not wanting to leave her spot, she decided to let whoever was calling leave a message.

“Damn,” she hummed, biting her bottom lip, “we really got married?”

He flicked up his ring finger an inch before her face. “It appears so.”

“Okay sleepy, why did we get married?”

“Something about your baby getting married.”

Harley’s heart lurched against her chest as a foggy vi

sion cleared in her mind.

“But on your fifth shot,” he said from under the pillow, “you explained your niece got engaged before you and how life’s not fair and what not.”

An unfamiliar shrill broke through the air. She must have still been a little tipsy because she swore she heard the beginning of Welcome to the Jungle, by Guns and Roses, just the initial guitar introduction. A black mobile device vibrated against the top of the bare dresser. Above the oak dresser, the cheap polish she’d slathered over her nails yesterday stained the bright melon colored walls with eight crimson strips when he gripped her wrists and held them over her head while he devoured her mouth and neck. A flash of heated memory entered her mind of his hand holding both wrists against the wall while she sat naked on top of the dresser while he feasted upon her breasts, her thighs stretched to the limit wrapping around his waist.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Harley held out her fingers to investigate the scratched off polish from her manicure yesterday. The faded crimson color which had been painted on in honor of the school colors at Hannah’s graduation now scarcely covered the center of her nails. The edges of her medium length talons chipped away unevenly and down to her cuticles.

The milestone in the Tomasello household was marred by the announcement of her niece’s plans to get married to a boy no one met. Harley always considered herself to be a screw-up in the family but Hannah’s announcement hours before her mother and father planned on boarding a ship for a summer cruise took the cake. To honor the noble decision, Harley remembered commiserating at her favorite bar with her best friend Tai. But who the hell heard of a National Decide to get Married Day? Damn Chet Rossi, who owned the bar, for having dollar drinks and an on-line ordained minister available?

“Your phone is ringing.” She nudged him, lifting the covers to get a better look of his rock-hard body. Hopefully lifting her arm to stifle a fake yawn masked her curiosity. With him still on his side facing her, Harley got a good look at the dark hairs spreading thinly from the center of his chest, trailing over his belly button to the base of his full-on early morning erection. She rubbed her fingers together hoping to take away the itch to reach out and stroke his hair. Black hair sprouted at his chiseled jaw line. She willed the pillow to move a little more and then his phone rang again.

“Ahh fuck,” he growled, throwing the pillow off his face to his side of the bed when the guitar riff sounded off again. The bed sheets made a rustling noise when he kicked them off and tossed them on the floor. He rolled out of the bed unabashed of his naked firm hot ass. And as far as asses went, he had one of the finest she’d seen—tight, firm and no tan lines. “Rossi?”

Rossi, so that was her new last name for the last six or so hours. While he answered the phone with his back still turned to her, she reached down to the floor and searched for her jeans in a pile of clothes. When she found them and shook them out, she sat on the edge of the bed. She stood to wiggle the dark denim over her curvy hips, and the arches of her feet ached and a flash of constant flexing and pointing after each plateau of orgasm entered her mind, sending a ripple down her spine. The copper button popped through the buttonhole of her jeans at the waist, she turned back and looked at her…husband. Despite her bout of depression over her niece’s engagement, the idea of marriage made Harley queasy. Any dream of walking down the aisle in white had left a long time ago. Her harsh lesson in reality at an early age hardened her thoughts on the institution.

With Rossi’s broad back still turned she continued to admire the beautiful artwork stretching along his backside forming one of those ancient tribal signs with a swirl dipping from his right arm down his right side. He obviously had a high threshold for pain. She caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror on the wall.

Rumpled black hair fell in front of his eyes. With a shake of his head Rossi tossed his hair out of his face. Dark set eyes, Romanesque style nose and cultivated cheekbones only found on a sculpture, greeted her. Damn shame she’d already slipped on her jeans. His beautiful face alone enticed her to go another round, but any chance would have to wait. Her phone buzzed, signaling text messages were waiting for her. She’d missed three of them from her niece. The first text needed downloading, which, when she went to select download, her phone rang.

The caller ID came from work, a picture of her latest boss with his mouth open in a screaming fashion—something he did quite a bit. Whatever happened must have been serious because Detective Steve Lundy did not call her, of all people. As she pondered what could be wrong, the red and black phone in her hand buzzed with an incoming call.

“Tomasello?” Harley answered sweetly, knowing the man did not like nor respect her, other than doing one of the few things he deemed women were good for. A firm believer of, if women wanted to work in a man’s world she was going to have to accept man’s behavior, Lundy didn’t hold back on his crude humor. Sergeant Steven Lundy was all bark and all bite.

“Harley, get off your ass and get down to Little Mexico at three-points! For once we can actually use you.”

“Good morning to you, Lundy,” Harley replied calmly, “what’s going on?”

“Get your sweet translating ass over here and you’ll see for yourself. And bring your equipment and backup, you’ve been asking to get out to this side of town. Oh, and if you haven’t had breakfast yet, I suggest you don’t. It’s pretty gruesome out here.”

The newlyweds ended their calls at the same time. At last she got a good look at him and smiled in appreciation of her drunken stupidity. At least with beer goggles she still had good taste. He ran a large hand over his forehead. Hot barely described the word she would use. His wide smile probably won over a lot of hearts. His black hair wasn’t too long but not military short as she usually preferred. She clamped her fingers around her phone to keep from crossing the room to stroke the curly locks forming below his ears.

“Dante,” he said in a deep voice that vibrated her bones.

“Harley,” she responded weakly with a half a smile. It seemed silly for this awkwardness to pass between them all of a sudden. Bare except for her jeans, she crammed her phone into her back pocket then wrapped one hand around her waist and the other on top to support the weight of her breasts. This awkwardness brought a heat to her cheeks. What did one say to the one-night-stand she married? Harley wasn’t used to talking, she preferred to leave them with an understanding: she’ll call when she’s ready.

Dante, as she just learned, shook his dark head. “Nah, not after last night.”

“What?” Harley replied with a coy smile. “I just learned your name.”