She frowned. “Why in the world would I be upset with you? And upset is a very insipid word for what I was feeling. Angry. Emotional. Wanting to commit murder. She was talking about our children. Weren’t you just a little bit angry?”
He rubbed his jaw and the five-o’clock shadow already on full display there. “I really hate to tell you this, piccola, but Eloisa honestly thought she was giving you a compliment. Producing riders from a spectacular bloodline is the one thing she prizes in a woman. You have a spectacular bloodline.”
“Yay me.” Sarcasm dripped. “I’m so very glad your mother approves.”
He hooked his palm around the nape of her neck, his thumb sliding along her cheek. “You are extraordinary, Nicoletta, in so many ways. Our children will be as well. No one will have a say in their lives but us. We’ll decide what we want for them. And then they’ll decide. That’s a long way off. Right now, it’s your life and you decide whether or not you’re going to be a rider. Stefano would never have allowed you into that meeting if he wasn’t going to say you were one of us. Obviously, you have to train more. You need to learn so much more before you can actually participate.”
Nicoletta nodded. “I’m fine with that. I’m not ready to be whatever it is you call yourselves. I do want to go along though and learn. I want my body to get used to the feel and pull on it. I can tell each time I go, it’s easier.”
Taviano’s phone buzzed. He glanced down. “Stefano says they’re having dinner and to come back when we’re finished here because there is quite a bit more to discuss.”
“I guess I gave your mother a good opportunity to take another dig at me about not keeping my temper.”
He tipped her chin up. “You can pretend with Stefano if you want, but you aren’t feeling in the least bit guilty or remorseful. You wanted to punch my mother, woman. Own it. Don’t give me that I-should-have-stuck-around mask.”
“I was looking at my lap so I wouldn’t have to try for the mask,” she pointed out. “And don’t say I wanted to punch your mother where someone might hear.”
“Only Emilio and Enzo are close enough to hear us right now.”
“My point exactly. They are related to you.” She glanced over to the other table. “Please tell me that their mother or father isn’t a sibling to your mother.” She dropped her face into her palm.
Taviano glanced over to the bodyguards. Both men were valiantly looking at the menus. He knew they had the menu memorized, as many times as they came there. They’d already ordered. They were desperately trying not to laugh. He flashed them a small grin.
“Taviano.” She hissed his name between her teeth.
He leaned over and kissed her. The moment he touched her lips, he knew he shouldn’t have, not there in the privacy of that restaurant, not there in the dark. She ignited for him and burned, a fuse that detonated an explosive in him. She leaned into him as he put pressure on the nape of her neck, pulling her closer to him.
She slid her hands up his chest. His heart accelerated. She did that to him every time. Little flames licked at his skin while electricity snapped between them. Heat rushed through his veins and hot blood filled his cock. His heart beat there, throbbing and aching for her. He wished they were home and he could have her. He could be in her. He had to stop kissing her. That way was disaster, and it was also paradise.
Berta cleared her throat. Reluctantly, Taviano lifted his head enough to press his forehead against Nicoletta’s. “What is it, Berta?”
“Your drinks, Taviano.”
“Put them on the table, Berta,” he said without lifting his head. He kept his eyes closed, inhaling Nicoletta’s scent. He was so in love with her. She mattered to him more than anyone or anything else.
“I have. And the antipasto as well. Um. Mr. Petrov doesn’t like public displays of affection in his restaurant. He used to be cool about it, but ever since his wife died, he gets upset when couples start kissing and he throws them out. Just a heads-up warning. I’m sorry.”
Taviano did look up then. He wasn’t a teenage boy caught in the booth by the older Petrov sneaking kisses with a fifteen-year-old. He was grown, and Petrov had known him for years. He couldn’t imagine the man kicking him out, let alone sending Berta to reprimand him.
Nicoletta’s laughter escaped. “I’m so going to tell Francesca and the others. Especially Sasha. Taviano Ferraro, the playboy of the world, reprimanded in a pizzeria for kissing his wife. You weren’t even getting all handsy. I’m dreadfully disappointed.”