The Italian's Christmas Child

“I don’t care about appropriate,” she cried. She knew she sounded desperate and even pathetic but she didn’t care. She wanted him. She needed him. “I care about you,” she confessed, her voice dropping to a choked whisper, and surprise and something worse flashed across Angelos’s face. He shook his head, the movement almost violent and terribly final.

“No, Talia,” he told her flatly. “You don’t.”