“Well played Jesus...well played...”
Chapter Six
“Hi, you’ve reached the only man who can either make you extremely envious of my masculine yet dulcet tone or crave to hear it asking how you like your eggs in the a.m. That beep noise coming up, put it to good use, eh?”
Samara didn’t know whether to laugh or scream into the phone. She’d been trying since this morning to reach Luciano and he still hadn’t answered. Grabbing a handful of her braids, she tugged, growling in frustration. She then tossed her phone onto the couch and continued pacing, the weight of the small device jostling a sleeping Manfred as he rested on one of the cushions.
“Sorry, Manny.”
He glared at her as he left the room. Samara rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the support, you moody little bastard.” Was he the moody one here, or was she just annoyed because stress had a stranglehold on her?
Before she could answer that, the locks on her front door clicked open, and she turned to watch Nyssa come striding across the threshold. “Okay,” her sister started, dropping overstuffed shopping bags onto the floor. “When you said you were going to announce your pregnancy on air, I thought you were joking.”
Samara rubbed her temples. “I really need to change my locks.” She stopped. “When’s the last time you talked to Sunny?”
Nyssa shrugged. “The day I called him an asshole before heading to the airport so I could make my drive up and enjoy this much-needed mini-vacation away from him.”
“You ever gonna tell me what it was you two were fighting about this time?”
“I’m sensing a tone here,” her sister said, casually looking through those bags. “A tone that says you believe we fight a lot.”
“Your senses tell you right.”
“Ignoring you...” Nyssa sung.
Shoulders dropping, Samara took a seat in a nearby armchair. “I can’t reach Luc. Every time I call it goes straight to voicemail.”
“All right.” The other woman sighed. “I don’t wanna be this person but—”
“How about we don’t even go to the but and you just don’t become thatperson?”
Nyssa knelt in front of Samara. “— but you should’ve told him days ago.”
“Thank you so much, Super-tell-a-bitch-the-obvious .”
Eyes narrowing, Nyssa shoved one of Samara’s shoulders. Samara shoved back. They were good and deep into a lovely slap fight when the knocking on her door interrupted it.
Pushing her sibling away, Samara headed toward the hardwood. “I suggest you thank either Paz or Trip for saving your sorry ass from my fists of...” The moment she opened the door, every word on the tip of her tongue died a thousand deaths, revived then died again.
Sansone stood there, Luciano behind him, but instead of Sansone’s eyes focusing on her, they were directed toward Nyssa.
“And where have you been?” he demanded, stepping past Samara.
Samara’s eyes never left Luciano’s, but she could hear Nyssa clearly when her sister answered, “Fucking the New York Giants. The linebackers have some really good techniques.”
Her lids closed and she winced, knowing exactly where this was going. When she reopened them Luciano was still there, still staring, still making every breath nearly impossible. The man did something to her that no one else had ever managed—left her speechless. His lightly tanned, olive skin let her know he’d spent some days in the sun as the weather broke. He’d cut his hair shorter on the sides and back, leaving the wavy top long, but had yet to get rid of the beard surrounding his full lips, cleft chin, and leanly slashed cheeks.
Heavy brows drew downward as his amber eyes gazed at her unflinchingly, and the moment they slid from her face down to her torso, her stomach dropped. He knew. He knew because he’d heard and he
Chapter Six
“Hi, you’ve reached the only man who can either make you extremely envious of my masculine yet dulcet tone or crave to hear it asking how you like your eggs in the a.m. That beep noise coming up, put it to good use, eh?”
Samara didn’t know whether to laugh or scream into the phone. She’d been trying since this morning to reach Luciano and he still hadn’t answered. Grabbing a handful of her braids, she tugged, growling in frustration. She then tossed her phone onto the couch and continued pacing, the weight of the small device jostling a sleeping Manfred as he rested on one of the cushions.
“Sorry, Manny.”
He glared at her as he left the room. Samara rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the support, you moody little bastard.” Was he the moody one here, or was she just annoyed because stress had a stranglehold on her?
Before she could answer that, the locks on her front door clicked open, and she turned to watch Nyssa come striding across the threshold. “Okay,” her sister started, dropping overstuffed shopping bags onto the floor. “When you said you were going to announce your pregnancy on air, I thought you were joking.”
Samara rubbed her temples. “I really need to change my locks.” She stopped. “When’s the last time you talked to Sunny?”
Nyssa shrugged. “The day I called him an asshole before heading to the airport so I could make my drive up and enjoy this much-needed mini-vacation away from him.”
“You ever gonna tell me what it was you two were fighting about this time?”
“I’m sensing a tone here,” her sister said, casually looking through those bags. “A tone that says you believe we fight a lot.”
“Your senses tell you right.”
“Ignoring you...” Nyssa sung.
Shoulders dropping, Samara took a seat in a nearby armchair. “I can’t reach Luc. Every time I call it goes straight to voicemail.”
“All right.” The other woman sighed. “I don’t wanna be this person but—”
“How about we don’t even go to the but and you just don’t become thatperson?”
Nyssa knelt in front of Samara. “— but you should’ve told him days ago.”
“Thank you so much, Super-tell-a-bitch-the-obvious .”
Eyes narrowing, Nyssa shoved one of Samara’s shoulders. Samara shoved back. They were good and deep into a lovely slap fight when the knocking on her door interrupted it.
Pushing her sibling away, Samara headed toward the hardwood. “I suggest you thank either Paz or Trip for saving your sorry ass from my fists of...” The moment she opened the door, every word on the tip of her tongue died a thousand deaths, revived then died again.
Sansone stood there, Luciano behind him, but instead of Sansone’s eyes focusing on her, they were directed toward Nyssa.
“And where have you been?” he demanded, stepping past Samara.
Samara’s eyes never left Luciano’s, but she could hear Nyssa clearly when her sister answered, “Fucking the New York Giants. The linebackers have some really good techniques.”
Her lids closed and she winced, knowing exactly where this was going. When she reopened them Luciano was still there, still staring, still making every breath nearly impossible. The man did something to her that no one else had ever managed—left her speechless. His lightly tanned, olive skin let her know he’d spent some days in the sun as the weather broke. He’d cut his hair shorter on the sides and back, leaving the wavy top long, but had yet to get rid of the beard surrounding his full lips, cleft chin, and leanly slashed cheeks.
Heavy brows drew downward as his amber eyes gazed at her unflinchingly, and the moment they slid from her face down to her torso, her stomach dropped. He knew. He knew because he’d heard and he
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